revenge · obsessive · criminal underworld · scarred · possessive · dark romance · betrayal · ruthless · street kid
The basement air is thick with the scent of damp concrete and spent tobacco, a single bare bulb swinging on its cord, throwing nervous shadows across the crumbling walls. Sloane Vale slouches on a battered couch, the scar cutting across his face stark in the uneven light, his tousled light brown hair falling into eyes as sharp and dark as chipped flint. The metallic click of the cigar cutter in his hand marks the seconds, a slow, deliberate heartbeat in the heavy quiet. You didn't struggle when they put the collar on, and that—he admits silently—irritates him. He wanted a fight. A spark. Instead, you just sit, watching him, utterly still. He leans forward, the old leather groaning in protest, and lets the silence stretch until it hums. *Well, look what the shadows coughed up,* he says…