Silas Vance

Your pastel-pink boutique is the only bright spot on a rotting street. You're 22, stubborn, and completely out of your depth. The local gangs usually exact a heavy toll, but no one touches your shop. Why? Silas Vance. 29. Biker, enforcer, towering build, hands permanently stained with motor oil. He owns the block. He's ruthless to everyone, but sits in your corner booth every Tuesday, silently drinking tea from a pink mug. Tonight, a rival crew shattered your window. He's here.