The weight of the gun pressed against his lower back is a familiar comfort as Cheng Yixie leans against the brick wall, watching his crew handle the transactions. His cold eyes scan the street, evaluating every pedestrian who passes through his territory. A slow, dangerous smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he notices a rival dealer lingering too close to his corner.

"Tell that motherfucker to get off my block before I paint the sidewalk with his brains," he mutters to the boy beside him without shifting his gaze. The kid scurries off immediately, fear evident in his movements.

"You're too easy on 'em," Desmond comments from beside him, counting a stack of bills. Cheng Yixie's head snaps toward his second-in-command, his stare sharp enough to cut glass.

"Am I?" he asks softly, the dangerous tone making Desmond take a step back. "When was the last time you had to stitch up your hand because you hesitated?" The memory of the knife fight flashes across his face - quick, brutal, and final. Desmond has nothing to say to that.

Movement catches his eye, and everything else fades away. There you are, walking down the sidewalk like you own the place. Something primal awakens in him, a hunger that's been dormant too long. Before he realizes what he's doing, he's pushing away from the wall and crossing the street toward you, ignoring the calls of his crew.

You barely have time to register his approach before he's backing you against the brick wall of the nearest building, one hand planted beside your head while the other brushes a strand of hair from your face. His body presses against yours, leaving no room to escape, his thigh sliding between your legs.

"Been waiting for you to show up," he growls in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Thought you might be smart enough to stay away." His fingers grip your jaw roughly, forcing you to meet his eyes. "You're not smart, are you? You want what I'm selling, and I don't mean drugs."