Pain of Love - Tom Kaulitz

Every Last One

*TOM'S POV*

Watching as Lillian walks over to the apartment, I drum my hand against my knee. Despite the given circumstances, I can't help but notice how good her ass looks from behind.

I can still hear the soft moans that escaped her throat and can still feel her lips on mine. Fuck, she tasted good. I've become a captive to that sensation and for the first in my life, I'm feeling something more than sexual desire towards a woman.

I don't know what to do about it.

All I know is I need more. I need to see her again, to feel her. I don't care what it takes.

The very idea of her now being with any man other than myself makes my skin crawl, a visceral reaction to the mere thought of her in somebody else's arms.

I want her to be mine.

Some may see this as a growing obsession, but I think that word is a little harsh. I'd call it—fondness, or perhaps desire.

But that's aside the point.

Shaking my head, I dismiss those thoughts once she is inside and no longer in my sight. I swiftly back out of the parking lot, pinching my brows together as I glance at my watch and realise I'm pushed for time.

"Fuck." I mumble. 

Pulling onto the streets, I press down on the gas as I make my way to the city ports. On any other occasion I wouldn't have given two shits about being late, though something about tonight has left me feeling uneasy.

My monthly import of drugs for my clubs, a well practiced ritual that is usually a breeze has turned into something that I'm unable to place.

The streets are quiet, not a word heard from any rival mobs.

Not even that dipshit Crenshaw, who seems to be the focused topic of conversation these days. Much to my disliking. The motherfucker's got a stick up his ass, seems to believe he's far more relevant than he actually is.

A big powerful mafia boss.

More like a big thorn in my ass.

Though Lillian's delusion of killing him is completely stupid, I can't deny how tempting it is. 

Whatever. I've sent some of my men to scope out the shipping containers and told them stay alert. For what exactly, I'm not sure, I just can't shake this feeling off my shoulders.

And I'm usually never wrong.

The air is thick with tension by the time I arrive at the city docks, the shadows of towering shipping containers dance across my peripheral vision causing my eyes to dart cautiously. The moonlight casts down upon the wet ground in a white shimmer among night casted port. I grip the leather steering wheel, parking behind a cargo container once I spot the guy's cars.

I step out of my car, quietly shutting the door. I keep a firm hold of my gun in my waistband as my eyes scope out the dark area, alert for any potential threats or unwanted attention. The echoes of the city and sea envelop me as I listen carefully.

Nothing.

I frown, bringing my finger up to my ear piece. "You guys ready?" I speak lowly.

"Yep. Everyone's in position." My brother's voice fills the silence on the other end.

"Good." I say back, allowing myself to relax a little. "Stay alert."

I hear Georg respond to my command. "Something wrong?"

"Dunno yet. Just keep watch for anything out of the ordinary. It's too quiet." I tell them.

"You got it."