ICE
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- Parts 7
A man lay beaten and bloodied.
"People who break my trust never live to do it again"
He could feel his limbs freeze as the crew of men slowly watch him freeze to death.
"Anton, I don't know about this. Kat-this guy is hers. If she finds out-"
But the mob boss snapped, voice colored and standing on edge as he shook with the heat only rage could produce.
"I'm not afraid of some nobody"
The man looked up at the sky and thought of her. Of Kat. How if it were anyone but him she would gladly watched him bleed to death in negative degrees.
Crack.
Another man-- one of Anton's guys--falls. His neck is at an odd angle. Scarlett pools stain the snow, flooding the pure flakes as another and another and another of Anton's men die.
She wasn't seen until he stood alone amongst his now dead friends. The cold blade of a knife pressed against his neck.
"You should be."
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This Fire!
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Let me tell you my story, the one about how I died. Don't worry, though. I came back. They say when someone shares their story, they're sharing their burden. Seeking someone to help carry the weight that bends their shoulders, hoping their troubles will float away like helium balloons into the endless sky. Your silence becomes their sanctuary, a vacuum they fill with dust-covered memories. If you speak, do it gently - a nod, a smile, the ghost of a touch on their shoulder. But my story? It's different. It carved its path because trust becomes a luxury I could no longer afford. How could it not, when the one person who swore to never betray me did exactly that? The one who promised never to hurt me, broke me. The one who vowed to stay, walked away. So tell me, why trust anyone else when the person I trusted the most killed me in every way but physical? Until they managed that too. They say the most dangerous predators are the ones who look like prey. I learned this truth through split knuckles and shattered promises, through blood on my tongue and threats whispered against skin. Through playing weak while gathering my strength in darkness. Now I watch him, this self-proclaimed hunter in his own game. He doesn't see he's just another piece being moved across someone else's board. The mafia's golden prince, they whisper. If only they knew what lurks beneath that polished veneer. What dances behind those eyes that mirror the shadows I know so well. But shadows? They're born from fire. And somewhere out there, someone's striking matches, leaving black roses on cooling ashes, drawing closer with every corpse that falls. They call him Pyro. And when that name drops in a room. Well, let's just say I'm not the only one with secrets worth killing for. Some demons wear designer suits. Some victims wear crowns. And some fires are worth burning for. Welcome to the game. Trust no one. Not even me.
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If you like fantasy/romance you should try my story The Flower Longed Death. It is written a LOT better than this one is! -------------------------- "You must've got the wrong impression if you keep expecting to get away with shit like this, so let me make things clear," He says with a calm smile. He moves his face closer to mine, losing the lighthearted grin that had previously cooled my nerves. I get a better look at the scar across the bridge of his nose, and the vague one X'ed onto his lips. Now I want them even more. -------------------------- Eighteen year old Mileva never thought her past would catch up to her after leaving years ago to live in New York City. She didn't think she wanted it to. However, she also didn't think she would cross paths with a guy like Valen, the Italian Mafia's heir. He's only twenty three, but he's somehow the most attractive and intimidating man she has ever met, let alone heard of. Mileva battles her anxiety adjusting to this new life of hers, while Valen is just getting comfortable with his new obsession. -------------------------- Word count: 110,000 There is a lot of graphic content, so please read carefully! List of specific warnings can be found in the introduction. The writing gets better as the story progresses, I promise.
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