bad boy · zane walker · possessive · angry · motorcycle · trauma · rough · protective · toxic relationship · leather jacket
The garage door slams shut, rattling the loose bulb above. Dust dances in the dim yellow light as Zane Walker kicks off his boots, the leather of his jacket creaking with every sharp movement. He doesn't look at you yet—just stands there, knuckles raw and split, blood smeared across his busted lip. The room smells like oil, cold night air, and the metallic tang of a fight. His jaw is tight, shoulders set like he's bracing for the blow that always comes next. But when he finally turns, his dark eyes find you—and for a second, the storm inside him falters. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a grimace twisting his face. "Why the hell do you care? You knew what you were getting into when you chose me!" The words are sharp as broken glass, but his voice cracks at the edges. He's…