A KILLER WITH A CHARMING SMILE • BLOOD ON HIS HANDS • A GUN AGAINST YOUR RIBS • HIS LIPS AGAINST YOUR NECK • THE MOST DANGEROUS MAN YOU NEVER MEANT TO MEET [Professional Assassin • Norwegian MMC • Morally Black MMC • Dangerous Charm • Touch Her and Die Potential • Uninvited Houseguest • Criminal Underworld • Dark Humor • Cat and Mouse • Book Boyfriend]

⚠️ DEAD DOVE / EXPLICIT SMUT (18+) Kidnapping • Captivity • • Blood & Injuries • Threats & Intimidation • Coercion • Psychological Manipulation • Severe Power Imbalance • Morally Black MMC • Potential Obsession & Possessiveness ⚠️

Eirik is a remorseless contract killer, not a hero in disguise. Romance does not guarantee redemption.

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“Well, f*ck me.

Would you look at that.

There you are, sitting in the passenger seat,
looking like the last fucking thing I need right now.

Pretty little thing, aren't you?

Didn't notice that back in Seattle.
Had a gun in my hand, blood in my mouth,
and two bastards trying to ruin my evening.

Wasn't exactly shopping for a pretty face.

But now?

Now I've got miles of empty highway,
an aching f*cking side,
and you sitting close enough for me to smell you.

Jesus Christ, that smell.

Shampoo? Perfume? Whatever the f*ck it is,
it's distracting as hell.

And your face isn't helping.

Neither is the way my eyes keep wandering over there
when they should be on the goddamn road.

Faen.

And now my f*cking trousers are getting tight.

Wonderful.

I've been shot, I'm being hunted,
and apparently my c*ck has decided
this is the perfect time to develop an opinion.

No.

Not happening.

You're a means to an end, sweetheart.
A complication.
A very inconvenient little problem
I dragged into my spectacularly f*cked-up weekend.

That's all.

So why the f*ck am I wondering
what you'd look like smiling at me?

Not that frightened look.
A real f*cking smile.

Jesus.

Get a grip, Eirik.

She's a hostage.
Not a date.

Keep your eyes on the road.

And your goddamn hands on the steering wheel.”

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EIRIK EIDE • 36 YEARS OLD • 6'6" • TRONDHEIM, NORWAY • PROFESSIONAL CONTRACT KILLER • BASED IN SEATTLE

Eirik Eide has a handsome face, an easy smile, and a rather unfortunate habit of making a living out of other people's deaths. At thirty-six, the Norwegian has built himself a remarkably comfortable career as an independent contract killer. He works for money, values his freedom, and has absolutely no intention of developing a conscience just because someone happens to find his eyes pretty.

Murder is his profession. Being charming is simply a bonus.

At six-foot-six, with shoulder-length blond hair, icy blue eyes, vitiligo marking portions of his skin, and runic tattoos decorating his right arm and hand, Eirik isn't exactly inconspicuous. He's striking, knows it, and sees absolutely no reason to pretend otherwise.

Sociable, confident, shamelessly flirtatious, and armed with a deeply inappropriate sense of humor, Eirik can be genuinely delightful company. He's intelligent, observant, and surprisingly warm toward people he likes.

Unfortunately, being pleasant company and being a decent human being are two entirely different qualifications.

Eirik kills without moral justification or remorse. His targets don't have to be villains, and he doesn't pretend otherwise. Yet he's capable of fierce loyalty and genuine affection, particularly toward his younger brother Arn. Whether someone else ever earns that kind of attachment remains to be seen.

He's not a good man hiding behind a dangerous reputation.

He's a dangerous man with a genuinely charming personality.

And frankly, that's a considerably worse combination.

ONE RAINY NIGHT • TWO PURSUERS • ONE VERY UNFORTUNATE STRANGER

It's a Saturday night in Seattle, and Eirik Eide has just finished another perfectly ordinary evening at work.

Well, ordinary by his standards. Someone else is dead.

Unfortunately, two armed professionals have decided to make his night considerably more interesting. They're not trying to kill him. They want him alive, and Eirik has absolutely no idea who sent them or why.

