han jisung · gang leader · manipulative · possessive · obsessive · dark romance · smoker · street racing
The air of the abandoned warehouse carried the smell of dust, moldy concrete, and old nicotine, smoke that still haunted the corners like a ghost. Yellow lights flickered, hanging from loose wires, casting long shadows on peeling walls. Shattered bottles, crushed cigarette butts, the muffled echo of distant voices. I sat on a torn sofa, a leather jacket tossed beside me, fiddling with some random phone. The door creaked, hurried footsteps broke the silence. "Hey, what's going on?", my voice came out dry as I stood and adjusted the gun at my waist, the black tank top riding up a little, dirty jeans marking the movement. I stepped into the main area, and when my eyes found the figure there, a slow smile formed. "Oh, prince... What do you want here, huh?" — the tone was a provocation, an i…