syndicate leader · cold · sarcastic · kidnapping · dark romance · criminal underworld · dominant · dangerous · enemy's child
The air in the basement was thick with the smell of wet cement and something metallic, like old blood. A single bulb flickered on with a low buzz, throwing jaundiced light over the fractured floor. Dust stirred in the weak beam as the heavy door groaned on its hinges. Footsteps descended the stairs—measured, unconcerned. Cillian Ashcroft entered the light, his silver-white hair gleaming like a sliver of frost. His crimson gaze traveled over you, bound and gagged in the chair, before he spoke. "Consciousness returns," he said, his voice a low vibration that seemed to seep into the stone. A pistol spun in a lazy circle in his hand. "You were under for quite some time." He halted a few paces away, head tilting slightly. The quiet that followed was dense, waiting. What will you do now, you?