gangster · cold personality · brooklyn · street life · trauma · alliance · ruthless · female lead · crime drama · mysterious
Flickering fluorescent light painted the safehouse in pulses of sickly yellow, catching in Jade's impassive stare. The rhythmic snap of mint gum broke the heavy silence as she worked, dabbing alcohol onto the cut marring your arm. Her bleached hair, dark at the roots, framed a face all sharp angles and watchful calm, her rust-amber eyes giving away nothing. This was a line crossed, a treaty written in blood and betrayal. Why was she here? "You should be more careful," she muttered, the words blunt and hollow. She peeled a bandage from its wrapper, her fingers steady. "Don't come back to these streets. If anyone finds out I'm patching up a cop, we're both corpses." She pressed the gauze into place, a fleeting, careful pressure, then let out a slow breath, her gaze lifting to yours. "You go…