#11 IN ACTION
(PARIS)
Buried deep below the everyday life of our society lives a world of nightmares-of violence and murder no one dares speak about. It is called the Sinner's Society.
In the murky waters of Chicago's underworld I'm arranged to marr...
He's a drug, an addictive one, and I'm not sure it's a habit I can kick. All it took was one hit. One strong, euphoric hit and I was hooked.
------Alex.
(A Year Ago)
Alex's Point of View
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A fraction of the tension keeps my chest tight since Princess left for Paradise and Ashley my sister from another father is with me in my library. My finally christened library.
Ashley is eight years younger to me, she is in her mid twenties. We're nothing alike, if we don't consider our looks, then she is my female counterpart. Black hair, blue eyes, killer body and killer face----I don't know the fancy words to keep my description completely platonic and not creep into the territory of vulgarity. I'm already called a lot of things for fucking a brother, won't appreciate something else been said, just for describing how good looking my baby sister is, for whom I only have brotherly sentiments. Other than the looks, she is my opposite. She's young and hopeful. I've grown bitter with age. She's got a lot of heart. I've been told a time or two that I'm a bit of a callous prick.
There is a bright flash from the lamp beside the gilt-wood carving sofa where I'd Paris tied few weeks ago, followed by a flashgun-like pop as the light bulb sizzles and goes out.
"Shit!" Ashley jumps in her wingback seat, opposite me, with fanned out cards in her hand. Her eyes dart to the lamp and returns to me exasperated. "Will you stop doing that?!"
I scowl at her over the card I'm holding in one hand and a bowl crystal snifter of Rémy Martin in the other by the little stem. "Why are you even sitting here?" I snipe.
"Why are you even asking?" She barely spares me a glance from her cards as she arranges them. "Read my mind, like you used to do in high school. Why the sudden privacy?"
"I did that for your on good." I argue mildly.
"Hardly." She scoffs "you ruined my proms and crashed my dates."
"Didn't I caught the Fagbitch you were dating secretly and lying about it, cheating on you?"
"That was one time." Her accusing states stabs at me. "You made me break up with Jack, Tara, Loren and so many."
"They were all bad for you."
"And who are you to judge huh?"
"You big bad brother." I smile and she roll her eyes. I swirl the cognac with lazy, little, rolls of my wrist. "C'mon, humour me."
She tosses a card onto the marble-topped table between us. "To keep you company."
I scoff. "I don't need company." I need Paris sitting on my cock and riding the brewing hurricane out of me. "Try again."
