𝐌𝐢 𝐃𝐢𝐨𝐬𝐚

𝟏𝟓

"You don't kill people."

"Things change."

"Why'd I get stuck with an irrational best friend?" Talon sighs from my desk, a short piece of licorice sucked between his lips. "You can't walk into a jail, and kill someone."

I ignore his comments that he's been spurting since he stepped foot into the building. After the night at the club, I told him what Ziya told me and we collectively agreed that something had to be done. Prison isn't enough for me, and Talon's on my side with any decision that I make. Whether he agrees or not.

I open a cabinet, that holds my personal weapons, and pick out a general gun that's used worldwide. I examine it carefully before grabbing a single magazine, and a silencer. Talon drags on about something that I pay no attention to, and I grab a duffel bag from under the cabinet.

Ziya said the entire situation was handled, but my eyes couldn't pull away from the bruises that littered her neck. It unnerved me and angered me at the thought of another man putting his hands on her in that way. In any way. She's mine to touch in a way that an artist would touch their painting. Delicately and gently, unless wanted otherwise. I could only press kisses to her neck, and cover the bruises with my own markings every time I pushed into her.

Her words of praise and encouragement only pushed me further, and I marked her body from her neck down to her thighs. Ziya's presence alone does something to me that I can't fully explain, and I wanted to take care of her that night. I wanted to be in control, and she gave that to me. The power I felt surging through my body was like no other, and I thought I'd never feel like that while dominating a woman.

"What if this turns around on your little girlfriend?" Talon asks, throwing the pack of licorice at my back.

"It's handled."

"Oh, well thanks for running the entire plan by me, buddy," Talon says, sarcasm dripping in between his words.

I stuff everything I need into the duffel, making sure I have a few flash drives with me. I pocket my phone after sliding on a jacket that I found laying around. Something easy to burn. I leave Talon in the office, not bothering or caring about whatever he decided to complain about now.

Heads turn as I walk through the building—the familiar pairs of eyes not bothering me in the slightest. They honestly believe that I'm the second boss, and need my go ahead for every little thing. I'll admit, more money has been flowing in since the decision has been made but that brought on a variety of people who like to kiss ass. Talons words were: they'd rather listen than be shot with your bullets. The comment made me laugh because who'd think that grown ass men, in a gang, fear being shot. It hurts, of course, but it's nothing to fear.

Talon catches up with me, shoving the keys to my Rollys Royce in my hand.

"I'll handle the footage, and the money. You get the fuck in with that motherfucker, Dylan, and get the fuck out," he says, leaving no room for objection.