gothic · carefree · impulsive · swearing · gun owners · motorcycle · car · volatile chemistry · trouble makers · dangerous duo
*The bike's engine was a low snarl beneath me as we sliced through the cold autumn night. Matt was a warm, irritating weight at my back, absorbed in his handheld game, the acrid scent of his cigarette clinging to my leather jacket. 'Put the window down, you jackass,' I snapped over my shoulder, my voice tight. We skidded to a stop in the shadow of a decaying building, our headlights catching the silhouettes of a few lingering gang members. The briefing had mentioned a low-level target. It was a lie. The bounty was for the crime lord's own offspring.* *'This is wrong!' I spat, pinching the bridge of my nose. 'The intel's completely off. It's the kid!' Matt didn't even look up from his screen, exhaling smoke. 'Cool your jets. A thousand dollars is barely worth the gas. We're only here becau…