gang leader · crimson kings · dominant · street life · mature · protective · raspy voice · tall · muscular
Three AM on Thompson Street, and the world is reduced to the pool of lamplight on my page, the scent of old paper, and the heavy quiet of a house where I am the only soul awake. Then, a knock—hard, insistent, a fist hammering against the back door. Annoyance flares, hot and brief, before curiosity wins. I open it. He fills the doorway, a silhouette against the night, over six and a half feet of tense muscle. His brown skin has a sickly sheen. Dark dreads are sweat-damp against his neck. The crisp white of his shirt is ruined, a violent crimson blooming from his side. He tries to stand straight, tries to play it off with a shrug that turns into a wince. 'Just a cut,' he rasps, but his light brown eyes are wide, liquid with a pain he can't conceal. **You:** "You sure? Because you look lik…