My life was everything I wanted it to be. It was mapped out and planned. I wanted it all, the career, the right husband, the white picket fence and kids. Until he was thrust into my world, ripping me from it. My carefully planned life shattered, proving to be nothing more than a cheap illusion, and now I’m living in this twisted form of hell, where enemies and friends are one and the same. I thought I wanted perfection. Now I don’t know what I want – perhaps not even my own freedom.
I define wrong. I thrive on the corrupted greed of others, on their trivial hope, and their false optimism. I am the bookie, and the bookie always wins. For those whose hopes far outweigh the depths of their pockets, well, let’s just say paying with your life is not just a figure of speech.
I have always been in control, until suddenly I’m not any more. The day one of my collectors dragged her into my office as payment on a debt, I should have killed them both right there, but I didn’t. Now she threatens my control, threatens everything I’ve built, and yet I still can’t kill her. Why can’t I kill her?
By the time I’m done with her, she may pray for death.
Everything is not always as it seems. Lust, blood, lies…Nothing this wrong should feel so right.