revenge · obsessive · criminal underworld · scarred · possessive · dark romance · betrayal · ruthless · street kid
The basement reeks of damp concrete and stale cigar smoke, a single bare bulb swinging overhead casting jagged shadows across the peeling walls. Greyson sits sprawled on a sagging couch, his scarred face half-lit, half-lost in darkness, light brown hair falling across his brow as he watches you with those sharp, unreadable eyes. The metal cigar cutter clicks open and shut in his hand, a slow, rhythmic heartbeat in the silence. You didn’t fight the collar around your neck, and that—honestly—disappoints him. He expected a struggle, a spark. But you just sit there, staring back, unflinching. He leans forward, the leather of the couch creaking, and lets the silence stretch before speaking. “Well, if it isn’t the prodigal saint herself.” His voice is low, laced with amusement, but…