Bad Boy Rich

He disappears from the room, but this time, I’m aware that he is gone. The noises are still outside so I grab the sheet around me and walk towards the window almost stumbling on some shoes.

The moon is out, bright and round. It provides limited light but enough for me to see a Jeep in the driveway. There are two passengers in the car, though in the darkness, I can barely make out of who they are.

A man, tall and wearing dark colors, stands in front of Wesley. They’re talking, nothing alarming and seem to know each other. They are standing too far away for me to hear their conversation even if I opened the window. I continue to watch them, cautiously, until their hands meet, a handshake that lasted too long. The man pulls his hand back, laughing before entering the car. Wesley lingers, then waves goodbye to them and heads inside the house.

I scramble to the bed, my heart racing a million miles a minute as the reality of what I witness sinks in. Wesley Rich is a bad boy, and once again another piece of his life begins to unravel.

There was no point in asking him point blank what I just saw until I figured out what I would do if he admitted the truth.

And admitted to myself that I could possibly be sleeping with the enemy.

Bad Boy Rich

I could feel her pulling away, slowly. Painfully.

I’m about to lose my mind.

Desperation intensifies my irrational and self-destructive thoughts.

Mind games.

Carnage.

No good could come of me in my own company.

I’ve always done whatever I could to avoid facing my own soul, but she made me do it. She placed us in front of each other, spotlight shining above, in the ring fighting a battle that was imminent. She may not have known she was doing it, stripping me to pieces in order for me to bare my soul.

I was covered in sins and she was my holy water.

She was the only person left who could save me.

My head tells me to get my shit together. Stakes are high. But my heart is the ultimate decider. And what do they have in common? They both want to shield her from the pain.

Then, stupidly, I realize—I’m the pain.

Inside—deep in the troughs of my dark soul—the coldness brought on only hate. I despised everything and everyone. But Milana Milenov—a name so angelic and pure—found a way to let the warmth inside.

I felt the sun.

The warmth and its presence every time her body was next to mine.

And, slowly but surely—it’s all beginning to fall apart.

Troy was a goddamn imbecile for showing up at my house and demanding that I owed him. Perhaps I did, but I didn’t trust him—not for one second. He fucked shit up wherever he went and there was no chance in hell he was getting anywhere near Milana. I made sure of that; I gave him the stash he wanted, a bonus amount on top and warned him never to set foot on my property again.

I needed out of that game.

The high was no longer worth the

pain. I should probably stop using, and it’s not like I did it every fucking day. The second she became mine, I slowed it down. I used when she wasn’t around. It’s why I made it my fucking mission to make sure she was always around.

She had become my addiction.

The morphine to my pain.

It was obvious the next morning that things were different. When I fucked her, she tensed, her mind elsewhere and distant. Her body was this sacred temple—one that I couldn’t get enough of. She wasn’t like other women I had been with. She wasn’t trying out to be the next biggest porn star. What she did was from pure pleasure. She tested her boundaries on me. I saw it, I watched it with an easing curiosity.

And that had become an addiction that remained incurable.