Say You Hate Me

googly eyes

She shot me.

The remnants of my teaching from our day on the beach lingered in her mind as she managed to pierce my skin.

I'm hardly even angry. 

The erotic thoughts that consume my mind are getting harder to deny though.

"Ah shit, Who shot you, Gray?" Giovanni mumbled, obviously spotting the scarlet blood seeping through my dress shirt. 

"my fiancé," I respond, as shock clouds giovannis expression.

I rarely get shot, and those who do manage to get a bullet anywhere near me, never escape unscathed. 

"got a feisty one, eh?" Giovanni smiles, shooting a bullet directly into some fucker's skull simultaneously.

"fuck off," i rasp, delivering a punch to whoever the fuck was just standing in my way. Pain and arousal mingled through my veins, along with a constant nagging worry if Elsie was okay.

I'd spend the rest of my days behind bars if it meant I could confirm Elsie's safety.

"Do you want me to get the medic?" A smirk tugged at his lips but I shook my head vigorously.

She shot me. She marked me.

That wound was her imprint on my body and I was keeping it.

I wanted it to scar and stain my skin forever. I want to tattoo the remnants of it on in 20 years when it's nearly faded.

 I wanted to have the ability to show everyone that I was completely and utterly hers.

I even had a mark to prove it.

"No." I rasp quickly.

"Oh o-okay, do you need to go find her or?" Giovanni gave me a knowing look and a scowl settled on my face. 

I need to be married before I turn 18, or I cannot be the head of the Mafia. And the woman who infects my thoughts constantly, is improving my hygiene at the amount of cold showers I have because of how my body reacts to her, fuck - she's the only person who I'd let touch me despite my hate of physical contact. She's the only woman I can I tolerate at all, yet she's probably the one person who hates me most at the moment. Just my fucking luck. 

"I do," I respond with a curt nod, pulling the trigger on one more Russian assassin and leaving before their body even hits the ground. 

...

Twenty goddamn minutes I spent looking.

Twenty.

She stole my fucking car.

She shot me and then stole my car.

There truly was no other girl quite like Elsie Williams.

Pride bloomed inside of me at the beautiful chaos she ensued.

I rake my hands through my hair, the white plumes of my harsh breath dancing through the brisk night air.

A couple minutes later, my Uber arrives and I climb in, met with a familiar stony silence. 

"Where to, sir?" The driver's mousy voice muttered.

"St Louis Boarding School," I grumble, pulling out my phone and opening the app to track my car.

Jesus, I'd be lucky if Elsie and my car survived the drive at that goddamn speed. By the looks of it, Elsie was riding the high of putting a bullet through two men and driving like a formula 1 driver.