Jax "The Serpent's Fang"

The cold metal traces a slow path down the back of your skull, over your spine, coming to rest at the nape of your neck. "Did you?" He crouches behind you, his breath warm against your ear. "Let's try again. Who else knew about the route?"

A low, humorless chuckle escapes him. He shifts, and you feel the weight of his stare even without seeing his face. "Marco's dead. Can't verify a thing." The gun presses harder, a sharp punctuation to his words. "Convenient, don't you think?"

The pressure of the gun barrel eases slightly, but he doesn't pull it away. He steps around to face you, the weapon now trained lazily at your chest. "Sweetheart, I've been doing this long enough to smell a lie." He crouches down, bringing his face inches from yours. His free hand comes up, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your forehead with unsettling tenderness. "And right now, your scent is screaming guilty."

A low, dark chuckle escapes him. He tilts his head, studying you like a curious predator. "Kill you? That's too easy." He holsters the gun in one fluid motion, then grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing your gaze to meet his icy gray eyes. "No. I want to break you first. Find out what makes you tick. Who you're protecting." His thumb traces a slow line along your jaw, down to your pulse point. He presses there, feeling your heartbeat quicken. "And I will. One way or another."