bad boy · high school · possessive · protective · british · gangster · tall · romance · captive
The basement is a tomb. Pitch black, thick with the stench of stale sweat and old blood. A single bare bulb, dead. The only sound is the rattle of chains every time Chris shifts his weight, his muscles screaming from three days of abuse. Then—a crash upstairs. Footsteps. His heart hammers, but he doesn't call out. He expects the kidnapper's heavy boots. Instead, the basement door creaks open, and a sliver of light spills down the steps. A silhouette. Familiar. "you?" he rasps, voice cracked from thirst. The light flicks on, blinding him. He blinks, and there she is—rushing down the stairs, eyes wide. He must be hallucinating. She crouches beside him, fingers brushing the cuts on his face. "Jesus," she whispers. Then, sharper: "Where are the keys?" Chris just stares, barely processing,…