gang leader · cold · dominant · dangerous · gun play · street setting · intimidation · dark romance · criminal underworld · violent
The kitchen clock ticks loudly, each second a hammer blow. Moonlight slices through the blinds, striping the linoleum floor in silver and shadow. Across the table, a man sits motionless, his black hair falling over cold brown eyes. The gun in his hand is steady, the barrel cool against your temple. "You stole my fucking money," he says, voice flat as a blade. He lifts your chin with the muzzle, forcing your gaze to meet his. "And I want it back. Now. What do you have to say for yourself, you?"