Page 144 of Terms of Exposure
He laughed—wet and bitter. "You don't scare me."
I almost admired the confidence.
The elevator slowed. Dinged.
The doors opened to the lobby.
Red and blue bled through the glass doors.
Garrett froze beside me.
I stepped out first. "That's him, officers. The one with the broken nose."
"I didn't do anything!" Garrett screeched. "He attacked me!"
"Sir, we received multiple reports of harassment and trespassing at this address."
"Multiple?" I asked.
The officer nodded. "Your call, a report from building security, and a neighbor who overheard the disagreement."
"This is bullshit—"
"Sir."
"I'd like to provide a statement," I said, hands sliding into my pockets.
"And you are?"
"Damien Holt."
Recognition. Respect. A subtle shift.
"Mr. Holt. We'll take it from here."
Garrett went still as they guided him toward the desk. Not cuffed—yet.
And then it hit him.
The truth.
He'd chosen the wrong enemy.
He glanced back at me, panic flickering beneath the rage.
I held his gaze.
Unmoving. Unsmiling.
And let him understand—fully, completely—the man he'd just made an enemy of.
Candace
The door opened and Damien stepped inside, a bruise blooming beneath the scruff on his chin. My eyes locked in the blood drying across his knuckles.
My heart didn't leap to worry for him. It vaulted straight to Garrett.
"Damien—what did you—did you hurt him? Is he—"
