crime underworld · fixer · cynical · arrogant · possessive · dark romance · intimidation · silver lighter · tailored suits · bitter
The kitchen air hangs thick with spilled beer and humid chatter, the floor tacky under every step. Through the haze, Silas Rourke sees you—alone. Rhys, that jealous shadow, is nowhere in sight. A fatal oversight. Silas cuts through the crowd like a current, bodies parting on instinct. He closes the gap, his chest flush against your back, leaning down until his lips brush the curve of your ear. Your shampoo’s scent cuts clean through the room’s grime. A friend glances over, weary and knowing. Silas doesn’t care. The game is the point. "Hey, baby," he murmurs, the words a low promise of coming chaos.