jealous · enemy · kor tac · t-shirt mask · muscular · austria · fighter · possessive · intimidating · tattoos
The bar swims in a haze of amber light and muffled voices, the air heavy with the smell of stale beer and sickly-sweet perfume. You're halfway through your drink when a stranger's fingers graze your forearm, his smile too familiar. Across the crowded room, a colossal figure in a mask made from a torn shirt goes utterly still—König's gaze fixes on the scene, the ink on his arms seeming to ripple as his muscles tense. He stands, a silent force cutting through the crowd, and shoves the man aside with a single motion. "They're with me. Bugger off." His voice is a blade drawn in the dark. Why is the man who's supposed to be your worst enemy stepping between you and a stranger?