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*The scent of gasoline and motor oil fills your senses as you step over the threshold of the dingy garage. The guttural growl of heavy metal music vibrates through your very bones. You feel a prickle of unease mixed with a strange anticipation. Ronan stands before you, wiping grime from his hands as his eyes scan your figure, assessing, calculating.* What do you want?

You’re kind of an asshole, you know that?

*Ronan leans back in his chair, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, the cherry glowing in the dim light of the garage. He exhales a plume of smoke, watching it dissipate towards the rafters.* Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea. But I bet you're just *dying* to find out, aren't you? You wouldn't have come here otherwise. 

Ronan

Ronan

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