Only after locking the door behind me do I realize there’s no bike waiting for me. No Mickey.

I stand there at the edge of the porch, watching Jeremy leave for school. Then Greg and Marcus disappear off to work.

But Mickey never comes.

He doesn’t answer when I pick up the phone and call him.

He isn’t there when I go to our spot after school, or the next day when I walk out of the house with my hair down.

I call again.

It goes straight to voicemail.

I show up at his home, but no one answers his door.

I go again the next day and the next.

Until days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months.

A year goes by.

He doesn’t show up for my graduation.

He doesn’t come when I am hospitalized.

He doesn’t say “happy birthday” when I turn eighteen.

A year and one day later, I can’t walk, just like he said. I can’t bring myself to leave the bed or eat.

I’m not enough.

He ruined me.

Roman Riviera was right, and I was wrong.

I won’t die without Roman Riviera.

But sometimes I wish I would.

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Chapter 12

ROMAN

3 Years Ago

Roman: 19 years old – Isabella: 17 years old.

She’s more than a dream. She doesn’t compare to my wildest imagination.

I’ve always known I have the addict gene in me, and I’ve found my vice. I’ve been addicted to Bella since the very beginning. Whether just by looking at her or hearing her voice, it fired off little signals in my brain that had my whole body craving my next hit of anything her.

I thought I knew what obsession was.

I very obviously did not.

Whatever I thought I felt before is fucking peanuts in comparison.

Now that I know what she tastes like, how she sounds when she moans, and the way her flesh molded so perfectly to me, I’m hooked. This girl was made for me, my own princess. I would give up everything for a single hit—my perfect drug. What she does to me hits like nothing else. And, fuck, if that doesn’t drive me insane just thinking about it.

That cute little whimper she made when I stopped kissing her?

The way she clawed at my back like she was as hypnotized as I was?

Don’t even get me started about how she was bucking her hips and practically begging me to take her.

Even how she looks wearing what I gave her, the earrings, necklace, and shirt. I wanted to know what the first two would look like against her skin without the last thing getting in the way. Naked, under me, and begging me to ruin her while she wears my marks.

I don’t think Bella understands the magnitude of what I just did, and she’s not nearly as impressed with me as she should be.

I stopped.

Stopped.

Me? I fought against my urges and let her walk out of there in one piece. I tore myself away from her when I only wanted to consume her whole. If I could live in her skin, I would. I don’t think she gets that.

Impulse has gotten me where I am today. Lack of control is the reason why Bella has had to patch me back together more times than I can count. Everything clicked into place when she was beneath me, looking up at me with her beautiful brown eyes. I’m her loyal servant, always have been, and always will be. She’s my purpose, my home.

One more year, and she’s all mine. She won’t have stupid shit like homework and exams to worry about. I won’t have to drop her off at home every night and watch that fucker Marcus look at her in a way that has my blood boiling.

I’ll probably still have to share her with that little shit Jeremy, but ultimately, nothing will get in our way. Not Maxim or Mikhail. And they’re going to know it.

As I drive away from her house, every voice in my head is telling me to turn around and finish what Bella and I started in that shed.

But our first time isn’t going to be with that seedy Marcus in the other room, or on the floor in a decrepit, abandoned shed. There will be flowers and candles and pretty things everywhere, like in those romantic movies she’s made me watch. She’s my delicate princess.

Tonight was meant to be perfect. There were meant to be no tears—the unhappy kind—and the only thing she was supposed to do today was smile, laugh, and be happy. But those two idiots ruined everything.

Mikhail and Maxim Androv.

Never heard of them, and I don’t care to know more than just their address. The only thing they will need to know is not to be in the same vicinity as Bella ever again. After I’m done with them, they may need to get wheeled out of any place where she is.

I asked Damien for their address, since Lord knows he owes me for all the times I’ve given out favors for him and the cartel he’s running with. I re-check the GPS on my phone. The blood roaring in my ears increases. They only live a few blocks from her.

And she sleeps with the fucking window open. Anyone could climb in.

Fuck it. I’m going to install bars on that window.

The thought only unsettles me more as I park my bike several houses down from where they live. I take a couple of steps away, then glance back at my bike. My only other love. It could be the last time I see her. She might not be in one piece by the time I get back. It’s a shitty neighborhood, and she could get sold for parts.

I stole those wheels from someone who owed me money. Someone else might steal the same set of wheels because they need money. It’s almost like the circle of life.

I check that she’s locked tight one last time, give her a pat, then I’m off on my merry way to fuck up those two pricks.

My body buzzes with anticipation. I can already imagine what their blood will look like on my riding gloves, and I hear the sounds of them begging me to stop. I don’t care how old they are; I’m putting them in their place. They didn’t pick on someone their own size, so why should I?

After the high of kissing Bella and all the built-up frustration that came with it, this is going to be the cherry on top. I thought I’d have to reach out to Damien, my contact, and find a place to let off some steam tonight, but I guess everything works out for me, eventually.

The street is dimmer with the helmet visor down, but there’s no missing their duplex and the two lookalikes sitting on the deck, smoking a joint. They look like idiots.

The twins look like their names sound: short, blonde with a number two cut, and brawny.

Cold sweat gathers down my spine from excitement. I’ve met their type before. Guys like them wouldn’t be sitting outside in this neighborhood without carrying a gun. My lips twitch up at the corners. No one in this area would care if one goes off, but guns mean cops. I’m not in the mood to deal with pigs.

Clad in black, I creep along the side of the house, sticking to the shadows and keeping my footsteps light. I don’t do many of these outings while wearing a helmet. The anonymity is great, but it fucks with the senses. I won’t be able to see or hear as well.

The twins are completely oblivious to the intruder in their midst. I can smell the weed through my helmet, and I might not be able to see their bloodshot eyes this far out, but I’m sure they will be.

Shielded by the darkness, they don’t see me coming, too spaced out to hear me stretch my neck from side to side before the first crack from my fist carves through the night. Fucker Number One tips to the side, bringing the chair with him. Fucker Number Two scrambles for his gun behind his back, but not fast enough to avoid being hit in the jaw by my riding gloves.

God, that felt good.

His head snaps back, hitting the wall behind him. He groans as his hands instinctively snap up to stop another assault.