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They destroy them in the most vicious way.
They are all tall, probably each one of them above six-foot-three, which only brings attention to their unbearable presence that forces you to cast your gaze down in fear of breaking some invisible laws only they know about.
However, that’s where their similarities end and differences begin.
They march inside in unison, one after another, and my gaze zeros in on the first one wearing a three-piece suit, highlighting his muscled physique.
His dark hair accentuates his tan skin and emphasizes the high cheekbones that bring attention to the symmetry of his face.
If people needed human representation of Greek gods, they’d have to look at him, for his handsomeness is haunting and mesmerizing alike.
His full lips tip into a smile when someone nods at him in greeting. It almost serves as a warning to whoever wants to come close, though, and lacks warmth, so no wonder the person hunches his shoulders, stepping out of the way. His piercing ocean-blue eyes stay cold, hinting at his cruel character and ruthless nature that’s almost legendary among the society.
Sophisticated and stunning—two words describing any member of this dynasty spanning centuries, whose wealth could buy a small country, and still generations and generations of people to come would live in luxury.
Santiago Cortez.
My eyes shift to the man walking right behind him, his jeans and leather jacket along with heavy boots thumping soundly on the parquet, making him seem almost out of place among everyone else. His brown hair falls below his ears, his dark eyes subtly studying everything around him, yet you wouldn’t guess it if you didn’t pay enough attention to him. His face stays unreadable on most days, and he rarely gives anyone any smiles although his hotheaded nature made quite the sensation in the gossip columns.
Many shy away from his temper because it never works out in their favor, and he has no mercy for anyone, but then I guess it’s hard to have any if the world showed you none.
That’s one of his many talents that allowed him to climb from the rags to the top, as what he got he earned with sweat and blood.
And with the help of his friends, who stayed by his side through everything.
Remi Reyes.
I focus on the third man, one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen, his blond hair glistening under the sunlight and emphasizing his bright green eyes that remind me of rare and expensive emeralds that are so clear, you can study them for hours.
Compared to the others, he’s on the leaner side; the three-piece suit and lustful atmosphere fit him like a glove, while the sinister smile on his mouth charms any willing woman out of her panties in record time.
The only true manwhore among them, and according to various rumors, he left a trail of broken hearts, although he never promised anyone commitment or fidelity. In fact, I don’t think women even tried to trap him in a relationship, considering the men in his family are known for a good time and disastrous marriages.
Belonging to the exclusive jewelry maker’s dynasty whose pieces are displayed all over the world and cost a fortune, he is considered one of the rare ones who got his great-grandfather’s talents. Although to his family’s dismay, he refuses to take the reins and inherit the business from his father.
Florian Price.
My hands tighten around the phone as my heartbeat pangs painfully in my chest. I take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself to look at the last man and the onslaught of emotions hitting me at once, each pulling me in a different direction and painting carnal images in my head. They poison my mind and envelop my body in heat it’s never known until my eyes landed on him.
A man who has haunted my dreams ever since I felt his possessive stare gliding over my skin comparable to the tightening of ropes ready to wrap around me and trap me in the clutches of his creation. The scowl he permanently showcases to the world speaks about his less-than-stellar character and vicious nature.
If only I’d known his name back then, I wouldn’t even dare give a second thought to him, for a man of such caliber would always be unavailable to mere mortals like me.
He walks farther from everyone else, giving them space. He reminds me of a leopard scanning his surroundings, a born predator ready to sink his claws into his next prey and tear their flesh to pieces for entering where they don’t belong.
After all, he hates those who break the rules because he’s a man of his word.
And he despises those who don’t keep theirs. If you lie to him just once…nothing will save you, as kindness and empathy are foreign concepts to this man. He doesn’t mind squishing his enemies, watching them fall down the abyss, never to be heard from or seen again.
If this man ruins you, there is no going back.
Half of his head is shaved, with the rest falling over the side of his perfect face, covering an angry-looking, long, red scar on his cheek that, despite healing, still seems to burn on his face as if permanently marking him with pain and agony. For some unexplainable reason, the sight of it scrapes at my insides, my fingers itching to trace over the puckered skin and bring him relief.
I’ve seen many scars, have a few of my own, and even without knowing where he got it since that’s one of the favorite speculations around him, I know it must have hurt him a lot. Some tissue didn’t properly heal, and maybe that’s why people give him a wide berth wherever he goes.
Especially women who ogle his best friends and barely spare him any glances, and when they do, only panic and fear coat them. They can’t wait to run away from him despite the wealth and status he possesses.
Blind fools because he’s the most handsome among them, and while his friends can easily grace fashion magazines with their looks, they do absolutely nothing for me…his rugged masculinity is an addiction, and I can’t imagine anyone picking them over him.
