Destructive Desires

Chapter 1

Downtown New York, December

3:50 am.

The phone clicked furiously back into place. A man, tall and dark, his white hair reflecting the moonlight that trickled into the dark New York office, sighed frustratedly. Grabbing the nearest bottle, he poured strong, amber liquid into an antique glass, the substance disappearing in an instance. He poured another and lit a cigarette between his teeth. Smoke drifted across the room, the dim light from a lamp piercing through it, illuminating every swirl. Taking a harsh drag, he put his head back, exhaling the toxic fumes into the air. Closing his eyes, he tried to calm himself, the anger from the phone call raging inside his chest. Then, almost inaudible, knuckles rapped on the door. He groaned agitatedly.

"It's me." A sweet voice called, and his heart clenched. He chose to ignore it.

"Yeah." He drawled, unimpressed, as the door squeaked open, revealing a young woman.

His eyes moved to her, the soft light falling on her silk red dress. He allowed himself to look at her for a moment, taking long drags from the cigarette between his pale, ring clad fingers. When his steel grey eyes met hers again, she looked impatient. Beautiful, but impatient.

"Well?" she quirked an eyebrow, "you wanted to see me."

He smirked lightly. He was fond of her fire. One of the many reasons he kept her around.

"I just got off the phone," he said, placing his glass and retrieving another, topping it up with whiskey and passing it to the woman, "guess who's fucked up the one job I gave them."

She took the glass, jet-black nails at her fingertips. A dark chuckled left her lips.

"Goyle."

"Fucking Goyle," the man laughed bitterly, downing another drink, "can't believe I trusted him. I knew I should've had my best on this job."

She sauntered across the room, as he fought with himself not to look at her. He was wildly attracted to the woman, always had been. They slept together regularly, always had their hands on one another. She had to attend every meeting he had, otherwise he'd throw a fit. He needed her for his own sanity, but above all else, he trusted her immensely. To an outsider, they were perhaps in love. But Draco Malfoy didn't have time to think about such things. He had an entire operation to run, and his only concern outside of that was keeping Y/N around somehow.

"Like whom?" she asked, leaning against the desk, her long legs stretching out before her, "don't tell me you mean Crabbe."

He laughed.

"Of course not," he said, joining her side and leaning into her, "I meant you."

The smell of smoke and whiskey mixed with his intoxicating cologne filled her senses. His steely eyes raked over her features, flickering down to her red painted lips. He leant in, pressing a quick peck to her mouth, not giving her time to respond. She watched the smile curl at his lips over the rim of the glass.

"What if I say no."

"Oh, darling," he chuckled, pushing himself off the desk to pace before her, "you and I both know you don't say no to me, don't we, princess?"

Her heart pounded. She feared this would happen and hated it when Draco turned to her to finish what the other gang members couldn't seem to do. All it led to was cold shoulders and muttered comments about Draco's favouritism and lack of trust in anyone else.

"What's the job." She sighed, moving to pour herself more whiskey. A hand on her side and a deep chuckle in her ear told her that he was pleased with that response.