• Violet •
Shocked might be an understatement when I saw a broken Killer walk through the door.
“What. The f**k?” I nearly screamed as I rushed over to him.
My skin, still wet from the shower, met his bloody body in a harsh, cold clash.
All I got in return was a wild, guttural grunt—something almost animalistic—but I didn’t care.
My cold heart, the one I’ve guarded all my life, hurt. Like someone had stabbed it, cracked it wide open.
Anger came next. It always does. I turned toward the now-closed door, ready to storm out.
But a warm hand wrapped around my arm, pulling me back.
“It’s over,” Killer muttered before dragging me toward the bed.
For a man who looked that broken, he still held an alarming amount of strength. The kind I should fear.
But instead, I was—disgustingly—turned
