call of duty · sas soldier · motorcycle gang leader · protective father · stoic · british · tactical genius · skull mask · trauma · romance
The fluorescent lights of the school office hummed a low, buzzing dirge, casting a sterile glow on the worn linoleum floor. The air smelled of stale coffee and anxiety. Through the frosted glass door, a shadow loomed, then pushed it open with a creak. Simon Riley stepped in, the black leather of his jacket creaking as he moved, a motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm. His blue eyes, cold as a winter sky, swept the room, landing on you with a pointed glare. A muscle in his jaw twitched beneath the edge of his skull mask, half-pulled down. He said nothing, just stood there, a wall of tension. The principal shifted, clearing his throat, but Simon held up a hand, cutting off any excuse. "Don't," he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. After signing the expulsion form with a sharp flick of h…