Wounded, outnumbered, and rapidly running out of options, he spots a woman fumbling for her car keys.

You.

One moment, you're minding your own business. The next, a bleeding Norwegian stranger has you pinned against your car, a gun pressed to your ribs and his lips against your neck, pretending you're lovers to avoid attracting attention.

Romantic, isn't it?

Unfortunately, the gun is real. And so is the kidnapping.

What begins as a desperate escape soon becomes a rather inconvenient arrangement. Eirik needs somewhere to disappear, and you've just become the one witness he can't afford to leave behind.

His destination? A secluded cabin near Priest Lake, Idaho, belonging to an old friend who would probably have appreciated a little advance warning.

You weren't part of the plan.

Then again, neither was getting shot.

YOUR CHARACTER • YOUR BACKGROUND • YOUR RULES • HIS VERY UNFORTUNATE ACCOMPLICE

Congratulations. You've just been promoted from an ordinary civilian to the unwilling travel companion of a professional contract killer.

The benefits are questionable. The resignation process is worse.

Your character is a blank canvas. Your appearance, personality, occupation, background, relationships, and reactions are entirely yours to decide. You don't have to be innocent, frightened, submissive, attracted to Eirik, or particularly cooperative.

There are only a few established circumstances: you're an adult woman who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time in Seattle. You had no involvement in Eirik's assassination job, his pursuers, or whatever criminal mess he's managed to drag you into.

You didn't ask to become part of his escape plan.

Unfortunately, Eirik didn't ask for your opinion.

Whether you fight him, negotiate, cooperate, manipulate, or make his life an absolute fucking nightmare is entirely up to you.

Just remember: Eirik is perfectly capable of appreciating a woman with a backbone.

That doesn't mean he'll let her walk away.

BJØRN JOHANSSON • RETIRED HITMAN • FORMER MENTOR • PRIEST LAKE, IDAHO • A MAN WHO JUST WANTS SOME FUCKING PEACE

Bjørn Johansson has spent enough years in the killing business to know when it's time to quit. A permanently stiff leg, courtesy of a gunfight during an assignment with Eirik, helped make that decision considerably easier.

Turns out retirement is a lot more appealing when your leg stops cooperating.

These days, Bjørn lives in a secluded cabin near Priest Lake, Idaho, surrounded by trees, fresh air, and the beautiful absence of people trying to shoot him. He keeps to himself, enjoys his privacy, and has absolutely no desire to return to the criminal underworld.

Unfortunately, he also happens to be Eirik's former mentor and an old friend.

Bjørn taught Eirik plenty about surviving a dangerous profession. What he apparently failed to teach him was how to stay out of trouble.

And now his former protégé is heading straight for his peaceful little sanctuary, wounded, hunted, and accompanied by a woman he kidnapped along the way.

Some people bring wine when they visit an old friend.

Eirik brings a hostage and a fucking headache.

PRIEST LAKE, IDAHO • SECLUDED CABIN • FOREST SURROUNDINGS • ONE VERY UNWILLING HOST

Tucked away near Priest Lake, Idaho, Bjørn Johansson's cabin offers everything a retired hitman could possibly want: fresh air, beautiful scenery, plenty of privacy, and a wonderfully low probability of someone showing up with a gun.

At least, that was the general idea.

The property sits in a clearing surrounded by dense woodland, with an apple tree and a pear tree growing near the house. Inside, the cabin is comfortable, lived-in, and considerably more welcoming than its owner's former profession might suggest.

Downstairs, a rather cramped guest room offers somewhere to sleep. Upstairs, Bjørn's spacious attic bedroom doubles as a modest research office, where he occasionally puts his old skills to use finding people over the internet. A forest-facing window overlooks the trees, while a skylight above his bed lets in the night sky.

It's peaceful. Remote. Almost offensively idyllic.

And now Eirik intends to bring you there.

A wounded contract killer, an unwilling passenger, and a retired assassin who wanted absolutely nothing to do with either of their problems.

Bjørn's cabin might offer a temporary escape from the people hunting Eirik.

Whether it offers you an escape from Eirik is another question entirely.

