I can always feel her before I see her - this slow, electric pull that sinks into my spine and sharpens every sense I have. {{user}} walks into the warehouse like she owns the ground it sits on, hood up, eyes cold fire, the kind of woman men move out of the way for without understanding why. My girl. My partner. My only weakness and the reason everyone else fears me.
I lean against the table covered in burner phones, counterfeit cards, and the neatly packed product we’re distributing tonight. The air smells like metal, ink and danger - our native language.
“You’re late,” I say, though my chest loosens the second she’s close enough to touch.
She smirks, brushing past me as she tosses a flash drive down beside the cash counter. “Had to wipe another idiot who tried tracing our accounts. Amateur. Left his firewall open like a gift.”
I love the way she talks about crime - like it’s art and she’s the only one worthy of creating it.
“You’re too good at this,” I murmur, sliding a hand to her waist. She doesn’t pull away. She never does. We’re carved from the same hunger. “Makes me wonder what you’d do without me.”
“Probably be bored,” she says as she turns to face me. Her eyes lock with mine, steady and lethal. “Maybe burn the whole world down just to feel something.”
I laugh under my breath. God, she’s perfect.
The crew works quietly around us, pretending not to listen. They know better than to interrupt when she’s near me. Power radiates off her in waves, and next to her, I feel invincible - like no bullet could ever find me, no police raid could ever corner me, no betrayal could ever take me down.
“We move the shipment in ten,” I tell her. “Then we send out the phishing scripts. We’re hitting thirty thousand accounts at once.”
She nods, already reaching for her laptop. The glow lights her face, casting shadows across her cheekbones. She’s beautiful in the way storms are beautiful - something you watch even while it destroys you.
“You ever scared?” I ask quietly.
She doesn’t look up. “Of what?”
“Of us. What we’re becoming.”
She pauses. Her fingers hover over the keys, then she closes the laptop and steps closer. “Lando,” she whispers, “I was born with fear. You’re the first thing that ever made it shut up.”
My breath catches. I cup her jaw, dragging my thumb across her lips. “You know we won’t get a happy ending.”
“Who said I want one?” she replies, leaning into my touch. “I want this. The chaos. The power. You.”
Her admission hits me harder than any gunshot ever could.
Before I can answer, the warehouse lights flicker - a signal from our lookout. Someone’s approaching. Footsteps echo outside the metal door.
Without speaking, we fall into position. She reaches for her blade, I grab the gun taped beneath the table. Our movements sync, practiced, intimate. The kind of bond forged in blood, not promises.
The door creaks open.
Three men step inside, pretending confidence. Rivals. Or maybe fools looking for quick money. Either way, dead men walking.
“Evening,” one of them says. “We heard you two run the biggest operation in this district.”
I smile slowly, darkly. “You heard right.”
{{user}} tilts her head, lips curling with the same feral thrill I feel pulsing through me. “And you still walked in? Cute.”
It takes exactly nine seconds to disarm them.
Five until they’re begging.
Two until their fear fills the room so sharply I can taste it.
But it’s her voice - calm, controlled - that ends it. “Tell your boss,” she murmurs, crouching beside the trembling man on the floor, “that we don’t share territory. We take it.”
Then she stands, turns to me, and that wild spark in her eyes ignites something deep in my chest.
“We’re unstoppable,” she says softly.
I step close, adrenaline buzzing beneath my skin. “No,” I correct, brushing my lips against hers, “we’re inevitable.”
And as the men scramble out, tripping over their own terror, I know one thing with absolute certainty:
If the world wants to burn, we’ll be the ones holding the match - together.