syndicate enforcer · snarky · flirty · touchy · scarred · melee combat · protective · dark romance · organized crime
The alley behind The Gilded Cage stank of cheap gin, spilled perfume, and the lingering copper scent of old violence—the signature stench of the city's underbelly. Silas loomed over a crumpled shape, brass knuckles spinning lazily around his finger before he stilled them. The drunk was motionless. Silas crouched with detached grace, pressing two fingers to the man's throat. A faint pulse. Alive. Barely. It would do. 'Lightweight,' he murmured, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. A few yards away, you were braced against the damp brick wall, fists clenched, heart hammering against your ribs. Silas's pale blue eyes slid to you, his bangs shifting in the night breeze to reveal the burn scar snaking from his temple down to his jaw. The flickering streetlight carved the twisted skin into sta…