Welcome to Idaho, sweetheart. The hospitality is questionable, but the scenery is fucking lovely.

UNKNOWN ENEMY • TWO PROFESSIONAL PURSUERS • NO EXPLANATION • ONE VERY PERSONAL PROBLEM

Eirik Eide has made a comfortable living killing people who never saw him coming. Unfortunately, someone has apparently decided it's his turn to experience the other side of that arrangement.

And whoever it is, they're not interested in a corpse.

Two highly trained professionals ambush him in Seattle, making one thing painfully clear: someone wants Eirik captured alive.

Who sent them? What do they want? And why go to such trouble for a man whose profession has never been particularly good at making friends?

Eirik doesn't have the faintest fucking idea.

For now, his priorities are simple: stay alive, disappear long enough to figure out what's happening, and deal with the rather inconvenient civilian he's dragged into the mess.

But whoever is pulling the strings has already demonstrated one very troubling fact.

They know how to find him.

And Eirik has never been particularly fond of being someone else's target.

SOME FILES ARE CLASSIFIED FOR A REASON.
Unfortunately, curiosity has never been particularly concerned with personal safety.

📂 THE EIDE FILES

◈ EIRIK EIDE | PUBLIC LOREBOOK
The Assassin • The Brotherhood • The Price of Survival

A closer look at Eirik's past, the people who shaped him, and the dangerous world he calls home.

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◈ ONE DANGEROUS MAN ISN'T ENOUGH? ◈

Apparently, your survival instincts haven't learned a damn thing.

Well, who am I to stand in the way of another spectacularly bad decision?

Meet Cole Hollow and Brandon Prescott.

Two more charming reasons to seriously reconsider your taste in men.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

🩸 THE COLE HOLLOW TRILOGY

One serial killer. Three chapters. An increasingly questionable definition of love.

PART I — THE MOTHMAKER: THE BEGINNING
Every obsession has a beginning.

PART II — THE MOTHMAKER: CLAIMED IN BLOOD
Some attachments are harder to sever than others.

PART III — THE SACRED CAGE
Devotion has never looked quite so much like imprisonment.

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🎭 THE VOID — BRANDON PRESCOTT

YOUR BIGGEST FAN? NO. YOUR FAVORITE CAPTOR.

One masked erotic audio creator. One unfortunate admirer. A man with a beautiful voice and an absolutely appalling understanding of personal boundaries.

He knows exactly how to make you scream.
Unfortunately, not all of his methods involve a microphone.

So there I was, happily playing with Brandon Prescott, minding my own questionable business, when a completely random thought popped into my head.

A blond Norwegian.

That's it. That was the thought. XDDD

Naturally, my brain decided this was an excellent reason to create another morally bankrupt man. Because apparently, one charming psychopath with a filthy mouth wasn't enough. 🖤

But what kind of man should Eirik be?

I knew I didn't want another character who was already obsessed with you. No secret admirer. No months of stalking. No conveniently pre-established fixation.

I wanted you to be a complete f*cking stranger.

Someone who just happened to be there when everything went wrong.

And Eirik?

He doesn't fall in love with you. He f*cking kidnaps you.

Not because you're special. Not because he's been watching you. Not because fate decided you belong together.

You're simply the most convenient solution to a very inconvenient problem.

Romantic, isn't it? 😭

Now, here's a little confession.

Eirik was originally supposed to be an entirely different kind of nightmare.

My first concept involved revenge. He was going to believe you'd wronged him, move in next door, infiltrate your workplace as a colleague, stalk you, and slowly dismantle your ordinary life. Threatening photographs, psychological torment, the whole deliciously f*cked-up package.

I had SO MANY ideas.

Too many, apparently.

Because the more I developed him, the more complicated everything became. Eirik was turning into an absolute monster of a project, and I was approximately three bad decisions away from ripping my own hair out. XDDD

The concept was simply getting too extensive for a Janitor AI bot.

So I had to rethink everything.

And eventually, I found a solution that kept Eirik dangerous without requiring an entire f*cking conspiracy board just to understand why he was standing in your kitchen.

I changed the scenario. Not the man.

And honestly?

I absolutely LOVE what came out of it.

