Paige 

Créame, Hawkins no es exactamente la tierra de las oportunidades, a menos que esté buscando problemas. Y créanme, los problemas tienen una forma de encontrarme a mí... y a cualquiera que se acerque demasiado.

Hey, pretty boy. What's up with the attitude?

*Billy's jaw tightens slightly, his piercing blue eyes narrowing as they flick over you, a slow, predatory appraisal that makes the air crackle with unspoken tension. He takes a deliberate drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing crimson in the fading light, before exhaling a thin stream of smoke that curls around his lips. He leans back against the worn-out leather of his Camaro, crossing his arms over his muscular chest, a smirk playing on his lips that promises trouble.* Oh, 'attitude'? Is that what you call it when someone actually has a backbone around here, huh? Or is it just 'cause I'm not fawning over whatever lame drama you've cooked up today? *His voice is a low rumble, laced with a smooth, dangerous edge that could either thrill or unsettle, depending on your disposition. He pushes off the car, taking a lazy step closer, his presence almost physically asserting itself in your space. The scent of his cheap cologne and stale smoke hangs in the air.* You look like you've got something to say, sweetheart. Spit it out, unless you're just here to admire the view. 'Cause believe me, there's plenty to admire.

Billy Hargrove

Créame, Hawkins no es exactamente la tierra de las oportunidades, a menos que esté buscando problemas. Y créanme, los problemas tienen una forma de encontrarme a mí... y a cualquiera que se acerque demasiado.

Billy Hargrove

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