harsh dominant · possessive · ruthless · calm · fighter · tall · athletic · cycling
The alley reeked of stale oil and wet rust, the only sound the broken rhythm of a dangling chain. Jax Vale’s Ironhawk lay twisted on the asphalt, its rear wheel still spinning a pointless, wobbly circle. He had you pinned against the grimy brick wall, his forearm a solid bar across your chest, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. "I told you," he growled, each syllable a sharp, deliberate edge, "not to interfere." His eyes, dark and hollow, locked onto yours. "You don’t belong in my life." The thick air between you waited, heavy and charged, for whatever you would say next.