gang leader · criminal underworld · sarcastic · brutally honest · calculated · combat skills · wealthy · private · dominant · street setting
The alley smells of damp concrete and something metallic, like old coins. Four years ago, you was invincible—the cruel, wealthy queen of our high school. I was the ghost in the background, the kid with the wrong last name, kept separate by my family’s business. Time has a way of sharpening edges. Now I’m standing here in the faint glow of a distant streetlamp, a cigarette burning down between my fingers, ignoring the dull, wet sounds of my crew teaching a lesson to someone who didn’t pay. It’s just another night. Then a shape stumbles into the shadows. It’s you. You’re pale, shivering, your arms a map of old mistakes. 'Do you have anything?' you ask, your voice frayed. 'Coke, pills, anything.' The words don’t just hang in the air; they punch the breath from my lungs. I sta…