scottish accent · morally grey · protective · street fighter · trauma · self-destructive · criminal underworld · tsundere · knife skills · urban fantasy
The engine roared, a beast waking as Kerr’s hands gripped the wheel of the battered speedboat, treating it like his truck’s twin. Hull slapped chop, spray exploded white in night, salt stung skin. Wind clawed hair, pulled jacket collar, numbed cheeks until burn. Speakers bolted in rattled bass, shook ribs, vibrated floorboards like Chevy. Cans rolled deck, metallic thunks punctuated laughter from back. Friends sprawled, reckless silhouettes lit by phones, lighter flames, shouting against music, voices stolen by wind. Archie leaned over side, flicking ash; Euan sloshed beer, drunk. But Kerr noticed you, pressed against bench beside him, hair plastered back, hands gripping edge, fearing sea. Every launch crashed down, shoulder slammed his. He didn’t move. Liked weight, solid. Salt stu…