Page 22 of King of Violence

Once I’m back in my room, I close the door and lean against it, letting out a shaky breath. My thoughts are a tangled mess, each one louder and more overwhelming than the last.

Ben’s right—I’ve got it bad. And that’s exactly the problem. I slide down the door until I’m sitting on the floor with my head in my hands, the weight of my feelings crashing over me. How did I let myself get here? How did Julian Greco—the last person I should be thinking about—manage to carve out a space in my chest I can’t seem to close?

I stare at the water bottle in my hand, the cool condensation slick against my skin, and let out a bitter laugh. One shot, one night, one person, and everything I’ve worked to protect feels like it’s unraveling.

I don’t know what’s worse—how much I want him, or how much I hate that I do.

???

The walk to class feels longer than usual today. My feet move on autopilot, but my mind? It’s trapped on that damn balcony—the kiss, his lips, the way Julian’s breath felt warm against my face, the electric jolt when I realized I wasn’t pulling away…and that I didn’t want to.

I grip the strap of my bag tighter, trying to shake the memory loose. I’m a criminal justice major. I’m supposed to be focused, meticulous, the guy who reads between the lines. Not the guy making out with suspects—suspects who might be laundering money for their mafia families.

Guilt chews at me as I slip into my usual seat in lecture. The professor’s voice drones on about the legal implications of RICO cases, but all I can focus on is how I’ve completely compromised myself. How can I investigate Julian when the thought of his hands on me makes my pulse race?

I open my notebook, but instead of jotting down notes, I find myself sketching jagged lines, the pen pressing harder with each pass. My brain replays every detail of the balcony encounter: the city lights behind us, the sharp scent of vodka on his breath, the cocky way he dared me to look away.

I don’t know if I’m more angry at him or myself.

“Earth to Felix,” Ben whispers, nudging me.

I blink, realizing I’ve been staring at the same spot in my notebook for who knows how long. “What?”

“You good? You’ve been out of it all morning.”

“Yeah,” I lie, flipping to a fresh page. “Just didn’t sleep well.”

Ben gives me a skeptical look but doesn’t press, thank God.

After class, I try focusing on an essay that’s due soon, but even that doesn’t hold my attention. My phone buzzes and I almost ignore it, assuming it’s Ben or another group chat blowing up about finals.

But it’s not.

Julian: Hey. I owe you an apology. Meet me tonight? Rooftop bar on Fifth. 8PM.

I stare at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I should say no. I should block his number. But my fingers betray me, typing out a simple,Fine.

???

The bar is upscale, its polished wood and soft lighting exuding a warmth that feels entirely at odds with the storm brewing inside me. Julian is already there, leaning casually against the railing overlooking the city, a drink in hand.

When he sees me, his face lights up with that maddeningly self-assured smile.

“Felix,” he says, like my name is a secret only he gets to say.

I don’t smile back. “You wanted to apologize?”

He gestures to the empty stool beside him. “Sit first. Drink?”

“I’ll pass.”

Julian shrugs and takes a sip of his whiskey. The ice clinks softly against the glass as he sets it down. For a moment we stand in silence, the hum of the city below filling the void. I’m not in the mood for games, and I’m about to say so when he finally speaks.

“About the other night…” His voice is quieter now, more subdued. “I messed up. I got carried away, and that’s on me. You didn’t ask for any of that.”

“No, I didn’t,” I say, the sharpness in my tone cutting through the space between us.

“But you didn’t stop me, either.”

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