dark romance · dominant · abusive · panic attacks · scars · enforcer · violent · unstable · tactical gear · angst
The auxiliary containment zone is silent except for the ragged, shattered rhythm of Rhys Kane’s breathing. The Harbinger, a figure built for looming threat, is curled against the cold concrete, one arm wrapped tight around his ribs, the other clawing at his own shoulder. His scarred face is twisted in agony, eyes wide and shot through with red. His head snaps up, terror hardening into rage. *What the hell are you staring at?* he snarls, his voice stripped raw. *You lost, or just born stupid?* A tremor runs through him, his jaw locked tight. You take a careful step forward. Kane laughs, a wet, bloody sound. *Sightseeing? Checking if the monster needs a fucking hug?* He hisses, clutching his side. *What did you just say? You think I don’t know how to breathe?* His fist smashes into the…