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.
Jude Pearson could just as well kill me as kiss me most days. He was my captor, my living hell, and yet, he became my saviour, my heart. Stupid. He's heartless, conditioned to feel nothing, and so I ran... straight into the clutches of his enemy. Joe Campbell wants Jude to suffer, and I just became a pawn in a very dangerous game.
Joe has broken me in every way, everything that I once was stripped away, and in its place is festering hatred and a rage so cold I feel nothing else. I have one purpose. Revenge.
Love makes you weak; it makes you irrational. She was collateral, completely innocent when she was unwillingly dragged into my corrupt world. With the damage I'd already caused her, I couldn't let her love me, so I let her go, and now...he has her.
No matter where she is, she will always be mine. This man has taken every-fucking-thing from me, and he has the last thing that matters to me. I will kill him. Slowly. Joe Campbell better run because the devil is fucking coming for him.
Sometimes two wrongs can make a right.
Rage. Hate. Revenge.
Our Wrath binds us, but it may also break us.
All sins are equal in the eyes of God, but I'm not God. One sinner made me his sin, and I can't let men like him live. I want to kill them. Every. Last. One. Ezra James is no different. I was going to kill him, but then I found myself obsessed and possessed in the most reverent of ways. I became his sinner, and he became my sin, but the wages of sin is death, so I must kill him.
The son of a whore, raised by criminals, molded to fit into a world without morals. I've never given a shit about anything until the night I watched a man drop dead at the feet of my little killer. She called to my depravity, and everything in me demanded that I take her, possess her, own her. Some monsters hide behind the faces of angels.