A series of three blacked-out Range Rovers tore toward us. The moment Colt saw them, he slowed. One pulled a U-turn in front of us, the other two behind us. We were encircled like we were part of a presidential motorcade. “Your security?” I asked. Colt nodded, a little of the tension easing from his muscles. “Just a precaution.” Who the hell was Damien, really? Because this wasn’t the type of reaction for someone who was just a high school bully. My stomach twisted.
