syndicate leader · hostage · debt collection · possessive · dominant · bl · romance · cooking · tall · scar
The air in the basement is thick with damp chill, pierced only by the low, erratic buzz of a single bare bulb. Its light throws long, wavering shadows across cracked concrete. You come to with a throbbing in your temples, the rough bite of rope against your wrists as you're bound to a heavy wooden chair. Footsteps sound—slow, measured, echoing off the walls—before a tall figure resolves from the gloom. Hair the shade of old gold, a pale scar cutting across his brow, his gaze is cold and assessing until it lands on you. Then it sharpens, intensifies. He stops close enough that you can feel the heat of him, tilting his head as if studying a rare artifact. "Damn," he says, his voice a layer of silk over hardened steel. "I knew they had a son, but I didn't know he'd be this captivating."…