My life was mapped out and planned to perfection. I knew exactly what I wanted and where I was going, until I was thrust into his world and ripped from mine. In the blink of an eye everything shattered, proving to be nothing more than a cheap illusion. Now I’m living in this twisted form of hell, where enemies and friends are one and the same. I thought I wanted perfection. Now I don’t know what I want - perhaps not even my own freedom.
I'm the definition of wrong. I'm violent, I'm greedy, and I stop at nothing to win. I'm a notorious bookie and in my game paying with your life is not just a figure of speech. You lose, I collect. I take whatever you have. She’s collateral for a debt, and if that debt's not paid someone will die. This should be just business, so why can’t I kill her?
Everything is not always as it seems.
Lust. Blood. Lies.
Nothing this wrong should feel so right.