Falling for the enemy || 18+

CHAPTER 2 : PREY

The air was thick with the scent of gasoline and sweat, heavy like the weight pressing against my chest. My heart pounded, a steady beat that matched the rhythm of the rain pelting against the cracked asphalt. The alleyway was dimly lit, shadows stretching long and narrow against the flickering streetlight. I had always hated this part-the waiting. The silence before everything goes dark.

The man in front of me whimpered, his breath ragged, each exhale sounding like a dying animal's last gasp. He was on his knees now, a mix of fear and desperation clinging to him like the stench of the cheap cologne he wore. I could feel his eyes searching mine, pleading. But I wasn't here to feel anything for him. Not pity. Not anger. Nothing.

"You don't have to do this," he croaked, his voice trembling, cracked with fear.

I tilted my head slightly, tightening my grip on the cold, sleek handle of the gun. It felt like an extension of me, as familiar as the silk lining of my favorite coat or the weight of my father's expectations.

"Don't beg. It won't help," I said, my voice steady, cold. The words weren't mine. They belonged to someone else, someone I had become over the years. Someone my father had created.

He started sobbing then, his shoulders shaking with the weight of whatever regrets were bubbling to the surface. They always cried. The pathetic ones, the ones who thought they could escape the life they willingly stepped into, always broke down in the end.

"You shouldn't have crossed us," I whispered, more to myself than him. The words were routine, a script I followed, though I rarely thought about the meaning behind them anymore.

I thought of my father's face-sharp, emotionless, carved from the same stone that made up the walls of the empire he ruled. He would have been watching me with those icy blue eyes of his, not to see if I could pull the trigger, but to see if I hesitated. Weakness wasn't allowed. Not from me.

The man's lips moved, forming a prayer or a curse-I couldn't tell which. My finger tightened on the trigger, and I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline pulse through my veins, steadying my aim.

He wasn't the first, and I knew he wouldn't be the last. There was a time when that thought had made me sick, back when I still believed there was a part of me that could escape this life. But that girl was long gone, replaced by the woman standing here now, dressed in black, rain-soaked and unfeeling.

I didn't wait for him to finish whatever pathetic words were spilling out of his mouth. I squeezed the trigger.

The sound was deafening in the narrow alleyway, a sharp crack that cut through the silence. His body slumped forward, lifeless, the blood pooling around him in a dark, slick puddle that mingled with the rain.

I stood there for a moment, staring down at him. There was no satisfaction in it, no thrill, no victory. Just emptiness. The same cold void I felt every time. I had learned long ago that the power didn't come from the kill itself, but from the control it gave me. Control over my own fear, my own future. It was the only way to survive in a world like this.

I turned away, my footsteps echoing through the alley as I walked back to the waiting car at the end of the street. The driver, Nico, was standing by the door, his face expressionless as always. He nodded once, a silent acknowledgment that the job was done.

As I slid into the back seat, I felt the weight of the gun still resting in my hand, the cool metal brushing against my skin. I shoved it into the glove compartment, wiping my fingers on my coat.

My reflection stared back at me in the rearview mirror, the streetlights casting long shadows over my face. I barely recognised the woman looking back. The hollow eyes. The blood-spattered cheek.

But this was who I was now.

The daughter of a king in a kingdom built on fear, blood, and loyalty.

And I would do whatever it took to stay at the top, no matter how many bodies I had to leave behind.