| BOOK TWO | THE LONDON CRIME KING | A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE NOVEL |
This book contains adult language and subject matter, including graphic violence, drugs and explicit sex that may be disturbing to some readers.
This series is NOT a typical romance...
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I buried the Colt. I stood in the middle of the Tower Bridge, listening to the world pass me by and dropped the only evidence that could link me to Kellie's murder at the bottom of the Thames. The firearm joined multiple killings and untold syndicate secrets. And that's how it'll remain, eroding, residing, non-existent.
Killing a pregnant woman soon tugged on my heartstrings. I am not a ruthless killer or an immoral person who can conflict suffering and live without remorse. However, the conspiring universe forced me to change into someone I am not. Its unrelenting obstacles and wicked challenges catalysed self-destruction. Continuous misfortune and sustained disappointment spawned inner loathing, hatred and anger. I am sick of being the kind and caring and generous human. Such characteristics lead me to the land of nowhere. I get trampled on, derided, humiliated and taken for granted.
I was born with a loving heart, but that doesn't mean I have to keep it. Disguised immunity offered me a second chance, a fresh start and a prospering lifeline. It's given me the keys to set different foundations.
Yes, Kellie's demise wasn't my finest hour, and her breathless whimpers will forever invade my subconscious mind, but what's another tortured soul to my everlasting nightmares? I learnt to live with the other dark creatures, so I am sure I can withstand her final plea.
I travelled on foot to the sound of driving vehicles and London's kaleidoscope of colours against the dark, starless sky.
Before returning to Heather's bed-and-breakfast, I made a pit stop to a twenty-four-hour bargain booze store and paid for two bottles of vodka and strawberry laces. I chewed each stem and sipped harsh alcohol, seeking prior sluggish numbness.
Vodka is gradually becoming my best friend—my only friend. I quite like the depriving feeling it has on me.
"Fuck life," I vowed, opening the garden gate, stumbling to the front door. "Fuck Liam and his pregnant...woman." I fetch my keys from my purse, unlock the door and stagger inside. "Hello, darkness." Kicking off my shoes, leaving them in the foyer, I round the stairs, floorboards creaking under each thudded step. "Fuck Jace for abandoning me."
I guzzle vodka while shimmying out of my skirt, find my bedroom and barricade myself inside.
Humming to myself, I blindly feel around for the sideboard, settle my belongings on top and tear the blonde wig off my head. Its bouncy curls land somewhere on the floor, meeting my discarded top and accessory jewellery.
Oddly comforted by the shadows, I fall on the bed and stare at the ceiling, hacking bites of sugary laces to satisfy hunger pangs.
"I know it's dark," Jace said, and a panicked scream tore from my chest, "but the street lights exhibit a clear visual, Vick."
I rolled off the bed and landed in an awkward heap on the ground. "Holy shit." Snatching an unwashed T-shirt from the floor, I pulled it over my head. "You almost gave me a heart attack." It buried my frame, covering my once exposed breasts and lace thong. "Asshole."
