Maverick exhales sharply, shaking his head. "Maybe. But I don’t lie.Remember that."
He walks away, disappearing down the hall. I watch Violet, waiting for her to look at me. When she finally does, her eyes are a storm I can’t quite read.
I step forward, the air thick with something electric, something sharp. "Do you have something to tell me?" My voice is steady, but inside, I’m bracing for impact.
She turns, her expression unreadable, eyes catching the city lights. “You’re the one keeping secrets,” she mumbles.
A humorless laugh escapes me. “You want my secrets? Fine.”What do I care if she knows who I am. The cat is already out of the bag anyway.
I step closer, watching for her reaction. She doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. Just waits.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to speak. "This isn’t just about me, Vi. It’s a machine, and I’m the one keeping it running. I’m responsible for hundreds of people in my syndicate, their lives, their families. Every decision I make, every deal I broker, and every life I take—it all ensures their survival.”
But at what cost?
It rots me from the inside. Every fucking second of it.
I take another step, my breath steady despite the chaos in my head.
I step closer, watching her eyes flicker, searching for any sign of fear or understanding. But inside, I'm unraveling. "But it’s not just my men handling things," I continue, my voice edged with something darker, and something real. "I don’t just sit back and call the shots—I do it all myself. I move product. High-end, designer. Custom drugs for the elite, made to order. I don’t just push it, I oversee its creation. Every batch, and every formula—it’s all mine."
Violet stiffens, hesitation flickering across her face before she shifts back a fraction. At first, I think it’s fear, and something dark inside me hums in satisfaction.
Good. Be afraid of me.
No, there’s something else in her eyes—calculating, and challenging. But her body betrays her. I see the slight tremor in her fingers before she clenches them into fists. I see the way her breathing quickens. She's backing away, not in submission, but in control, measuring her next move. She won’t give me the satisfaction of showing weakness. Not yet.
"I clean up messes for the rich—crime scenes, bodies, evidence, and whatever they pay for." My voice is steady, too steady. "I’ve stood in rooms still dripping with blood and walked out before the police even got the call."
I tilt my head, watching the tension in her jaw. "And when they need more than a cleanup, when they need someone gone, permanently?" I let the silence stretch between us before I finish, my voice barely above a whisper. "I take care of that too." The words taste like rust and regret, yet they keep spilling out. I hate myself for what I am, for the way I revel in the darkness, and for the fact that I don’t just do these things—I enjoy them.
Violet instinctively moves back again, her heels scuffing against the stone. Her arms cross over her chest, but the tension in her shoulders, and the way her fingers clench against her own skin, tell me everything. She’s pulling away, not because she’s afraid, but because she refuses to give in. She won't break eye contact. Not yet.
“I kill people, Vi.” The words are heavier than they’ve ever been. “And I don’t lose sleep over it. I like it. Hell, I love it. Watching the light drain from their eyes, and knowing I hold their last breath in my hands.” I step closer, close enough to see the way her throat moves when she swallows. “This is who I am.” I spread my arms wide.
The silence stretches between us, thick with everything unsaid. Like the fact that I am trying to save her, regardless of being a killer. Even if she hates me. Because the last time I thought I could save someone, I failed.And that failure?It gutted me. Hollowed me out, left scars too deep to heal. Love is nothing but a weakness waiting to be exploited. I learned that the hard way.And I won’t make that mistake again. And I won’t go through that again. I won’t let her get close enough to try.
Her stare pins me in place, and suddenly, I can’t breathe. Guilt claws at my ribs, tightening around my throat like a vice.
Does she see the monster I’ve let myself become? The one who has blood under his nails and shadows tangled around his soul?
And yet, there’s something else—something that twists deep in my gut. She doesn’t back down. She doesn’t beg for distance. She stands her ground, even as I see the war she’s fighting inside.But that’s the problem, isn’t it?She still thinks there’s something here worth saving. Something in me… worth saving… but I’m too far gone.
She doesn’t know it yet, but Violet is staring at the wreckage of a man who has spent years convincing himself he can never be whole again. And yet, she refuses to look away, unwavering. For the first time, I feel like I’ve met my match. And I hate how much I want her despite knowing I’ll ruin her, just like everything else I touch. Violet, with her sharp tongue and defiance, isn’t cowering. She’s standing in the fire, meeting me blow for blow, and I know I should want to push her away. But I don’t.
I’ve just had my first taste of her, and fuck, I never want it to stop. But I should. I should want to shove her away, to put distance between us before she gets too close. Before she sees the rot beneath my skin and realizes I’m already too far gone.
Her fingers curl at her sides, tightening like she’s trying to ground herself, and trying to hold something back. A muscle jumps in her jaw, her nostrils flaring as if she’s attempting to steady her pulse, and trying to stop herself from reacting too much. But I see it. The way her body betrays her—caught somewhere between fight and flight, just like me. I want to grab her. Hold her in my arms and tell her I would never hurt her. But she would run. Surly.
Her lips part, her breathing uneven.Here it comes."Why are you telling me all this? Trying to scare me? Make me hate you?" There is a little less venom in her words when she speaks.
I don’t want her to hate me. But it would be safer for her if she did. I shakemy head slowly. “Because I need you to know about me before I hurt you.”
I need to feel her against me. If I could just touch her skin the swirling thoughts would dissipate into nothing. Like this whole fucking day never happened. But that would mean we are something more than what we are. I shouldn’t want to touch her. I should turn and walk away, push her from my world before she drowns in it.
But I don’t.
In two quick steps, I close the distance between us, and my hand cups the back of her neck as my mouth crashes against hers. It’s not soft. It’s not gentle. It’s fire and desperation, a kiss that tastes like a warning, like everything we should run from but won’t. She presses into me, nails digging into my skin, while matching my hunger, and my need.
