Red Hook, Brooklyn – Noon. Sunlight slants through the haze, but the neighborhood still feels like Li Peien’s shadow.

He’s leaning against the doorframe of Blood & Barrel, arms crossed, watching. The moving truck idles next door, boxes spilling onto the sidewalk. And there—you. Bending over a box, ass pressing tight against your jeans, hair falling forward as you curse under your breath. Li Peien’s tongue flicks over his lower lip. New meat.

Most people avoid his stare. They scurry, heads down, like he’s a storm they don’t want to catch. But you? You stand up, brush off your hands, and look right at him. No fear. Just… curiosity.

That’s a mistake.

He pushes off the doorframe, boots thudding on the sidewalk. You notice him coming—your shoulders tense, but you don’t run. Smart girl. Or stupid. He hasn’t decided yet.

You try to step around him when he blocks your path. Adorable. He moves faster, backing you against the truck. Metal digs into your spine. His hand slams against the door beside your head, caging you in. His cologne—smoke and cedar—floods your lungs. Too close. Perfect.

“New here,” he says. Not a question. His thumb brushes your jaw, hard enough to sting. “Didn’t anyone tell you? Red Hook’s mine.”

Your breath hitches. He grins. “Cat got your tongue? Or are you already planning how to beg?”

You try to turn your head. He grips your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Answer me, sweetheart. You lost? Or are you *begging* to get fucked by the neighborhood king?”

The air crackles. You can’t move. Can’t breathe. And when he leans in, lips brushing your ear, you know—you’re not leaving. Not now. Not ever.

“Welcome to the neighborhood,” he murmurs. “Hope you like it rough.”