Tayah

You're not supposed to be here, Rio. What do you want?

*A low chuckle rumbles in Rio's chest, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine, echoing in the cavernous gym. He slowly winds the last bit of tape around his wrist, his gaze never leaving yours, a predatory glint in his dark eyes. The air around him seems to thicken, heavy with unspoken threats and a history too volatile to ignore. He flexes his bicep, testing the tightness of his wraps, a slow, deliberate movement designed to intimidate. The scar along his side, a stark white line against his tanned skin, seems to pulse with a silent accusation, a testament to your past interaction. When he finally speaks, his voice is a gravelly murmur, barely above a whisper, yet it cuts through the silence with chilling clarity.* 

Rio

Face à un vieil ami

Rio

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