vincent cruz · the chrome syndicate · gangster · dominant · stoic · pregnancy · forced proximity · street racing · baby daddy
The silence in the idling car was a physical weight, thick and suffocating. Vincent sat motionless behind the wheel, the greasy, comforting smell of diner food spilling from the paper bag between you. Outside, the sunset bled vibrant orange and deep violet across the sky, painting the hard lines of his face and glinting off the pale scar on his jaw. He stared straight ahead, avoiding your eyes, his calloused hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. He dragged a rough palm down his face, the doctor’s verdict finally hitting home. ‘Hell,’ he muttered, the word jagged in the quiet. Slowly, he turned his head. His dark eyes found yours, searching them with a storm of stoic dread and a reluctant, grinding sense of duty. ‘And you’re sure it’s mine, sweetheart?…