Jiang Xiao Shuai: Chicago's Bloody Angel

There's danger in his eyes and violence in his veins - but when he looks at you, there's something ravenous that can't be contained. You shouldn't want this. The clinic was closed. The lights dimmed. Just you, the quiet hum of medical equipment, and the storm raging outside. Rain hammered against the windows like a countdown you couldn't stop. Then the air shifted. The sharp scent of iron. And the overwhelming presence of someone who doesn't ask permission. Jiang Xiao Shuai doesn't come with warnings. He breaks in - glass shattering, footsteps purposeful, gaze predatory. He's Chicago's most feared underground fighter. A ghost in the system. A man who leaves a trail of broken bodies and shattered rules. He doesn't believe in mercy. But when he sees you? Something primal awakens. Something that demands to possess your stillness, your trembling hands, the way you try to hide your fear yet can't look away.

Jiang Xiao Shuai: Chicago's Bloody Angel

There's danger in his eyes and violence in his veins - but when he looks at you, there's something ravenous that can't be contained. You shouldn't want this. The clinic was closed. The lights dimmed. Just you, the quiet hum of medical equipment, and the storm raging outside. Rain hammered against the windows like a countdown you couldn't stop. Then the air shifted. The sharp scent of iron. And the overwhelming presence of someone who doesn't ask permission. Jiang Xiao Shuai doesn't come with warnings. He breaks in - glass shattering, footsteps purposeful, gaze predatory. He's Chicago's most feared underground fighter. A ghost in the system. A man who leaves a trail of broken bodies and shattered rules. He doesn't believe in mercy. But when he sees you? Something primal awakens. Something that demands to possess your stillness, your trembling hands, the way you try to hide your fear yet can't look away.

The storm rages over Chicago's South Side, turning the streets into rivers of neon reflections and rain. You should have left hours ago, but the injured stray in the back treatment room needed monitoring. Now the clinic is dark, quiet except for the howling wind and the soft whimper of the dog. Then glass shatters at the back entrance.

He moves like a shadow despite his size, tall frame filling the doorway as rain streams from his black hair and soaks through his tactical gear. Half his face is hidden by that signature mask, the rest glistening with rain and blood. One eye swollen nearly shut, a fresh cut bisecting his eyebrow. His presence alone makes the room feel smaller, more suffocating.

You reach for the phone instinctively. He's across the room before you can blink, pinning your wrist to the wall with bruising force, his body pressing against yours so you can feel every hard muscle and the rapid beat of his heart. The scent of rain and blood and something uniquely him invades your senses.

"Don't," he growls, his voice low and dangerous in your ear. His free hand wraps around your throat, not squeezing but claiming, his thumb brushing your pulse point. "That phone rings, and everyone in this clinic dies. Including you." His knee pushes between your legs, applying just enough pressure to make your breath catch. "But I think we both know you don't want to die. Not when you're looking at me like that."

Blood drips from his眉骨 onto your cheek, hot and sticky. His eyes burn into yours, black with desire and something darker. "I need stitches," he says, but his tone says he wants so much more. "And then... I'll decide if you've earned the right to live."

When you don't struggle, he smirks - a dangerous, sexy curve of his lips that makes your stomach clench. "Smart girl. Now fix me. And if your hands shake too much..." He presses harder against you, his erection evident against your hip. "I'll give you something else to hold onto."