Page 6 of Kiss the Villain

It’s the knowledge that I won’t be able to stop and will eventually get caught.

Yes, I can avoid prison for a while. Not only am I a first-year law student who’s studying law to manipulate it, but also, my dad's side of the family owns one of the largest and most successful law firms in the States, Carson & Carson.

My grandfather loves me more than his own son and would get me the ‘not guilty’ verdict no matter how many shady methods he has to use.

But how long would that last?

I’d still kill.

It would be impossible not to.

Especially after…him.

I know because bloodlust is the only urge I can’t fully control. I watch people’s pulse points and I wish I could turn them red. To see them choke on their own blood and let it fill the void inside me. I look into their eyes and I want them empty. I fantasize about dead eyes looking at me, knowing I’m the god who ended their lives.

It happens a lot during sex as they’re moaning while I wrap my hand around their throats, and I want to squeeze that pulse point to nothingness.

I want their pleasure to turn into death. It’d be poetic, really. To end their lives in their happiest moment.

Unfortunately, that would ruin this whole image I’ve spent my entire life curating, and I do care about my image more than my need to see people die.

So, sadly, I can’t kill Yulian.

I pause as I run my gaze over him again, the music thumping from downstairs barely audible.

Was he always this tall? I know he’s big like that brute Nikolai, and they often go at each other in the fight club, but I thought he was closer to my 6’3” than Nikolai’s 6’4”.

And he’s not standing, so he shouldn’t lookthistall.

With a mental shrug, I stroll toward him and pull a knife from my calf sheath.

Step one: Undress him.

But I won’t be undressing a guy personally—I don’t even like undressing girls—which is why I brought the knife to cut his clothes off.

Step two: Empty the vial containing lube that looks and feels like semen over him.

Step three: Take a picture of my cock in my hand as if I just came on him.

Step four: Blast it all over the internet with his face on full display.

Step five: Retreat to my public persona, knowing I’m the one who brought his ruin.

Might punch and kick him a few times after, just to release this aggression that’s been bubbling in my veins lately.

I pull on the hem of his shirt with a finger, not wanting to touch his skin. Preferably at all. Begrudgingly, once or twice for necessity.

The sharp knife cuts through the fabric and I pause as the two pieces of the torn shirt fall to either side of him, revealing a muscular chest, an eight-pack, and a verywrongtattoo.

Due to all the fighting he participates in, I’ve often seen Yulian half naked. While his back is tattooed with all sorts of shit, he only has one small tattoo on his chest—a scripture in Russian.

That’s not what I see right now.

The guy lying in front of me, his chest exposed, has a massive 3D black snake coiling across his abs, its scales rising and twisting like they’re alive, winding down to his side with menacing grace. Its mouth is open, fangs bared, inches from his heart like it's ready to sink in and tear into him.

I take a step back.

Unless Yulian got a new tattoo in the last forty-eight hours, this isn’t him.

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