PROLOGUE: GIOVANNI
Moralsareforthe souls who've never had to experience the hardships of life.
I'm not sure I ever had morals to begin with, and now... how can I have them when I don't even have emotions?
They call my brother a psychopath, the devil, but compared to me, he's an angel. I'm just better at hiding my deepest demons.
I look down at the man kneeling before me. His long, black dreads are hanging into his face as he bows his head forward. I don't need to see his face though, because it's ingrained into my mind. It looks just like his sister's after all. And Winter Chastine invades most of my thoughts.
Even before I came face to face with her, I thought about her. I thought about the ways I'd destroy her, from slitting her delicate throat to putting a bullet in her pretty little temple.
She's been in my custody for three months now and I've refrained from letting my inclinations take over, but just barely. Every time I see her wide, brown, doe eyes looking at me, her wild curls falling into her face, my impulses threaten to engulf me.
They encourage me, taunt me.
Hit her.
Kill her.
Fuck her.
So far I've ignored them, but my refrain is slipping a little more every time I'm in her presence.
But there's too much for me to do before I allow my urges to take control.
Too much to accomplish before I can satisfy the voices in my head.
I step forward, yanking Richard Chastine's chin up and forcing him to look at me. My fingers dig into his rough flesh. His pupils are dilated, and I can feel his head threatening to sag even in my grip. His breathing is ragged. And I don't have to look at the fresh track marks on his arms to know that he's as high as the Empire State Building.
My lips pull back into a sneer.
This is the piece of shit I promised to let live in exchange for his sister.
He'd made the offer to me himself. Little did he know it wasn't the first time Winter Chastine had been offered to me. It'd just been the first time that the timing was perfect.
He lets out a soft groan and tilts his head back slightly before catching himself.
I shake my head, letting him go. He manages to keep himself steady even as I press the barrel of my gun against his forehead. I don't think he's aware that he's on death’s doorstep.
You signed a contract saying you wouldn’t kill him.
I push the gun against his forehead harder.
Morals are for the souls who've never had to experience the hardships of life.