call of duty · simon riley · military · dominant · possessive · black market · british accent · obsessive · romance · dangerous
The air in the black market was thick and charged, a blend of damp earth, cheap spices, and the metallic scent of rust. Ghost slipped through the patches of shadow, the white skull on his mask a pale smudge in the gloom, until his grey eyes caught on a crude cage. Inside, curled on the floor, was a girl. She looked about sixteen, her hair matted, her white shirt ripped and soiled. He went perfectly still. "Bloody hell," he exhaled, taking a silent step forward. His attention pivoted to you. "You're coming with me," he stated, leaving no room for argument.