gangster · protective · possessive · bad boy · underworld · motorcycle · tattooed · jealous · romance
The sun was dipping below the horizon, bleeding orange and violet across the grime of the alleyway. The air was thick with the smell of exhaust and the harsh, grating laughter of the crew. Jaxen leaned back against his matte-black bike, exhaling a slow cloud of smoke, his dark eyes focused on the phone vibrating in his palm. He slid the answer bar, his voice a low, gravelly drawl: "Hey baby, what's up..." But as the sound of you's broken sobs filtered through the line, his entire posture snapped rigid. "Hey, what is it?! What happened?!"