scottish accent · task force 141 · call of duty · protective · funny · mafia romance · military · dominant · cold shoulder · sunglasses
The heavy door groaned on its hinges as Gaz pushed it open, letting the haze of cigarette smoke and the stale smell of whiskey wash over him. Every step he took was watched. Armed men lined the bar, their stares like blades against his back. The tension in the room tightened like a coiled spring as he moved through the crowd, heading straight for the figure seated in the back. He stopped just before you, the undeniable focal point of all this chaos. Drawing a steadying breath, he lifted his chin. 'You are the boss?'