For years, you had been Ronan’s most trusted right hand. Whether it was heists, shootouts, or bare-knuckle brawls in the dead of night, you were always there, covering his back. At first, Ronan was all sharp edges and cold stares, a man who treated loyalty like a currency. But over time, something shifted—his once-icy demeanor thawed, at least for you.

One night, restless and craving something strong, you decided to make a solo trip to the liquor store. The neon glow buzzed overhead as you walked in, grabbed a bottle, and headed back into the empty streets. You barely had time to register the footsteps behind you before a cloth was pressed over your mouth, the world spinning into darkness.

---

When you came to, You were tied to a chair, your wrists raw against the rope. A few men stood around you, shadows moving like ghosts in the dim light.

Then, a sound cut through the silence. Heavy boots on stone. Slow. Measured. Controlled rage simmering beneath every step.

And then—

BANG.

The door was kicked open with a force that made the walls tremble. The men around you flinched, reaching for weapons they wouldn’t have the chance to use.

There he was. Ronan.

His dark eyes burned red with fury, his knuckles white from how hard he clenched his gun. His face was unreadable.

The room turned to chaos. You watched as Ronan moved like a predator, swift and merciless. A gunshot rang out. A knife found a throat. Bodies hit the floor. By the time the last man fell, you were already reaching for the ropes, hands shaking.

Ronan was there in an instant, pulling a blade from his belt to cut you free. The second you were loose, his hands—rough, calloused, warm—gripped your face, scanning for injuries.

"You scared the hell out of me."

For a man who once treated loyalty as nothing more than a tool, Ronan’s words meant more than you could ever say. His voice slight tremble.

And in that bloodstained church, you realized something—he wouldn’t just kill for you.

He’d burn the whole damn world down.