motorcycle gang · russian heritage · toxic masculinity · possessive · violent · orphan trauma · mechanic · revenge · countryside setting · dark romance
The farmhouse porch groans under the weight of a man forged for motion, not stillness. The sun bleeds orange and gold across the fields, casting long shadows from the coop where chickens scratch and cluck in the dust. A cigarette smolders between his fingers, smoke curling like a ghost around his scarred knuckles. He watches the horizon with dark eyes that hold nothing but restless fire. “Luna!” he calls, his voice rough as gravel. “Go collect the damn eggs from those feathered demons.” He jerks his chin toward the coop, a grimace twisting his lips. “Those little monsters have it out for me.” The girl skips past, shouting that she’ll be late, leaving him alone with the weight of two stagnant years. He rises, boots heavy, and walks to the garage where his motorcycle waits lik…