LOVIA’S POV:

The night tasted like rust and gasoline.We moved through the industrial district like ghosts, two shadows stitched together by moonlight and bad intentions.

Shane drove the matte-black SUV with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on my thigh, thumb stroking the seam of my tactical pants like he needed the reminder that I was still breathing and still his.

I wore black from throat to boots: fitted cargo pants, a cropped tactical vest that left my midriff bare because I ...