BOOK 1
Veronica Garcia, a smart and beautiful fifteen-year-old, had endured enough of her stepfather's abuse. One fateful night, during his drunken rage, she seized her chance to escape, fleeing to her abuelo's mansion for solace. However, her newfo...
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Veronica's POV
I sink my teeth deep into my lips, instantly drawing blood. A drop of blood lands on my desk, another on the floor. I feel no pain, only the feeling of satisfaction and anger.
My head rests comfortably in my hands, my mind drifts away from reality and I feel a sense of peace and comfort. The sound of rain hits the window, reminding me of the real world. My head raises and I stare at the night sky through the window.
I sigh and click the pen in my hand mindlessly, over and over, each time it hits my ear the familiar sound. Each click is more than the last. I stop, looking at the pen, turning it over in my hands. Wondering.
Should I really do this?
I hate him.
I swallow down whatever pride I have left.
I dial his number, slowly at first. Each number is a huge accomplishment. Once I finally finish dialling, I press the 'Call' button and I wait. Each second is an eternity, each ring is a reminder of how I have no control over this situation. Finally, someone picks up.
His voice hits me like a tidal wave, it's deep and seductive, his words enter my mind, and I am flooded with his presence. I hesitate and try to find the right words, but I hear smug and breathy "Hello Malyshka" on the other line.
I roll my eyes and grip the phone, "Petrov" I greet. I hear a chuckle on the other side of the line, and I resist the urge to slam my phone down and hang up. "I need a favour." I sigh annoyed.
Roman scoffs, "I thought it was the other way around, remember? The deal we made?" He says smugly.
"God damn it Petrov!" I bang my fist on the desk. "This is no joke! Just help me out here!" I grit out.
"So feisty, alas I won't tell you anything until you tell me why you need my help." He says, sounding amused. "No," I say sternly.
"If you don't tell me, I won't tell y-" He tries but I cut him off.
"Ricardo is dead." I say, no emotion in my voice whatsoever.
There is a short silence on the other line before he speaks up, "That was blunt."
I am annoyed by his attempt at being sympathetic, my annoyance makes me lash out, but he catches me off guard by cutting me off and expressing his sympathy. He seems to be genuinely apologetic, but instead of feeling any empathy for his apology, I feel anger and annoyance at his attempt to be sympathetic.
