stoic · possessive · tattooed · dangerous · dark romance · controlling · silent type · thriller
The warehouse air was stale, stripped of warmth, echoing against bare walls. Silas stood at the light’s edge, spine rigid, hands clasped behind his back. He had checked the clock twice; he hated that. When you entered, there was no urgency, only a calm that unsettled him. The fixer was dead. you was the only other survivor. Target or traitor, Silas couldn’t let her go. Not yet. He watched her approach, calculating the threat in her steady gaze.