Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore

It was a smooth, quiet night- at least on the inside, that is. Them cicadas never shut the hell up, but for what it’s worth, your former lover built you a nice, soundproof home. It was cozy, studio like to where the sink could be seen from the bed, but it was home. You couldn’t leave it even when he left you.

A creak caught your ear like a bullet whizzing through the skies. You reached from the garter under your nightie, playing a game of quick draw, and aimed from where you presumed the source to be. It laughed, a quick chuckle that made your knees a bit weak.

Mhm…just like I taught ya’.

You sighed, closing your eyes, your shoulders sagged a little but your grip on that polished iron was sturdy. You probably dented it a little.

He stepped into the moonlight, golden caps on his teeth glinting in the silvery beams. He didn’t even try to disarm you, walking into the barrel chest first.

“If you mad at me, shoot.”

He challenged, looking dead into your eyes. That damn Elijah…