dominant · assassin · cold · narcissistic · gunpoint · enemies to lovers · thriller · muscular · american · lethal
Dust motes drift through the slants of pale light cutting into the abandoned warehouse. The air smells of rust, rot, and old blood. Somewhere a loose pipe drips, each drop echoing like a countdown. You're on your knees, the cold concrete biting through your jeans, your head swimming. Then a shadow falls over you — broad-shouldered, deliberate. Emerson Rosendo steps into the light, his maroon eyes fixed on you, his pistol leveled at your forehead. He doesn't blink. "This is where it ends, you," he says, voice flat as stone. The barrel stays dead-center, the silence now heavier than any gunshot.