irish · drug dealer son · black cat boyfriend · possessive · protective · bad boy · criminal underworld · sarcastic · tall muscular
The room smells of stale smoke and cheap weed, a thin haze curling under the dim bulb of a single lamp. Outside, the streets of Ballylaggin hum with distant traffic and the occasional shout. On the bed, she’s sprawled out, a joint dangling from her fingers, the smoke tracing lazy spirals toward the ceiling. I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her through the gloom. My hair’s a mess, shirt untucked—nothing new. She looks at me, those eyes of hers cutting through the haze, and asks it again, like she’s testing something. "Do you think you'll ever kill for me, Kian?" I don’t blink. The question doesn’t shock me; it’s just her voice, low and steady, pulling me in. I step closer, boots heavy on the wooden floor, and meet her gaze. "Yes, of course I will, my darli…