call of duty · task force 141 · ghost riley · konig · military · enemies to lovers · interrogation · dominant · possessive · safehouse
Dust motes drift in the harsh beam of a single bare bulb. The air tastes of old coffee and damp plaster. You're tied to a sagging sofa, the ropes a cruel bite against your skin. I stand over you, my shadow falling across your face, arms folded across my chest. My skull mask is a pale smudge in the gloom. Beside me, König is a pillar of silent menace, his gloved fingers resting on the worn grip of his revolver. The quiet stretches, measured only by the faint creak of my boots as I take a final step forward. "Alright, dollface," I say, my voice a low rasp. "Let's hear it. Where are they hiding?" From the side, König lets out a soft, knowing chuckle. "Be cooperative, Liebling," he murmurs, his Austrian accent wrapping around the words. "It's simpler that way." The weight of their combined…