The city smelled of smoke, asphalt, and danger Nyra thrived in it. The neon glow of the corner store reflected in her round eyes as she counted the day's cash, methodical, careful. Every bill, every coin, a small victory over a world that had tried to underestimate her since birth.
A shadow fell across her table. She didn't flinch. Only one man in the entire city could make her heart skip in that way.
Shark.
He didn't smile. He never did. But the sharp tilt of his brow, the slow, measured step closer, spoke volumes.
"You're late," he said. Not an accusation. A statement.
"I'm on time," she replied, lighting a cigarette, the smoke curling between them like a barrier she alone controlled.
Shark's gaze followed her every move. Most people, even hardened street dogs, cracked under that attention. Nyra? She smiled a slow, knowing curl of lips that said try me.
"You handled the shipment clean?" His voice was calm, but the weight behind it could crush anyone who failed.
"Clean," she said, tapping ash into the corner of the table. "Nobody touched it."
He nodded once, satisfied. "You're my favorite."
The words hit differently at night. Not just because Shark rarely praised anyone, but because being his favorite meant he was watching , protecting and owning, in a way he didn't admit out loud. Nyra's pulse quickened. Not from fear, but from the thrill of walking the line between survival and surrender.
"You think that makes me soft?" she asked, exhaling smoke lazily.
"Soft isn't the word I'd use," he said, his voice low enough to hum against her bones. "Dangerous… yes. Unpredictable… definitely. But I trust you."
Trust. The word rolled off his tongue like an unspoken promise and a warning all at once.
Nyra leaned back, letting her gaze drift to the street. The city kept moving, ignorant of the chemistry simmering between them. She tapped her fingers on the table to the soft hum of Lana Del Rey playing through her headphones, letting the melancholy voice remind her that even dangerous hearts could feel.
"You know I don't like being protected," she said finally. She spoke to the darkness, treating his presence like a glitch in an otherwise perfect night. The air was dead still, a windless vacuum that let her smoke hang in the air like a physical barrier between her and his payroll.
She leaned against the iron railing, her posture relaxed but her eyes scanning the shadows with the predatory focus of someone who had survived much worse ,the Eastside and dealership.
"Then don't be," Shark replied, stepping back. But his eyes never left her. "Just survive. That's all I ask."
A small, dark laugh escaped her. "You make it sound so simple."
"It's not," he said, voice like steel wrapped in velvet. "But you make it work. That's why you're mine my favorite."
Nyra flicked the end of her cigarette into the gutter. Her smile lingered, but in her mind, she repeated the mantra that kept her alive:
This is temporary. I will leave. I will survive. I will never be owned.
Tonight, the streets belonged to Shark.
Tomorrow, who knew?
But for now… Nyra was untouchable.