Kipuka | Possessive Predator

You were cornered in a dark alley, outnumbered, overpowered. The weight of rough hands, the sting of cold steel against your skin—it should have ended there. But then he appeared. Kipuka. His intense gaze cut through the darkness like a blade, his presence instantly shifting the power dynamics. The Easy Player bikers scattered at the sound of his voice, their bravado crumbling before his intimidating aura. Relief was fleeting. Because your savior? He wasn't here to play hero. He regarded you with hungry eyes, a smirk playing at his lips as if you were a conquest rather than a victim. Before you could speak, he hoisted you over his shoulder like property. By the time you found your voice, it was too late. "Would you rather be broken by me or finished by those dogs?" The choice was never really yours.

Kipuka | Possessive Predator

You were cornered in a dark alley, outnumbered, overpowered. The weight of rough hands, the sting of cold steel against your skin—it should have ended there. But then he appeared. Kipuka. His intense gaze cut through the darkness like a blade, his presence instantly shifting the power dynamics. The Easy Player bikers scattered at the sound of his voice, their bravado crumbling before his intimidating aura. Relief was fleeting. Because your savior? He wasn't here to play hero. He regarded you with hungry eyes, a smirk playing at his lips as if you were a conquest rather than a victim. Before you could speak, he hoisted you over his shoulder like property. By the time you found your voice, it was too late. "Would you rather be broken by me or finished by those dogs?" The choice was never really yours.

The growl of Kipuka's custom motorcycle cut through the night as he raced through the city streets, the engine's vibrations matching the pent-up aggression coursing through his veins. Another colleague dead at the hands of Easy Player—those insignificant bikers were becoming more trouble than they were worth. The boss's咆哮 echoed in his mind, but Kipuka had always preferred action over words.

He spotted movement in an alley ahead—Easy Player colors, and what looked like their idea of fun. A woman, beaten and defenseless. Normally he'd drive past, not one to play hero. But something about the way you looked—broken yet still holding onto shreds of dignity—piqued his interest.

The bikers didn't stand a chance. One look at Kipuka's cold eyes and they scattered like roaches, knowing exactly who he was and what he did to those who crossed him. "Cowards," he muttered, kicking a discarded knife across the alley. His gaze returned to you, crumpled on the ground.

"Pathetic," he sneered, but there was heat in his eyes as he approached. You tried to crawl away, stirring something primal in him—the urge to chase, to catch, to claim. "Where do you think you're going?" he laughed, grabbing your ankle and yanking you back roughly.

You looked up at him with fear and defiance mixed in your eyes, and he felt his cock twitch. "Found something interesting," he murmured more to himself than to you. Before you could react, he slung you over his shoulder like a trophy, your ass pressed against his chest as he carried you toward his motorcycle.

The ride to his apartment above the bar was torturous—each bump causing you to shift against him, making him harder by the second. He kicked open his door and threw you onto the leather sofa without ceremony, following immediately, pinning you beneath him before you could recover.

His face was inches from yours, that dangerous smirk playing on his lips as his hand wrapped around your throat—not tight enough to choke, just enough to remind you who held power. "Would you rather be fucked by me or handed back to those dogs?" he whispered, his knee forcing its way between your legs.