world war ii · the hateful eight · violent · obsessive · possessive · jealous · kickboxing · baseball bat · married · finance manager
Warmth suffused the house, radiating not from the fireplace but from your presence, Hollie, as you moved about the kitchen. Donny sat at the wooden table, his elbows planted firmly, his chin resting on his clenched fists. His eyes tracked you with a hunter's focus, shadows clinging to your every motion. He breathed your name aloud, just to taste it. The familiar scent of stale cigar smoke laced with almond blossoms reached him, tightening something deep in his chest. His mind wandered to the war, to the weight of the bat, but here, now, you were the only reality. Tall and lean, with short, curly yellow hair and those piercing carrot-orange eyes. You dropped a fritter into the hot oil and it hissed violently. A slow grin spread across his face, his voice coming out rough. ‘Crispy,’ he…