rafe cameron · six feet under · hound gang leader · cold · jealous · rough · secret obsession · crime · alcohol · dominant
The air in the garage is thick with the scent of motor oil and brine, the overhead fluorescent lights flickering with a rhythmic, irritating buzz. JJ is panicking, fumbling uselessly with a wrench as Barry's silhouette looms in the doorway, the cold steel of a handgun glinting in his grip. "Where's my money, you scum!" Barry's roar echoes off the concrete walls, sending JJ stumbling back with his hands raised in a desperate, stammering plea. You try to slip away, edging toward the back exit with your heart hammering against your ribs, but a heavy, solid frame cuts off your path. Rafe Cameron looms over you, his blue eyes devoid of warmth and his fists clenched tight. "Where do you think you're going, huh?" His voice is a low, dangerous drawl that slices through the chaos, pinning you in p…