Her father died with his only wish that his daughter was to succeed academically no distractions by any means. She grew up learning to read between his complicated lines.
Poor Amina didn't want to disappoint her father. She is the perfect daughter a...
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Lana Del Rey | Sad girl
"Please Reign, if I-I'd knew, I-I could never. I. Would. Never." Trent shook with terror as I stood before him with my guards filling the room. I finished my drink before placing the glass on the desk. I saw everything that happened. My Ami, she was uncomfortable to be around this cock sucker— hands that weren't mine touching her.
Trent is known for such sly behaviour but never does he face repercussions. He hasn't effected my family or business in any negative light, not that he's fucking sane but daring rather. I'm assuming his gone mad, but tonight is his lucky night since I'm in a tolerable mood.
"What brings you to this auction Trent?" I asked him, folding my arms when I leaned against the edge of the desk. "It's been a while since we last seen each other."
"As you know, you gotta spend money to make money am I right?" The sick fuck chuckled.
I smiled anyway replying, "of course."
He followed with, "I hope there's no bad blood between us Reign, given our history."
"Nyet, why would there be problems. Your family no?" I reached for the scotch, filling up two cups before handing him one. "How about a toast?"
Trent intervened. "May I?" I was silent, wanting to hear such pathetic choice of words. He cleared his throat glancing at everyone in the room. "I'm toasting to a new business venture, hoping tonight we become extra successful men. More wealthier than before and this time around Reign you take me in as a partner."
I smirked once he held his cup up, we shared a clink, "salud." He finished off, taking a sip. At this point I'm starting to lose my patience —Trent needs to be wiped off the face of the earth.
I looked up at the guard, giving him the eye.
Swiftly he grabbed Trent by the back of the neck slamming the side of his face down on the wooden desk top. The glass drops from his hand connecting with the floor, Trent grunted as he tried to move away but the grip around his neck grew tighter.
Finally that last frustrated cry for help made me smile as I gulped down my second full cup of brown. I leaned down to Trent's ear.
"This is deeper than some fucking bad blood my old friend, you fucking touched my wife. You always had issues with keeping your fucking shitty hands to yourself. Don't you Trent?" I leaned up to claim the machete sitting against the wall. "Which hand did you use?"
I rotated the knife around inspecting the design, very nice detailing —I think I may get one just like it.
Glancing back over, he has yet to make a move. Very dangerous choice.
