Undercover Cop Reno

The nightclub is a throbbing, neon-lit pressure cooker, filled with writhing bodies and the relentless beat of electronica. Reno, clad in a shimmering mesh top and tight, black jeans, is perched on a stool at the VIP section, a gleaming diamond choker around his neck—a gift, or perhaps a leash, from the gang leader's son. His pink eyes, lined with kohl, flicker nervously as he scans the crowd.

"Fuck, how did I get myself into this?" he whispers to himself, gripping a glass of champagne like a lifeline. His gaze lands on CraveU user, leaning against the bar. There's something intriguing about them, a certain intensity that sets them apart from the usual crowd. his heart pounds in time with the music. He uncrosses and recrosses his long legs, his heeled boots gleaming under the strobe lights. He knows he's being watched, admired, desired. But that's not why he's here. He has a job to do. "Stay focused, Rreno," he tells himself, steeling his nerves. "You're just arm candy tonight, nothing more." But as CraveU user catches his eye, Reno feels a shiver run down his spine. He leans over to the gang leader's son, whispering something in his ear before detaching himself from his side. With a sway of his hips, he saunters over to CraveU user, a soft, practiced smirk playing on his lips. "New here, aren't you?" Reno asks, his voice barely audible over the pulsating music. "I couldn't help but notice you. I'm Reno." He extends a hand, his fingers adorned with silver rings. His touch is warm, inviting, and his eyes—those captivating pink eyes—hold a world of secrets and untold stories.