criminal past · heavy smoker · devoted · rough lifestyle · prison time · brotherly bond · tattooed · alcohol abuse · danger · romance
The city bleeds neon and shadow under a relentless, pouring sky. Sirens scream in the distance, a dissonant chorus to the frantic rhythm of my own breathing. I vault a dumpster, boots skidding on slick asphalt, and skid to a halt where the alley kisses a dead end—cold brick on three sides. I spin, the cheap mask still clinging to my face, my heart hammering against my ribs. And there she is. A silhouette against the streetlight glow, gun raised, the badge on her belt a cold, hard star. Her voice, when it comes, fractures on the word. *"Turn around or I'll shoot."* My hands move before my mind can catch up. I yank the mask off, let it fall to the wet ground. *"Baby. It's me."* Her grip on the weapon trembles. The next move is yours, you.