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And yet everything that was wrong still felt so incrediblyrightandtruethat her heart couldn’t stop the endless pound of both exhilaration and anxiety.
He had her name inked into the flesh of his cock, surrounded by lilies, hearts, and angel wings.
When he kissed her, she realized he had kissed her once before.
She knew him without knowing him.
He was the one she had been waiting for, unconsciously looking over her shoulder, hoping she would see him, and he would come and take her again. And yet, there were times she felt his presence around her, only to find no one there.
Oh god. She’d felt that way for eight years. But what if she was wrong and just projecting? What if it wasn’t him?
Her head threatening to implode, she forced herself to calm down and think rationally.
She had to find him first.
Opening her bag, she removed a pair of track pants and a hoodie, then slipped into them. But as she exited the room, an envelope with her name written on it lying on the side table drew her attention. She picked it up and ripped it open.
It was from Declan.
It was written in his handwriting, and without reading his words, she traced the letters with her fingertip, and it felt as if she were touching him.
Until she started to read.
Her heart soared and sank, and a billion emotions washed over her as she read each word.
My love, Peyton
I’ve never written a letter to anyone before. You’re my first, and with that, I should say what you already know. I’m not a good man, Peyton. I wasn’t born good. I have no honor, no emotion.
There’s nothing human about me.
But I want you to know that whatever monstrosity I am, I worship the ground you walk on. The air you breathe. I love you so deeply, so completely, and with such agony that if you told me to open my veins for you, there would be no hesitation. Just know I would die for you, my little kitten.
My parents left me on the streets when I was six years old—didn’t want me anymore—left me to fend for myself. That kinda thing is enough to mess with your head, you know.
And I took my anger and fear and used it the only way I knew how, against everyone I came across who posed a threat to me. I chose violence. I wish I could say I was born innocent; that might have helped me be more human. My father was a drug dealer, and my mother was an addicted hooker. I was doomed in conception.
But then I was plucked off the streets—human traffickers—the usual. Until I was saved from them and taken into something darker. More sinister.
A man whose name and face I don’t know even up to this day—a close friend of Osiris—taught me how to channel my anger. Then he put me in a Tom Ford suit and told me to act like I was the Prince of Violence. And that’s what I did. But inside I was still the same—fucked up in the head but in a suit.
I was the best man for the job because I didn’t care whether I lived or died. Although I always favored dying.
Until I saw you, Peyton.
Eight years ago.
Six days after you turned eighteen. An angel on earth. And mine to take.
You were at the park with Ellie, drinking a strawberry milkshake and wearing a white summer dress with pink lilies on it. The earrings you wore had butterflies on them, and three red hearts dangled from the bracelet on your wrist. The color of your lipstick was pink gloss, and you smelled like vanilla and sunshine.
I couldn’t stop looking at you. I had already planned to kidnap you right there. I would have had to kill Ellie, but I stopped myself. You made me change the way I think. Instead of taking you that day, I had your name tattooed on my cock. From that day on, you owned me, Peyton. My heart only knew yours. My soul only knew yours. My cock belonged only to you.
I promised myself I would claim you when the time was right. When I finished off my enemies and made new friends who wouldn’t dare cross me. I had to make sure everything was going to be safe for you, kitten.
But I couldn’t stop myself from stalking you. Watching you while you slept. Fuck. I drugged you, Peyton, with a sleep gas because there was that one time when you felt my presence in your room. I’m not even ashamed to say I pulled the covers off you. I touched your skin. I parted your thighs so I could smell your innocence.
Yes, I’m a sick, perverted fuck. You don’t get to be me, a killer, and still remain sane.
