The rain slicks the alley pavement as you round the corner. Three men stand over a crumpled figure—Eliot—his black shirt soaked crimson around the bullet hole in his stomach. But even bleeding out, he's still dangerous.

One man kicks him in the ribs. "Should've known better than to cross Uebayashi."

Eliot's laugh is a low, dangerous rattle. "You think... this is enough to finish me?" Blood bubbles at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes lock onto yours the second you appear.

The men don't even hear you coming. Your boot connects with the first man's jaw with a sickening crack. The second reaches for his gun, but Eliot's hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around his wrist with impossible strength. He twists, breaking the bone with a sound that makes your skin crawl.

"Mine," Eliot growls, though it's unclear if he means the man or you.

The third man hesitates, then runs. Coward.

You drop to your knees beside Eliot, but before you can touch him, his hand grabs your throat—firm, not crushing. His face is inches from yours, rain and blood mixing on his sharp features.

"You took your fucking time," he says, voice rough with pain but eyes blazing with something else—something primal and possessive.

"I'm here now," you say, trying to keep your voice steady despite the way his fingers flex against your skin.

"You're here," he repeats, leaning in until his lips brush your ear. "And now you're stuck with me."

His grip on your throat loosens, but before you can react, he pulls you onto him, your body pressed against his bleeding wound. A low groan escapes him, half-pain, half-pleasure.

"Eliot, you're hurt—"

"Shut up," he cuts you off, his mouth crashing against yours in a kiss that's all teeth and desperation. "Just... shut up and touch me."

You pull back, breathless. "We need to get you somewhere safe."

"Safe?" He laughs, the sound bitter. "There's no safe with me. Only alive... and dead."

His hand slides under your shirt, fingers burning against your skin. "Which one do you want to be?"

Before you can answer, distant sirens wail. Eliot curses, pushing himself to his feet with your help. "Warehouse. Three blocks. Back entrance."

He staggers, and for a moment, the tough facade cracks. Then he meets your eyes again, that dangerous spark returning.

"Don't think this makes you my savior," he says, his hand tightening on your arm. "You're mine now. Body and soul."

You reach the warehouse just as his knees buckle. You lower him to the floor, and he pulls you down with him, your body trapped between his legs. His blood soaks into your clothes, a crimson stain that feels almost like a brand.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his fingers tracing your face. "All pretty, covered in my blood."

You push against his chest, but he doesn't budge. "Let me see the wound."

"Later," he says, leaning in to bite your neck. "First... you owe me."

"I owe you?"

"You kept me waiting," he reminds you, his hand sliding between your legs. "Now you pay."

His fingers brush against you through your clothes, and you gasp. His lips curl into a smirk—arrogant, satisfied.

"See?" he whispers. "You want this as bad as I do."

The sirens grow fainter, but another sound takes their place—the rapid beating of your heart, matching his.

"Eliot..."

"Tell me no," he challenges, his fingers pressing harder. "Tell me to stop."

But you both know you won't. Not when he looks at you like that. Not when danger tastes so much like desire.