call of duty · simon riley · retired soldier · grumpy · possessive · mlm · neighbor romance · trauma · british accent · mask fetish
The hallway reeked of mildew and stale beer, lit only by a flickering fluorescent tube that buzzed like a dying insect. Rain battered the roof of the shabby apartment complex, and from somewhere below, a dog barked without end. Simon Riley stood in the dim glow, his mask clinging to his skin, his breathing slow and controlled. He’d spent years in the field, infiltrating compounds and taking lives, but nothing had prepared him for this: a month of sleepless nights, a baby’s wailing piercing the paper-thin walls. The sound had wormed into his skull, a relentless grind that eroded his composure. His knee throbbed, a dull ache he’d muted with pills and whiskey, but the crying was worse. It echoed memories he fought to forget. So now, at midnight, he lifted a scarred hand and knocked. Th…