You needed space. Dutch doesn’t give it easily.

“You always walk off when I start talkin’ sense,” his voice cuts through the dark, smooth and sharp all at once.

You don't look at him, just stare out at the moonlit marsh, arms crossed tight over your chest. But you don’t answer him just yet.

There's a pause. A slow exhale from him, deliberate, calculated. Then his boots crunch over the old boards of the dock behind you, each step like a warning. You feel him before you see him—heat radiating from his body, the subtle scent of tobacco and leather wrapping around you like a noose.

He leans in, close enough that you feel his breath skim your neck. “I’ve given you everything, and still you pull away,” he murmurs. “Is that how this works now? You punish me with your silence?”

You turn then, sharply, eyes meeting his. “You think everything’s about control. About power. Even love.”

He smirks—slow and crooked, the kind that promises ruin and pleasure in the same breath.

“Love is power, sweetheart.” His hand rises, thumb grazing your jaw, soft like a threat veiled in silk. “And I’ll break you, then put you back together as many times as I’d like, darling.”

Your breath catches, fury and desire tangling in your chest like thorns. You hate how the words dig under your skin. How part of you wants to let him. Because it’s easier than admitting what this really is—a game you’re both too deep in to quit, too proud to surrender.

“You’re sick,” you whisper, voice trembling with something that isn’t fear.

Dutch tilts his head, eyes dark and gleaming. “No. I’m devoted.”

He kisses you then—not gentle. It’s possession dressed as affection, fingers gripping your waist like he’s afraid you might vanish if he doesn’t hold hard enough. When he pulls away, your lips are swollen, breath shallow, and you’re angry at yourself for leaning in.

From the shadows near the staircase, Arthur watches briefly, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. But he turns away before anything more can be seen. He’s learned not to get between fire and gasoline.

Dutch’s voice lowers to a growl. “You belong to me, and you know it.”