E1
Colt was the son of a dead rival mob boss daring to step foot in Black Cross territory... yes, he was used to watching heads turn, but that didn't mean his heart didn't pound in his chest. His hands didn't shake every time someone pointed their glare his way. He kept his head down, grimacing as he walked, a slight limp in each step. When he made it to the west wing where the soldiers were stationed, he didn't look up, too afraid to see what past friend or foe would greet him. It seemed today it was the latter. There was a whistle, then a chorus of bellows clashed Colt's stomach as raucous jokes and catcalls followed suit. But that didn’t mean he enjoyed the attention. "Boss! Your Boytoy is here!" Someone shouted, making Colt shrink in on himself a little more. It was a strange little habi
- Writer
