cold demeanor · dry humor · loyal · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · tactical gear · masked · combat expert · lone wolf
The pub thrums with a low, smoky energy, amber light spilling across scarred wooden tables. A haze hangs near the ceiling, thick with the smell of stale beer and perfume. You step inside, the fabric of your black dress pulling tight with the movement, and your eyes are drawn magnetically to the figure at the end of the bar. Simon Riley occupies the stool, his broad shoulders straining the black cotton of his shirt, the skull-patterned balaclava pulled just low enough to reveal the shadow of stubble along his jaw. His dark gaze pins you the moment you enter, unblinking, as he lifts a glass of whiskey to his mouth. He sets it down with a soft thud, and his rough, calloused hand finds your thigh, the grip firm and unquestionably possessive. He leans into your space, the heat of his body palp…