REDEMPTION | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Life Before

It is cold. I had a hard time warming up. Encroaching frost began to scale the timbered cracks of our ramshackle shed. My warm breath against the frigid air misted into small puffs. I am buried in an oversized hoodie, but the jogging bottoms had seen better days. The material strangled my ankles, threatening to tear at the seams. Luckily, the thermal socks kept frostbite at bay, and if winter kicked arse, I had insulated gloves.

I am taller now. I sound older, too. It's the throaty voice, I guess. It's thicker, deeper and huskier than it used to be.

Morning-glory transpired often. When I lived at Briar House, I loathed the unpredictableness of my shaft. It had a mind of its own. It came alive at the most humiliating of moments, and because of lack of privacy, it was difficult to ease the ache. Now, with Bill roused at the crack of dawn, headed into Victoria, I had hours to kill. It's become a ritual. I did my business every morning before I ventured into London, and, well, it felt good, and I liked it.

Fucking sue me.

In addition, I had more control over my arousal. My dick doesn't jerk to life impulsively anymore, which I appreciated. There is nothing more embarrassing than a raging boner in the proximity of cute girls.

Speaking of girls, I am pretty stoked about those sleek legs and ample curves. I paid attention to details, the dip in their spines, the sound of their laughter and the way their eyes brightened when they smiled.

Yeah, I liked a girl with pretty eyes. It's her innocence that warmed me most.

You see, I am a sucker for unassuming females. If she's pretty yet modest, I am drawn to her.

Girls did not notice me, though. Even if they did, I doubt they'd want to pursue a homeless bum that lived in a tumbledown shed with an alcoholic.

On Bill's thumbs-up, I started shaving three months ago. I had to groom the ever-growing stubble, eventually. My shoulder-length hair stayed in a top-knot while I saved extra cash to visit the barber. Bill offered to put the sheers on my head, which I declined. I liked Bill. Hell, oftentimes, I loved him. But he is a functioning alcoholic. I did not trust him to trim the mane in his unstable state. His hands trembled due to alcohol withdrawal. Well, until he accumulated money to visit the liquor store to get his fix. Only then would his anxiousness end.

Bill had a huge problem. He is recognised in London. When shop owners spotted him headed their way, they stood on the door and refused entry. If he stumped up the cash, they'd hand over the goods.

Alas, for Bill, the days of robbing stores have long passed. He cannot step foot over the door without confrontation.

Bill is a big guy. He is tall, stern, intimidating, but Bill is a softie at heart. He doesn't like trouble or conflict. He would never lay down the law and make demands or rough people up to get what he wanted.