I watched her grow right in front of me, and it was brutal and addictive to witness. She turned into something feral and hard to pin down. She’s obsessive in the best, most dangerous way, and she’s absolutely worth obsessing over.
She changed in ways I never saw coming. She found her voice again. She says what she wants, takes what she wants, and doesn’t waste time explaining herself to anyone.
I’m so fucking proud of the woman she’s become. Proud of how loud she is about what belongs to her. Proud of how she claims her space with attitude and defiance and zero shame. She doesn’t wait for permission, she doesn’t play nice for approval, and she sure as hell doesn’t bow to anyone who thinks they can control her. That’s my kind of chaos.
I catch myself smiling like a sick bastard every time I think about those days with her, back when she was still that girl I first met. The one who made me look completely unhinged to everyone else, but soft as hell when it came to her. She had me acting like a damn lunatic one second and wrapped around her finger the next.
Some days aren’t easy. The obsession gnaws at my deranged mind, and all I can think about is that now that girl is gone, I have nothing to hold me back anymore.
My eyes drop to the little orchid tattoo on the inside of my forearm, and I remember when she asked if any of my ink meant something. Back then, I’d told her no.
Now, this one means everything.
This one is hers.
This one is for her.
I carved it into my skin so I never forget the girl I met, the one who imprinted on me and made a home there.
I drag my feet across the floor of that filthy abandoned building, loud on purpose, letting every motherfucker hiding in the dark know I’m here. Dust, broken glass, trash everywhere, and I just keep pacing. I want them tense. I want them scared. I want them waiting for me.
“He’s coming!” some panicked idiot shouts across the open space, voice bouncing off the walls.
I grin to myself and roll my shoulders slowly, feeling loose and ready to wreck someone’s whole fucking night.
My eyes are locked on this poor bastard tied to the chair. He’s drenched in sweat, his face filthy, his body slumped. I guess he already knows he’s fucked. Some cheap piece of cloth is shoved in his mouth, and his fancy suit is stained, ripped, hanging off him.
I move through the room, and every single one of them drops their head when I pass. Oh, how it feeds that loud, unhinged part of me that never shuts the hell up. I can feel it crawling under my skin, buzzing, laughing, loving every second of this filthy power.
I always had a thing for these mafia shit-faces, men like the ones who destroyed my mother and then, in turn, destroyed me.
I got the chance to build something that stands outside their rules, something that makes men like them start locking doors a little tighter.
My men treat me like a king.
A king surrounded by monsters who follow me because they know I’ m the worst one in the room.
And I enjoy every sick second of it.
“P-Please,” he mumbles through the cloth stuffed in his mouth, shaking so hard the chair creaks under him.
“He’s all yours,” Wes says, bored as hell. “I’m bored.”
He holds out the knife to me with that brand new steel hand, flexing the fingers, still getting used to it. I feel this twisted rush of pride, because it looks brutal and dangerous. Just like him.
Calvano actually did one useful thing in his whole worthless life. After he was put in the ground, his best piece of tech ended up on Wes’s arm.
Fucked up how life works sometimes, but I’ll take it. Now Wes is stronger, and a hell of a lot harder to kill. I get to stand here with my crew, my new commander, and the reminder that anyone who tries that shit again is signing their own death sentence.
“Now look at you,” I say to the fucker in the chair, disappointed for wasting my time. “You pissed off my mate.”
“I’m s-sorry,” he cries through the cloth, eyes squeezed shut—like that’s going to save him from anything.
I crouch in front of him and let out a slow, sharp breath. “Between us girls, you should be feeling really fucking unlucky he walked out of here.” I grin widely. “He’s a cute little teddy bear compared to what I am, and I don’t play nice when someone pisses me off.”
“Wh-What do you want from me?”
“Wrong question,” I whisper.
