𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐈𝚴𝐈𝚴𝐆 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 | 18+

1.

R I C A R D O

Love.

A word that holds an abundance of power.

Significant meaning.

It is both a blessing and a curse, like a dainty rose hidden beneath its sharp thorns. Its malevolence is disguised by the beauty it brings. It's like a yin and yang, laying in between the balance of good and bad.

In this world, we all live and breathe in darkness, no matter how much light is bestowed upon us. It is similar to how we allow the concept of love to consume us, despite the chance of us shattering in the process. 

We all take the good with the bad.

When you're sucked into the lifestyle that I was born and raised in,

You learn to indulge in the bad without a slice of benevolence.

And that's what I am.

Bad. 

And that's what love is.

Bad.

I don't fuck with it. 

It's useless in my opinion. I do not understand the need to allow someone to consume me when I am possessed enough by my own darkness.

And nobody will ever understand me.

And I do not want anyone to.

The only thing that I truly want right now is to find a nice little slut to escort to one of the back rooms and fucking break her cervix.

As I am seated in one of the prestigious nightclubs that me and my father own, I circle the delicate glass that is positioned in my hand.

I proceed to take a brief sip, feasting upon the burning liquid that manages to set my insides on fire. A rush of warmth bursts through my veins, creating a small sensation of dizziness to cloud my mind. In a matter of seconds, my muscles relax and I release a breath that I didn't realize that I was holding in.

Being the heir to the Skull Rippers gang is my fucking poison, slowly molding me into a frigid shell. However, the potency of my whiskey seems to be my antidote to the chronic stress that continues to burden inside of me from it. 

I didn't choose to run this gang.

I didn't choose this lifestyle. 

But I can not see myself doing anything else because ironically, my poison is the thing that keeps me living.

And I am okay with that.

I enjoy the burning satisfaction and thrill that I get from taking charge. From relentlessly torturing and then stealing the souls of selfish bastards who don't deserve the prosperities of life. I could not tell you how many lives I have stolen, because I lost count around the age of seventeen.

I am thirty one now.

So you might as well call me the fucking reaper, because I will not hesitate to put a bullet in someone's incompetent brain.

I down the rest of my glass, setting it on the table in front of me.

And that's when I eye a beautiful blonde bombshell on the dance floor.

Her plump tits bounce freely in a snug lavender dress that barely surpasses her meaty thighs, and she is basically presenting her ass to everyone in proximity when she shakes it to the rhythm of the song. Her pin-straight strands fall down to the curve in her back, just above where the fabric cuts off.