Page 104 of Fatality

Gasoline - Maneskin

My office is dim under the neon lights.

I fucking hate the fact that we still haven't found the man who stole from me after a week.

He must be smart enough not to make waves or worse, he could be actively searching alongside us.

The bastard.

I punch my desk, the wood cracks under the impact but doesn't break completely.

I hate sitting behind it like I'm still in school.

It's too quiet, the silence.

I run both hands through my hair and lean back in my chair, stretching my legs beneath the desk as I stare up at the ceiling with a grin.

I wonder if she's sleeping, if she's thinking about me.

Of course she is.

Why wouldn't she? She knows she isn't safe. She's probably having a mental breakdown—or better yet, trying to secure her loft.

I'm in her head now, and it's only the beginning.

Until there's nothing left in her mind except me, I will never leave.

Just thinking about her is making me hard, and I fucking hate it.

It's been a week, and every time I think about how I'm going to haunt her, torture her, fucking kill her but all I can think about is her eyes.

And the fact that she wasn't afraid of me.

I hate that brat, I wish her dead.

And my fucking cock decides to get involved in all this shit against my will for no reasons.

The door to my office explodes inward with a heavy thud.

I snap my head forward and see one of my members—Juan—breathing heavily.

There's pure panic in his eyes.

I raise an eyebrow and stand.

“Speak or get the fuck out, Juan.”

I walk around my desk and lean against it, not even trying to hide the bulge inside my jeans.

“Boss,” Juan pants. “Someone, a woman—”

“A woman what?” I cut in, already annoyed by how long it's taking him to get to the point.

He actually flinches.

“A woman is destroying your car with a steel bar.” He swallows. “She's pissed.”

In an instant, I straighten, my eyes blazing.