The skyline of the city is a jagged cut of black glass and steel against the bruised twilight sky. My car slices through the downtown core, the chill of the coming deep fall seeping through the metal frame. The window is down, and the frigid air nips at my fingers, a stark contrast to the cozy layers I’m bundled in: a short skirt, knee-high socks, the worn leather of my boots, all hidden beneath a long winter coat. A small jacket wouldn’t cut it anymore. Not for this weather. Not for the life I lead.
I take a long, slow drag from my joint. The harsh smoke is a familiar comfort, as I try to scour the day’s heaviness from my mind. But the dark thoughts are tenacious and they cling like shadows. They feed on little things, and then twist themselves into reminders of the brutal reality I operate in.
This work, this necessary evil, is a stain on my soul. I’ve tried to claw my way out, to leave the gangsters and criminals in my dust, but the universe is a cruel bastard. It seems the only currency I’m permitted to earn is paid in blood and massive risk. The only solace is that my targets are men who’ve forfeited their right to breathe. Yet, the weight of it is a constant companion. Taking a life is never easy. The stress is a metallic taste on my tongue and the ghost of prison bars sends a chill down my spine. I force the thought down and gulp it back with the smoke.
The night has fully fallen now, and the city is electric, neon and tungsten bleeding into the streets. It’s more alive in the dark. A perfect reflection of me. This is my city. I’ve been running these streets since I was a girl, my playground the same alleys that swallow the light.
I wasn’t built to be a typical lady. I was raised by wolves, and I learned to run with the pack. It’s a life that sank its teeth into me young and never let go. Some days, the power is a drug, a heady rush of strength and confidence. Tonight, it’s just fucking exhausting.
Which is why I’m heading to Tobias. He’s one of the few who doesn’t flinch at a woman of my caliber. My strength doesn’t make him insecure; my independence doesn’t threaten him. He’s carved from the same shadows, and he respects the will it takes to survive them. Our arrangement is a pact of mutual understanding: once a week, we meet to satiate a different kind of hunger. In this life, relationships are a vulnerability we can’t afford, but attraction… that we can indulge.
I’m not in my usual headspace tonight. The ghost of tears I never allow myself to shed still prickles behind my eyes. Crying is a luxury, a weakness that slows you down. But sometimes, the human part of me, the part I keep locked away, breaks through.
His mansion is a silent sentinel on the hill, a silhouette against the city lights. Only one dim lamp glows from within. A flicker of doubt rushes through me… is he even home?
The scent of wet pine and cold earth hits me as I step out of the car. The sharp echo of my boot heels on the concrete walkway is the only sound on this silent night; a stark announcement of my arrival. I don’t ring the bell. Instead, I knock firmly three times with my bare knuckles.
I hear shuffling from inside, and a breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes me.
The door swings open, and there he is. Dressed only in low-slung dress pants, with his belt still unbuckled. His torso is a canvas of tattooed muscle, gleaming in the faint orange glow of the streetlamp. His hair is damp, and the scent of his cologne… dark, spicy, and utterly intoxicating, washes over me with a physical force that almost makes my knees buckle.
“Hey, babe. Come in. It’s cold out.” His voice is a low gravel and his eyes lock onto mine with an unnerving intensity. “Let’s get you warmed up.”
“Thanks.” I step past him into the warmth. “How was your day?”
A smirk plays on his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, which hold a familiar, pained shadow. “Oh, you know. Same old, same old.”
“Oh, I know,” I reply, the words heavy with a shared understanding of the darkness we carry.
He leads me to the living room, and I sink into the plush couch as he moves to the kitchen, returning with two glasses of deep red wine.
“Have you eaten today?” he asks, setting the glasses down.
“No. It’s been... a day.” The defeat in my voice is a foreign, unwelcome sound.
“You alright?” He doesn’t touch his wine. His full attention is on me, a predator’s focus. “You need to talk? You know I’ll listen.”
My heart clenches. He’s sweet, in his own way. He’d probably just hold me and let me spill my existential dread all over his expensive rug. But that’s not what I need. Not tonight. Tonight, I need the pain fucked out of me.
“I don’t want to talk,” I say, my voice dropping, losing its weary edge and gaining a new, sharpened one. I look up at him, and for the first time tonight, a real smirk tugs at my lips. “But you can still help me. Help me forget. Help me… process in a different kind of way.”
He abandons the wine, closing the distance between us in one fluid step. He’s still standing over me, a tower of solid muscle and intent. His thumb comes up, rough and warm, and drags slowly along my jawline until it presses against my lips.
“Oh, I can definitely help with that,” he rumbles, his voice dripping with dark promise. “You know I can.”
He pushes his thumb into my mouth and instinct takes over. My tongue wraps around the intrusion, sucking him deeper. The taste of him… salt, skin, and power, floods my senses. That’s all it takes. A single, dominant touch, and I know. I need him to ruin me. To break me apart so thoroughly that I don’t know how to put myself back together again.
My eyes lock with his in both a challenge and a plea. “Don’t be gentle with me tonight. I need you raw and wild. I need you to treat me like I’m your fucking prey. Do you understand?”
A dark, approving smile spreads across his face.
“Oh, I understand, princess.”
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