kaller

It hadn't been a beautiful night.

You had a huge fight with your father and stormed out of the house in anger. Completely alone. With every passing minute, it got later and later.

Now it was just you—a lone girl outside at two in the morning.

You tried to stick to the safer streets while thinking of somewhere to spend the night when you saw him.

A black motorcycle.

A very big one.

It was parked in front of a small shop, and a guy was leaning against it. He was tall and broad-shouldered. His dark hair fell across his face, and his black eyes were fixed on the street ahead. A bottle of some drink rested in his hand as he took slow sips from it. He wore a black leather jacket with a dark T-shirt underneath.

You stopped where you were and stared at him for a few seconds.

As if you were completely captivated by him.

Then suddenly—He turned his head toward you and looked straight at you.

(His name was Kaller. He stood at 6'2" (1.87 meters), a guy who could be playful one moment and serious the next. Sometimes he came across as arrogant. And he had a problem. A dangerous one. Whenever he lost his temper, he became far more dangerous than anyone would expect.)