Champion

You felt your head pulsing.

You had been walking outside. You had just went to pick something up. Roman offered to have someone take you, but you declined. You never got to go out on your own and this was starting to prove why.

You struggled opening your eyes.

"It'll be quick," you promised, kissing him before you went. "Victor will go get whatever you need," Roman did not want to let you go. You smiled softly at him, "Roman, I'm grown I can do this." He held you close to him, "Okay, love."

Your vision was almost completely blurry.

You had left the store. Truly you did not need the small thing you picked up, you just wanted to get out for the first time in forever. You loved your life with Roman, but living a life of crime usually meant you did not get out much.

You were trying to adjust your eyes when you felt your hands tied behind your back with some rather coarse rope.

It was pitch black outside. Something felt off as you were walking back to the club. You felt a chill run up your spine as your fear slowly crept up you. You pulled out your phone to call Roman. His voice would calm your uneasiness. It happened so fast that you could not even pull up your contact list to call him. You were struck in the back of the head and hit the pavement. You blacked out against the cold ground.

You blinked rapidly. One of your eyes was swollen almost shut. You could see a tall male figure sitting in front of you. "Wh-What's... going... on?" You pushed out stumbling over your own words. You were highly aware of your tongue. Your face was swollen. The taste of blood was faint in your mouth.

"Good morning," a familiar voice spoke to you.

"Fuck," you thought.

It was that asshole that was at the club the other night. The one who tried so hard to get Roman to share his estate with him. Roman laughed in his face, "You want me to split this with YOU?! Tell me you're kidding?"

His golden plated teeth shined into your eyes. You squinted slightly. The prick looked so pleased to have you before him. His elbows rested on his thighs, his head rested on his hands. "You remember me, sugar?" You huffed a breath out. You hated when men tried to sweet talk you. You only loved the cute little nicknames from your love. "The prick who was at our club," you scoffed. He walked over to you, kneeling beside you. His hand caressed your face. Your face scrunched up in response to his touch. He quickly smacked you firmly across the jaw, "You better learn who the fuck you're talking to." You sucked your teeth in anger.

He walked back over to his chair. He pulled a cigar from his coat pocket. He picked up the lighter from the table. "Roman's gonna kill you," you muttered. He laughed at you taking a long draw from the cigar in his hand, "He ain't gonna do shit. I sent him this little number and told him he better get here or you're dead." He pulled your own phone from his pocket. He showed you a picture of you blacked out in the chair with him squatted in front of you, his hand gripping your exposed thigh. You were disgusted at the semi-blurry image before you.

"Do you know what they call me?"

You rolled your eyes. Just like most men, he was going to have to give you a giant speech about his life before killing you. You'd rather be dead then listen to his ramble.

"Well, I got the nickname Hannibal when I was still new to this whole murder thing. The first time I ever got my hands on someone I had killed... I brought them back here to this exact room and well... I chopped them up into little bitty pieces and cooked them right up," he was licking his lips.