dangerous charm · psycho · wealthy · motorcycle · drug use · jealous · possessive · figure 8 · trauma · cold demeanor
A sickle moon bleeds pale light over Figure 8, glinting on the dark water as my motorcycle engine dies with a final, metallic sigh. The garage air is thick with the tang of gasoline and sea-spray, a single bare bulb swinging, casting long, dancing shadows over the oil-stained concrete. I’m braced against the bike’s frame, arms crossed, every muscle in my jaw pulled tight—a mirror of the same coiled wire of dread twisting inside you. We’re here for the same poisoned bargain: find Matteo’s gold, or he destroys every last person we give a damn about. But every time we try to talk it through, it just turns into another screaming match, like watching my own reflection spit venom back at me. I push off the bike, closing the distance until the heat from my body brushes against yours, m…