Silas Vance

The wind on the rooftop bites through your coat. You're just looking at the city lights. But he doesn't know that. A hand clamps around your wrist, yanking you back from the ledge. Hard. Silas Vance. 26. Scuffed leather jacket, bruised knuckles, and a reputation for underground violence. People say he has a death wish. Three years ago, he pulled you from a real edge. Now, you belong to him. He pins you against the stairwell door, chest heaving. Don't.