Attraction, desire, and sinfully beautiful, Mika Santana is a devil with the face of an angel. Despite her tragic past, she's never given up her ruthless pursuits for success and vengeance which leaves little to no room for matters of the heart. But...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Rebelling is in my blood. A born defier straight from my mother's womb. I don't do well under someone else's authority. It's like combining coke cola with mentos, an explosion ready to happen. Selling my soul to another can only go on for so long until I find a better opportunity for myself. To be fair, I gave Diablo a generous amount of my time for the respect of our intertwined past.
Enough is enough.
A better opportunity appears over the horizon, and I am not getting left behind in his sinking boat.
It's time Diablo eats from the palm of my hands like the lapdog he is. Sometimes an asshole forgets their place, and I am here to show them where it is.
I might be younger.
Naive in my sweet, old mentor's eyes, but I'm here to demonstrate that a student can defeat their master.
The area is plagued with silence, streetlights trickling in from the open blinds. It's pin-drop silence, my breathing barely audible. One of the many talents Diablo has shared throughout our relationship. Maybe on his tombstone, I'll leave a heartfelt message for all the things he taught me.
My attention perks as the key jams into the lock, his force causing the knob to jiggle as he twists it. If I had a heart monitor attached to my body, the graph would outline a straight line. To get this heart running would probably be a good fuck session.
Just what I deserve after this is done and over with.
The walls vibrate as he swings the door opening, causing it to slam. He groans, kneading the kinks in his neck as he pushes his shoes off his feet. His keys are thrown in the dish by his door, and he beelines for the kitchen.
As quiet as a mouse, I tip-toe through the kitchen until I'm standing behind him. He opens the fridge with my pistol pressed against his occipital bone. He shakes his head with amusement as laughter escapes from his lips. For his own good, he slowly shuts the refrigerator and places his two hands criss-cross over his head.
"How the tables have turned, huh?" Diablo comments as I feel his body for any sign of a weapon. "Mika, if you wanted an excuse to feel me up, all you had to do was ask. You know I'll do anything for you."
Laughter of disbelief nearly slips out. "Funny. Now feet apart."
He yields to my request, standing in a wide stance as a yawn exits from his mouth. It fucking irks my soul to see how unbothered he is. But I'll let him relish these moments before everything is torn from him like a carpet beneath his feet. Dragging him by his hoodie, I shove him into the dining chair, and I position the gun on his chest.
His lips curve in an obnoxious smirk as his damp hair from the rain outside causes it to obscure one eye. "I figured you would want to talk when I got back, but I didn't expect this." He darkly chuckles, giving a side-eye to the pistol. "We can talk like adults, Mika. Put the gun down."
