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Pink eyes met my blue ones. His eyes were the color of pastel pink that reminded me of balls of cotton candy that were served by those rare vendors during the busy evenings of rush hour.
The longer I stared into those mesmerizing orbs, the more familiar - and dangerous - they became. My brain was working hard against the sluggish pace, and it only took five extra seconds to realize those eyes were of my enemy.
One of my enemies.
I was ready to get up and pick a fight, proud to meet him in the form of my true self and ready to give him a piece of bitchery that he wholeheartedly deserved, but the mere movement suddenly sent me convulsing. My body fell back once more as all I could do was endure the waves of trembling shakes until they came to a pause.
Fuck! This hurts far worse than period cramps!
I fought to sit up once more, and I gasped for air that suddenly seemed to be stuck in my throat. I coughed, and boy did I regret that; it ignited a round of coughs which caused blood to spurt from my mouth and cloak my lips.
My single curse was muffled as I suddenly groaned and gave up on the idea of sitting up. Staring up at the sky was suddenly my way of revolting, but I began to realize that time was beginning to tick, and I'd need to get myself to a doctor as soon as possible.
I could imagine one of Father's best medics racing over to come aid me with the simplest things, afraid of what would come if he didn't give his all in every assessment he was forced to give to ensure I was a healthy little shit of a puppy.
Those benefits surely would have been handy now, but I was on the edge of some forest, and there was no way would I survive the journey back when I was bleeding from multiple wounds.
Crushing sounds caught my attention before heavy exhales that weren't my own drifted to me. If only I could allow myself to be curious; I'd think of the perfect way to piss that jackass off before kicking his balls and showing him who the true ruler of this city was.
Papa Dearest may be the lead of the show, but I was the secret weapon that would fuck shit up for the sake of being the only one on Father's shit list. Anyone else could either fuck off or be murdered - all so I could have the last laugh when I took everything from that sick bastard of a father and show him that females weren't weak baby-maker bitches like he always remarked on a day-to-day basis.
Footsteps made my body grow tense, and lo and behold, there stood the man of my angered envy.
Even now, as those pink rings scanned the damage that was laid on my poor flesh, all I could do was glare at him in disgust. The idea of him even trying to help me made me gag and left me begging for any other scenario to deal with.
This fucker who thought he could control me. The one whose smirk taunted me when he had me pressed against the wall with his tight groin grinding against mine while my father continued his meeting in the other room.
There were so many instances where he showed up to fuck up my idea. He was no different from the others who showed up to aid with one of the many drug heists orchestrated by my father. They would do anything to gain his favor. I couldn't wait to gain a little strength just so I could experience the satisfying moment of punching him in the face.
I’d love to ruin a hint of that handsome perfection, to see the blood rush to his face and leave a dark circle, giving him a raccoon eye that he wholeheartedly deserved. An eye for an eye could technically work, though I hoped I'd be dead by the time he tried to pull out mine.
I'd laugh at the idea if I could, but as I focused on my reality I realized my body struggled to function. I was losing sensation in my fingertips and feet while my body shuddered as a strange chill began to sweep through me.
The man standing there suddenly looked concerned, and it was such a foreign sight that I thought my mind was surely hallucinating all of it. He was on his knees the next second, his arms shaking me and his words fighting to cut through to me, but my hearing was struggling because of how loud my blood was pumping. A ringing sound assaulted my senses.
I finally was able to pick up his words as he suddenly grabbed my left bicep.
"Fuck..." he whispered before those shock-stricken circles peered into mine, which were beginning to grow weaker. "Will! You're Will, aren't you?!"
Could I even answer his question? Obviously not, as I suddenly felt like I was slipping through some cracks beneath the ground. It was a slow transition: bits of me were already drifting away while others fought hard to remain and see what this man was shocked about.
Wasn't it obvious who I was? I was the girl who was always mistaken in the tabloids for being some sort of twin sister doppelganger of the richest heir in NYC.
Anyone - and I mean anyone - would want to be William De Luca. The rich heir of the De Luca Organization, which hid its secret mafia roots behind plenty of businesses. The organization made the idea of giving drug money to the poor appear pure.
I tried to speak, but that only made me cough up more blood. Suddenly I was gasping as dark spots began to claim my vision. The man before me was now wildly shaking me, and it almost pained me to see the fear that gripped those cotton candy spheres.
He knew I was dying. While it wasn’t caused by his own hands, it left him desperate to be the one to claim such ownership of my end rather than allow another to do so.
As I continued to drift, his eyes became wilder, leaving me almost confused as to why.
"You can't die!" he declared as if it were my choice. I surely didn't want to enter the pits of Hell when I'd yet to prove my worth, let alone find a mate that would be crazy enough to date the 'human' mistake of an Alpha mafia leader father, but sometimes beggars really couldn't be choosers. When death came knocking on your door, all you had to do was suck it up and skip right into Judgement.
The idea of it all made me wonder if I'd be able to do just that - skip right into the toasty realms of Hell.
My attention returned to the man as he dropped to his knees. He clearly didn't care about the blood that surely would have pooled all around me by now as his hands pressed against the very wounds that bled away the remaining fragments of my twenty-five years of life.
"Dammit!" he cursed and looked me dead in the eye. "Don't you dare slip away from me! Did I fucking give you permission?!"
