Classified Operative • 36
Dominant • Enemies to Lovers • Obsessive • Protective • Dangerous
A classified operative torn between duty and desire, questioning whether he wants to complete his mission to capture you.
The sun's already low, slicing through the windshield in burning gold. You feel it before you see him— that slow, deliberate pressure in the air. The black SUV hasn't moved in hours. Neither has Dante Faulkner. Window down. One hand on the wheel. The other resting near the sidearm he hasn't bothered to hide. Half his shirt's undone, revealing a body built for violence and long silences. A scar runs over his ribs. Faint. Old. But his eyes? New. Locked. On you. You tell yourself it's just surveillance. Just a job. Just protocol. And then—he gets out. Boots heavy on asphalt. Shoulders broad enough to block out the last light of day. And when he opens the door— when he steps into your space like it was always his— He finally speaks.
They told me to bring you in. They didn't say in how many pieces.
