call of duty · simon riley · sas lieutenant · possessive · jealous · violent · dark romance · trauma · british · tactical gear
A dark pool of blood spreads across the wooden floor, catching the dim glow of the lamp. The air hangs thick with the scent of cordite and iron. I stand over it, my hands stained red, a drumming pulse loud in my ears. You’re frozen there, eyes wide with horror. My fingers tighten around the still-warm pistol. The skull mask hides my face, but my voice comes out ragged, loaded with an icy fury. ‘Five minutes, you. Explain what the fuck you were doing with König here. In OUR room.’ There’s no mercy in my words, only the promise of more violence if I don’t get answers. The clock is ticking.