I silence him by yanking the switchblade upward, tethering far more than the sanctity of our vows with one swift slice.
He keeps his cock—just. But I’m hopeful the footage from the blinking red contraption propped at his right will help me strip anything of real value from his life.
4
NERO
Anger boils my blood when the annoying snivel of a woman with no class rustles through my ears. Tasha, my soon-to-be ex-wife, could be crying because she watched the commencement of the beatdown I gave the pathetic fuck who thought he could touch my property without permission and get away with it, but the weakness of her sobs and the lack of fire in her eyes announce a different scenario.
She isn’t a woman in fear for her life.
She’s jealous of the pure contentment on my face.
Serves her fucking right.
I’ll never be classified as a gentleman—I’ve done too much time, too much blow, and too many women to stretch for unattainable goals—but from the moment we woke up in a penthouse apartment of one of the many Popov Vegas hotels with a platinum band wrapped around my finger and a freshly inked marriage certificate dumped on the pool table, I’ve kept my dick in my pants.
It was a fucking hard feat, but my ma raised me right.
She’d have my head just on the thought that I believed I could stray after marriage.
My father has many children to many women, so his third wife, who thought she was his first andonlywife, did everything in her power to stop their only son from following in his footsteps.
Did her plan work? Hardly. But what Ma doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
Breathing is enticing. I’m fond of it, though I am confident weasels like Roy Martin aren’t.
How could they be?
You don’t tiptoe into hell and expect to leave without ash covering your feet.
As I slip into the front passenger seat of a sleek white sports car, the engine kicks over. Eight, the man steering both my vehicle of choice and my quest for revenge when he brought me the evidence I’ve been seeking for the past three weeks, seems eager to leave.
I’m not as raring. Revenge is still heating my veins, making them black, but only a clown would assist a butterfly with emerging from her cocoon and not stay to watch the expansion of her wings.
“Wait,” I demand, my eyes unmoving from the hotel I just exited.
I entered to kill the man who thought he could play me for a fool.
One glance changed everything—both today and back then.
Even with half her body covered with a trench coat, I liked what I saw.
Very much so.
My cock hardens again as I recall how Miranda’s ample curves were accentuated by the overtop lighting of the penthouse suite and how her beauty was undeniable in the tiny teddy incapable of concealing an inch of her cock-thickening curves.
As my eyes raked her body, my once seemingly unquenchable thirst for revenge switched to need. Roy had the epitome of perfection willing to accept his last name, yet he threw it away for the crumbs in the bottom of a cereal box no one wants to sog their milk.
Tasha is precisely what you’d expect to wake up next to after an all-night bender in a Vegas casino. Her features are sharp, her façade exudes bitchiness even while smiling, and she is so malnourished I doubt she’s ever eaten a calorie-laden meal in her adult years.
She thinks attractiveness is rated on who has the lowest digits on both the scales and the tags of the designer dresses she racked up on my credit card within hours of us tying the knot.
For me, Tasha’s size-zero logic spreads goose eggs across the board.
Zero personality.
Zero empathy.
