Page 1 of Cruel Crown

PART I

Light is easy to love. Show me your darkness.

R. Queen

Preface

Once upon a time, there was a boy who built castles in the sand. He had dreams and a future that shined so bright.

His parents loved him, but the worst of society fucked him.

He grew lonely.

He grew cold.

He was a devil with no compass pointing north.

Then one day, he met a girl—a queen with a heart of stone. She didn’t fear him. She didn’t run. She looked past the demons, looked past the blood, looked past everything that made everyone else cower and hide.

He thought he knew love, but he was betrayed.

He thought he found his match, but she pulled his beating heart out of his chest.

For he was a devil, and he was going to make the cold-hearted bitch that betrayed him kneel and beg.

Now the question remained: Did he want her alive, or did he want her dead?

Gideon

Location:Colombian Jungle

Any second now, my legs would give out on me. When you are a predator, the worst feeling in the world is immobility. When you are incapacitated, you can’t chase nor run; your body—your ultimate weapon— betrays you. My body was weak, my ribs were in pain, and every time I took a breath, it felt like I was inhaling flames.

More shouts echoed, and I gritted my teeth, pushing past the pain I felt. I was not going to die like this. Not in some fucking jungle—not before the cold-hearted bitch paid.

“Parcero, solo queremos hablar.”Friend, we just want to talk, the guy mocked.

There was a glow in the sky from the fire the bombings had caused. Shots and yelling could still be heard, so I knew I hadn’t gotten very far. The paramilitary groups were fighting for the cocaine that was on the premises. I knew my chances for survival were slim, but never underestimate a man with revenge on his mind. The jungle was a scary place, and I didn’t want to face a jaguar. I just prayed the paramilitary group that resided in the area would have chased them off.

It was hard to see where I was going only with one fully capable eye, but somehow, I was managing. Another step and more excruciating pain followed. It was still dark, but soon dawn would fully break, and I knew that in the light, I had no chance in hell of surviving.

The fucker who was chasing me started shooting at random in hopes a stray bullet would hit me. I grabbed the nearest tree for support and put my weight on it, trying to stay up. With my forearm, I wiped the blood that was dripping from my eye. With all the pain everywhere else, the sting of the cut took a back seat.

I was pissed as fuck. I was in this mess for thinking with my fucking dick. I knew there was something Daphne wanted. I knew it was connected to Franco Estacado. I just didn’t think she would double-cross everyone and steal the Estacado bitch for her own personal gain.

When I woke up and looked up at her from bound arms, I couldn’t even speak. I gave her permission to kill me, but silly me for thinking she wouldn’t go ahead with it. she was a pretty faced bitch who knew how to kill. Just because I had seen some of her humanity, it didn’t mean she knew how to use it. Hell, I wasn’t so sure I knew how to either.

When she kissed me, she passed a razor blade between our mouths. She gave me the kiss of death and hoped I lived because that was the whole point of that fucking kiss—a chance at surviving.

Only myself, Sergio, and three of his most trusted guards knew in what part of the camp the Estacado girl was being kept. That meant Daphne must have followed me, or someone else at one point.

Another grenade went off somewhere, and I gathered all the strength I had and sat straight against the bark of the tree.

I leaned my head back and silently laughed. Rivera and Sergio leaving was no coincidence—not with Daphne around. Whatever she poisoned me with made my body weak and she knew it would. That’s why she gave me the blade, in case someone else came to the room before my limbs worked adequately.

And they had. I had just pulled my hands away from the mattress, barely taken the binds off when they barged into my room: Robinson, Sergio’s right-hand man, and another guy I had seen around camp.

“Where’s the mafia whore?” Robinson asked me in his heavy accent.

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