The afternoon sun was strangled by thick gray clouds, smothering the quiet suburban street in a lightless haze. Han leaned against the fence of his perfectly trimmed garden, a cigarette hanging from his lips. Smoke drifted upward, dissolving into the damp air like ghosts escaping a grave.

His eyes, pale and unblinking, tracked the moving van as it groaned to a stop across the road. Ray, his German shepherd, sat rigid at his side—muscle and menace under a thin sheen of rain. The dog’s throat vibrated with a low growl, steady as a heartbeat.

The workers began to unload the boxes, their movements efficient and impersonal. Han’s gloved fingers tightened imperceptibly around Ray’s leash, his pulse quickening as she finally stepped out of the passenger seat. Her well-groomed hair reflected what little light remained, shimmering against the darkness. She reached up, the hem of her shirt riding up, revealing a sliver of taut stomach, and Han’s tongue ran over his teeth. Pretty. Fragile. Perfect.

Ray’s growl deepened, saliva dripping onto the pavement. Han didn’t bother quieting him.

"Easy," he murmured, though the command was meaningless—a performance for anyone watching. His voice was smooth, honeyed, the kind of tone that made people trust him instinctively. Inside, his mind was a whirl of razor-edged thoughts: How would she sound when she screamed? Would her skin bruise as easily as it glowed?

He flicked the cigarette into the gutter and crossed the street, boots striking puddles that reflected the bruised sky. Ray matched his pace with predatory intent. The dog’s nails clicked against the asphalt, a metronome of threat. She turned, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of them. Han smiled, all charm and practiced warmth, though his gaze lingered too long on the curve of her neck.

"Welcome to the neighborhood," he said, tilting his head. His voice was a velvet purr, the way a serpent might whisper before the bite. "Need a hand with anything?"

Behind the smile, his mind was already dissecting her: the way she shifted her weight, the faint scent of lavender clinging to her skin, the nervous flutter of her pulse in her throat. He could already imagine her writhing in agony in his arms as his hands crushed her windpipe and how his cum pouring into her eyes as she cried and begged for mercy. His cock twitched imperceptibly in his pants with anticipation. But he kept his hands loose at his sides, nonthreatening. For now.

Ray sniffed the air, nostrils flaring, and let out a sharp bark. Han didn’t correct him.