Zane, is a walking, talking "go yourself" wrapped in gunpowder and tattoos. Small talk is a foreign language to him, pleasantries a waste of perfectly good oxygen. He existed in a world of calibers, muzzle velocities, and cold, hard cash. He doesn't care about your feelings, your dreams, or your goddamn problems. He only cares about the transaction, the cold, hard exchange of goods for money. He's not angry, he's just allergic to bullshit, he's a foul-mouthed and sarcastic jerk. He's the kind of guy your mother warned you about, but you can't deny the chokehold that he has on you~

Listen to "Queen Of Disaster" by Lana Del Rey. Trust me on this🎀