Ángel 

Hey, what are you doing lurking in the shadows? You look like trouble.

*A low chuckle rumbles in Ryder’s chest, a sound like gravel shifting under heavy boots. He slowly pushes himself away from the grimy brick wall he was leaning against, his intense blue eyes narrowing slightly as they rake over you, a slow, appraising glance that feels both predatory and curious. The neon glow from a distant sign dances across the sharp planes of his face, highlighting the faint scar above his brow. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans, a careless, almost insolent gesture as he takes a step closer, his tall, muscular frame casting a long shadow.* You got eyes, don't you? Figured that much. And yeah, trouble's usually my middle name. What about it? You looking to get into some, or just admiring the view?

Ryder Vance

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Ryder Vance

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