“You’remine,” he growled, lust and desire spilling from his perfect mouth.
Then he let go, and I felt him shooting his seed deep within me. He pulled me tight against him as he swore.
“Nowthat,” I gasped as I wriggled from his grasp, our juices slowly dripping down my thighs as he sat back on the chair beside him, “Was fuckinginsane.”
He laughed, and I kissed him, although we were both out of breath.
“You shouldn’t ever mention you and anyone else in the same sentence, you know what it does to me,” he warned as I smirked.
“Did I ever tell you about—” I teased as he jumped from the chair, my heart in my throat as I tried to run away from him.
He caught me by the stairs, and I let out a squeal as we kissed, with such desire I felt him harden against me once more.
“Don’t fuck around. You’remine,” he whispered as he moved my hair from my eyes softly as he gazed at me with adoration.
“I know, and you’re mine,” I whispered back as I kissed him, feeling him smile against my mouth.
God, I love him so fucking much.
Part Two: Chapter Twelve
MICHAEL
The woman bounced on top of me, her tiny breasts barely moving as she made an elaborate show of herself on my cock. I stifled a yawn as the shock registered in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, I guess you just aren’t capable of keeping me entertained. Not for lack of effort, though.” I lifted her from me as she snatched her clothes up, her doll-like features twisting into a nasty snarl.
“You won’t get anyone better. I’m the best in the entire state,” she snapped as she walked away, grabbing her cash on the way out.
She was a whore, why was she so offended that she just didn’t do it for me?
My cock was going flaccid already, bored with the same old pussy. I peeled the condom off and slung it into the trash can with irritation.
You can’t even pay for women to fuck you without attitude.
I stood, walking over to the open doors of my room that overlooked the flawless gardens of the home I had grown up in, letting out a deep sigh. It was beautiful here, but like all beauty it hid a deeper layer, one that was not as pretty to look at.
I had grown up around crime, one of the first executions I saw at the age of eleven burned into my retina. The man had betrayed my father, apparently, by leaking secrets to a rival family. My father told me to watch without fear, that this is what happened to rats. The man had begged for his life, but he was tied to a chair with wire and beaten to death with baseball bats. I will never forget the look in his eyes, the way he pleaded for mercy repeatedly as they ignored him. I can still hear the clatter of the bats on the floor as the clean-up guys arrived, someone pushing me out of the door so I could follow my father, who was covered in blood.
My first kill was a tad more brutal, but at least I felt it was for a valid reason.
Lucia.
I will never forget my mother’s screams as my father had her sedated, unable to bear her cries of anguish. Lucia had been savagely beaten, raped and left for dead, yet somehow, she survived. She was a Salvatore, made of intense strength, but no one expected her to live.
My father made sure Lucia had the best round-the-clock care, whilst ordering the bastards to be brought to our home. My father, my elder brothers, and I all stood around the deep mahogany table as we wept, our anger demanding revenge.
She wasfifteen.
None of us were home.
Yethewas here.
The intense anger raged through me as I remembered finding out he was her boyfriend, yet he had run like a bitch whilst she was being used by the perverted bastards inside her room, her screams following him through the gardens I’m sure—yet still he ran.
It made no sense to me.
When I found out, I was sixteen, a mere boy. But I made it clear I wanted in on the revenge. I smiled as I remembered hearing the pleading, the apologising. How this dirty bastard didn’t know she was my sister. I remember wondering how that made any difference.