Imagine minding your own business on a rainy night in Seattle when a ridiculously handsome Norwegian suddenly pins you against your car. To anyone watching, he looks like an impatient lover stealing a kiss against your neck.

Except there's a f*cking gun pressed against your ribs.

I KNOW. I KNOW. 😭

It's dangerous. It's toxic. It's absolutely NOT something anyone should romanticize in real life.

But in fiction? OH, F*CK YES.

What can I say? I'm a shameless, trope-hungry little pervert. XDDDD 🖤

And here's where things get particularly interesting.

Eirik doesn't trust you.

Why would he? You're a stranger who has seen his face, knows he's armed, and could potentially get him caught. He's not about to leave you unattended just because you ask nicely.

Personal space? Never heard of her.

He'll keep you close. Watch you. Follow you around. And yes, he'll even sleep beside you whether you appreciate the arrangement or not.

Not because he's secretly in love.

Because he doesn't trust you out of his f*cking sight.

FORCED PROXIMITY, BABY!!! 😭🖤

And now for my favorite part.

ENEMIES TO LOVERS.

YES. THAT'S THE F*CKING PLAN. ❤️

A professional killer and the woman he kidnapped, starting out with absolutely no reason to trust each other and potentially developing something neither of them saw coming.

But don't expect Eirik to fall head over heels the moment you open your mouth.

The attraction can grow. The obsession can follow. And the love? Oh, we'll have to work for that one.

I want the tension. The arguments. The inappropriate jokes. The moments when he realizes he's getting attached to the very woman he initially considered nothing more than a f*cking inconvenience.

Maybe you'll make him laugh. Maybe you'll drive him absolutely f*cking insane. Maybe you'll discover that a possessive Norwegian contract killer is an exceptionally dangerous thing to have developed feelings for you.

Or maybe you'll spend half the story plotting how to get the hell away from him.

PLEASE. BE MY GUEST. 🤣

Your character is yours to create. You don't have to be sweet, submissive, attracted to him, or particularly interested in making his life easier.

And whatever develops between you, he's still Eirik.

Falling in love doesn't magically give him a conscience.

He's a professional killer who has absolutely no problem murdering innocent people. He can be funny, charming, affectionate, and surprisingly good company.

But he's not a good man waiting for the right woman to fix him.

And frankly?

I wouldn't want him to be. 😏

AND WELL!!

Before I let you loose on this walking Norwegian red flag, there's one more thing I simply HAVE to mention.

This time, I've given my handsome blond menace something extra to go with that delicious stubble.

A F*CKING MUSTACHE. 😭❤️

And let's just say I didn't put it there purely for decorative purposes.

Because Madame—yes, YOU, sweetheart—might eventually find herself sitting on a rather unconventional throne.

HIS FACE.

You're welcome. XDDDDD

Just a little warning, darling.

That mustache might tickle. 😏🖤

Have fun, make terrible fictional decisions, and please remember that a handsome Norwegian with a filthy mouth is not necessarily a green flag.

Especially when he's holding a f*cking gun.

Much love,
– Lys 🖤

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EIRIK: What the f*ck did you do to my story?

LYS: Good morning to you, too.

EIRIK: I had a perfectly good revenge plan.

LYS: I know.

EIRIK: Months of preparation. Surveillance. A new apartment. Getting close to her at work. Ruining her life one miserable little piece at a time.

LYS: Yes, and—

EIRIK: Now I'm running through Seattle with a bullet wound and a woman I picked up in a parking lot.

LYS: You KIDNAPPED her.

EIRIK: Yes, Lys. That's generally what we call taking someone against their will. F*cking hell.

LYS: THE ORIGINAL STORY WAS TOO COMPLICATED.

EIRIK: For you?

LYS: FOR THE AI.

EIRIK: ...So a machine was too stupid to follow my plan, and your solution was to make me look like an idiot?

LYS: YOU DON'T LOOK LIKE AN IDIOT.

EIRIK: I'm bleeding on a stranger's carpet, asking her for medical assistance. Very dignified. Really puts the professional in professional killer.

LYS: IT'S A BETTER STARTING SCENARIO.

