3| Girls and Glares

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Power is a dangerous thing; once you have it you never know where to stop.

My circumstance hadn't afforded me much power—my father tended to take that all for himself. He was a leader by blood and lethality, calculated and cruel and everything you needed to lead a legacy and a gang that people feared. I had grown up under his iron fist, and as a pawn in his game of glory, I had learnt just how much damage that sort of power could do to the people that were surrounded by it.

I didn't want the type of power he used to force the hands of others, but I was my father's son and it seemed like it was the only type of power I knew.

Power like that was the only way you got what you wanted in this world; you either took it, killed for it, or you destroyed everything in your path to have it. And after what had happened at the pub, I knew I wanted Lola—I wanted her in every way that I could have her and she was going to suffer because of it.

I couldn't get her out of my fucking head, she hadn't left my mind ever since she had the confidence to hit me—even after she knew who I was, and even after she knew everything I was capable of.

Her body showed her natural fear of me, it trembled under my touch, and her chest heaved like she thought her next breath would be her last. She was clever enough to know that she should be afraid, but it seemed her brain wasn't as quick as her heart because even in the face of my danger, she spoke the truth when she should have been trying to save herself.

I knew I had the power to do whatever I wanted to her, but something about her had managed to push my destructive nature behind me. Instead, she had managed to wrap herself around me with her defiance. It made me sick to think of the things I wanted to do with her. It made me sick to know that I wanted her to defy me again, just so that I could hear the heavy lilt of her voice and witness the fire in her gaze once again.

I wanted all of her, but the problem was that she wanted nothing to do with me.

Using my power over her wouldn't bring me the satisfaction I thought it would. No, I didn't want to take what she wasn't willing to give me, and I didn't want to kill her because I wanted her to live the rest of her life knowing that it was me who granted her that privilege. No, it would bring me much more pleasure to break down her barriers. I was going to make her want me and she was going to hate herself for it.

I was Freddie King and she was going to regret ever meeting me.

Vicky pushed her body against mine in her bed, her nakedness brushing against my bare skin. After what had happened and after I had phoned Lola to impulsively give her the job at the bar she didn't stand a chance in, I needed something to take my mind off things.

Vicky was easy and I never needed to do much to impress her.

Her hand brushed against my chest as she began to wake up. I hadn't slept for most of the night—most of the time I didn't sleep much at all, killing people for a living tended to take away the peacefulness of it, but it was easier for sleep to find me when I wasn't alone in bed. I frequently slept with Vicky; it was a routine that I didn't think much about until now. Now even just thinking about having to use Vicky as one of my outlets filled me with irritation.

If Lola had been clever, I could have been warming her bed instead. If Lola had been clever, she would have taken my offer and I wouldn't have had to ruin her life because she had refused it. If Lola had been clever, maybe I'd have been able to kiss and forget.

I took in a sharp breath as my gaze zeroed in on Vicky's position against me. She was fully awake now, smirking up at me through half-lidded eyes as her hand wrapped around my morning erection underneath the covers. Her touch made my muscles tense and filled my body up with craving—craving for something more than what she could offer me.

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