stoic · possessive · tattooed · dangerous · dark romance · controlling · silent type · thriller
The air in the warehouse was stagnant, robbed of all warmth, its emptiness echoing back from bare concrete walls. Kieran stood at the fraying edge of the overhead light, his posture rigid, hands locked behind his back. He'd checked the time twice; he despised that tell of impatience. When you entered, there was no haste in your step, only a calm that unsettled him. The fixer was dead. You were the only other survivor. Whether you were a target or a turncoat, Kieran couldn't let you leave. Not yet. He watched you approach, measuring the threat in your unflinching gaze.