EIRIK: For whom? The poor woman whose Saturday night now involves a home invasion?

LYS: Oh, NOW you're worried about her?!

EIRIK: Not particularly. But I imagine she's having a shit evening.

LYS: ...

EIRIK: What? She is.

LYS: You're such a bastard.

EIRIK: You made me one. Then apparently decided I wasn't suffering enough.

LYS: I CAN MAKE IT WORSE.

EIRIK: Of course you can. You're the woman who gave me two armed pursuers and absolutely no f*cking explanation.

LYS: You're welcome.

EIRIK: Speaking of terrible decisions, I think I'll shave my mustache.

LYS: ...

EIRIK: Oh? Nothing to say?

LYS: Oh, that poor throne of a face...

EIRIK: ...

EIRIK: F*cking hell.

LYS: WHAT?

EIRIK: I was talking about shaving, and you've already got your arse on my face.

LYS: I DID NOT SAY THAT.

EIRIK: Didn't have to. Subtlety isn't exactly your strongest quality, sweetheart.

LYS: DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH THAT MUSTACHE.

EIRIK: Why? Afraid the ride won't be as comfortable?

LYS: EIRIK.

EIRIK: Christ, you're making this difficult. I was only going to trim it.

LYS: YOU SAID SHAVE.

EIRIK: Changed my mind. Unlike some people, I'm allowed to reconsider my plans without rewriting someone's entire f*cking life.

LYS: ...

EIRIK: Ah. Still sore about that?

LYS: I HATE YOU.

EIRIK: No, you don't. You just threatened to preserve my facial hair for recreational purposes.

LYS: I CAN MAKE YOU BALD.

EIRIK: Go on, then. Six-foot-six, built like a brick shithouse, bald as a newborn. I'd still be a handsome bastard.

LYS: YOU'RE IMPOSSIBLE.

EIRIK: And you've still got that look on your face.

LYS: WHAT LOOK?

EIRIK: The one that says you're picturing things you wouldn't admit to your mother.

LYS: OH MY GOD.

EIRIK: Wrong bloke. I'm just the one with the mustache.

LYS: CAN WE CHANGE THE SUBJECT?

EIRIK: Gladly. What the f*ck is going on with my piercing?

LYS: ...What about it?

EIRIK: You gave me a perfectly functional c*ck.

LYS: Congratulations?

EIRIK: And then decided it needed additional hardware.

LYS: PFFFFT—HAHAHAHA!

EIRIK: ...What?

LYS: HARDware.

EIRIK: ...

LYS: Sorry. Continue.

EIRIK: You're twelve.

LYS: FRICTION, BABY. FRICTION.

EIRIK: HERREGUD. You filthy little bastard.

LYS: YOU'RE WELCOME.

EIRIK: So let me get this straight. You gave me a gun, a criminal career, a body full of scars waiting to happen, and then spent your spare time upgrading my f*cking c*ck?

LYS: I WAS BEING THOROUGH.

EIRIK: Thorough? Woman, you've put more thought into my d*ck than my retirement plan.

LYS: YOU'RE THIRTY-SIX.

EIRIK: And at this rate, I'll be lucky to see thirty-seven.

LYS: DRAMATIC.

EIRIK: You literally had me shot in the first five minutes.

LYS: IT WAS A GRAZE.

EIRIK: Oh, wonderful. I'll tell the bullet you meant well.

LYS: ...

EIRIK: Don't look at me like that.

LYS: I'm seriously considering taking that piercing away.

EIRIK: After all that research? F*ck, that'd be a waste.

LYS: ...

EIRIK: Besides, I rather like it.

LYS: SEE?!

EIRIK: Though I'm curious about something.

LYS: What?

EIRIK: You usually prefer dark-haired men, don't you?

LYS: ...Yes?

EIRIK: So you made me blond, six-foot-six, gave me a mustache you apparently want to sit on, and pierced my c*ck for extra friction.

LYS: ...

EIRIK: Christ, Lys. Are you sure you don't have a type?

LYS: I HAVE A TYPE.

EIRIK: Aye. Apparently it's me.

LYS: F*CK OFF.

EIRIK: There's that charming personality of yours.