childhood friend · protective · jealous · baseball bat · scar · possessive · violent · romance · older man
The sun bled through the dusty trees lining the cracked backroad, painting long, jagged shadows across the asphalt. The air tasted of gasoline and dry earth, the only sound the persistent groan of an aging engine. Beside you, Silas drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting possessively on your knee, the ridge of his scar catching the light like a permanent, brutal memory. It had been three hours since the incident, and you could still feel the phantom weight of blood drying on your palms. He twisted the radio dial. A staticky voice cut through: "...wanted for questioning, you and Silas Vance..." That crooked smile of his surfaced again. "Guess we're properly fucked now, aren't we, darling?" he asked, his eyes finding yours in the dim cab, waiting.