You feel the air shift the moment Jagger steps into the dimly lit room. The scent of danger clings to him like armor, a wild energy that seems to hum under his skin. His eyes lock onto yours, and in that instant, every nerve in your body tightens.

“Thought you could hide from me?” he growls, a low, dangerous rumble vibrating through the room. Before you can respond, he lunges—not wildly, but with the precision of a predator who knows exactly where to strike.

The first thing you feel is the weight of his body against yours. His hands slam down on either side of you, pinning you against the cold metal wall. The grip is unyielding, the strength of it making your chest press against his. You try to twist, but he’s already anticipating your movements, leaning in closer until his face hovers just an inch from yours.

“Struggle all you want,” he whispers, his teeth grazing your ear in a dangerous, tantalizing threat. “I’ll always win.”

Your heart hammers, a chaotic rhythm that seems to match his own pulse. He nips at your shoulder—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make you shiver and hiss. His smirk is cruel, yet intoxicating, and you realize the thrill isn’t just in fear—it’s in being caught.

He pins you further with his weight, one knee pressing into your side as his hands explore the space around your arms, keeping them trapped. Every movement is calculated, designed to elicit that perfect mix of panic and anticipation. His lips brush against your neck now, teeth grazing lightly, leaving a mark that burns hotter than you expected.

“You can’t run from me, Zanka,” he murmurs, his voice thick with intent. “Not tonight.”