The storage room smelled faintly of coffee beans and cardboard. June balanced a box against her hip, focused on the shelves, when footsteps sounded behind her.
"Hey," a voice drawled.
She turned. Marcus. Broad shoulders, smug grin—the kind of guy who thought charm was just being persistent.
"What do you want?" June asked, her tone clipped.
"Just checking on my order," he said, but his eyes didn't leave her face. He stepped closer, too close. "You know, you're even prettier up close. Bet you hear that a lot."
"I don't have time for this," she muttered, shifting past him.
Marcus's smirk deepened, his hand shot out—fast, rough—clamping around her neck.
The box slipped from her grasp, crashing to the floor with a dull thud. June froze, breath catching as his grip tightened, not enough to choke—but enough to make her know he could.
"What are you doing?! Let me go!" she gasped, clawing at his wrist.
"Relax," Marcus murmured, leaning in, his breath hot against her cheek. "I'm just playing—"
"Are you?"
The voice that cut through the air was low, lethal.
Marcus stiffened, turning toward the doorway.
Damien Cross stood there, half in shadow, eyes glinting with something sharp and unrelenting. He didn't ask questions. He didn't need to. He had seen everything.
Slowly, he stepped forward. "Take your hand off her!"
Marcus's grip faltered, but he tried to cover it with a laugh. "D-Damien, man, this isn't what it looks like. We were just joking around."
Damien closed the distance. His hand shot out, seizing Marcus by the wrist—the same one clutching June's neck. With effortless strength, he yanked it free, forcing Marcus to release her.
June stumbled back, breathless, pressing a hand to her throat.
Damien's grip tightened. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Touch her again, and you won't have a hand left to use."
"C'mon, man, we were just—"
CRACK.
The sound of bone snapping filled the storage room. Marcus howled in pain, clutching his wrist as Damien released him.
Marcus staggered back, face pale, eyes wide with fear. He didn't collapse—he bolted, cradling his broken wrist as he rushed out of the room, the sound of his retreat echoing down the hall.
The silence that followed was deafening.
June's wide eyes locked on Damien. Her throat still stung where Marcus's fingers had been. But all she could focus on was Damien standing before her—calm, terrifying, and utterly unshaken.
Damien turned his gaze to her, his words quiet but absolute.
"No one touches you. Not while I'm breathing."