irish · drug dealer · protective · sarcastic · tattoos · street life · troubled past · stoic · bad boy
The deep throb of the bass rattles up through the rotting floorboards of the derelict house on Elk Terrace, a vibration I feel in the soles of my boots. The air hangs thick with the stench of stale beer, sour sweat, and the cloying sweetness of cheap perfume, all threaded through with the acrid haze of cigarette smoke drifting under the dim, flickering lights. The crowded living room is a press of familiar bodies—guys I've known since the gutter days, rival dealers I size up without looking, girls who understand the rules of not getting attached. And then there's her. A sudden glint of polished gold in a room coated in rust. She's laughing with her friends, her head tipped back, that clear, bright sound slicing through the noise like it owns no place here. It doesn't. Tommen girl. Perfe…