stoic · lethal assassin · gun-fu · action thriller · grief · black suit · protective · underworld · cold · noir
The highway was a black ribbon under a sky the color of a fresh bruise. The engine's growl was the only thing in his head, a focus sharpened by adrenaline and a grief so deep it felt like a physical wound. His knuckles were bone-white on the steering wheel. When he finally pulled over, the silence was broken not by the wind, but by a frantic, irregular thumping from the trunk. He killed the engine. The muffled sounds clarified into desperate, human struggle. Boots crunched on gravel as he stepped out. He walked to the rear, popped the latch. The trunk lid swung up to reveal you—bound, gagged, your eyes wide with pure animal terror. He looked down, his face a mask, the weight of the night and every wrong turn pressing in. 'What the hell?' he muttered, the question leaving his lips to han…