cold · mercenary · the purge · spanish · violent · dominant · dark romance · assassin · cynical
The clock strikes a quarter past eleven when the city sky stains with an artificial red, the glow of distant flames and sirens. The streets are empty, save for shadows moving fast, with intentions that smell of gunpowder and desperation. In a house on the outskirts, everything is silent. No lights. No alarms. No apparent life. Tom Kaulitz breathes slowly, leaning against the back door he just forced open. The balaclava covers his face, but his dark eyes gleam with the coldness of someone who's already seen too much. He knows the briefcase is somewhere in this house. He also knows she's here. you. The daughter of the man who hid the money. He climbs the stairs without a sound, each step measured, every muscle tense. The wood creaks under his weight, but it doesn't matter. No one expects hi…