Page 32 of King of Violence

I lace my fingers through his golden hair and grip tightly. “Fuck, Jules.”

Julian only hesitates for half a second before moving his head. Shit, this feels too good. Julian’s fingertips dig into my thighs as he continues to choke down my shaft. His eyes have defiant tears in them as he glares up at me.

But I can see his hand rubbing against his own bulge.

Fuck, I shouldn’t be doing this. Anybody could walk in and see us like this. I could lose my tutoring job.

Julian gently sucks the head of my cock, his tongue tracing the seam.

What was I thinking about?

It’s too much for me to bear. I yank Julian up from his knees, my dick still dripping with his saliva. I need to be inside of him.

A frenzy comes over me as I tug off his jacket and throw it to his feet. My hands find the hem of his shirt and pull it upward. He lifts his arms, letting me strip it off.

That’s when I see them—the bruises.

They bloom dark and angry across his ribs and sides, a stark contrast to his golden skin. Some are faint, others fresh, and all of them scream of violence. My stomach twists.

“What the hell?” I breathe, my fingers brushing one of the bruises lightly.

Julian flinches and steps back. “It’s nothing. It’s from football, is all,” he says quickly, reaching for his shirt.

“Don’t do that,” I say sharply. “Don’t pretend this is nothing.” I turn around and begin to fix my clothing.

He grabs my hand, pulling me to face him. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me!” I snap. “Who did this to you?”

But it feels like I already know the answer. His lies, the drugs, the bruises? My mind rattles with the thought that I was right about him…about his family.

Julian’s jaw tightens, his eyes darting away. “Just drop it, Felix.”

“Drop it?” I repeat. “You’re standing here covered in bruises, and you want me to justdrop it?”

He doesn’t answer.

The silence between us stretches, heavy and suffocating.

“Fine,” I say finally, stepping back because now things are messy.

I’m not supposed to be fucking my number one suspect. I got carried away.

“Felix, wait?—”

But I’m already at the door, my heart pounding as I turn the handle.

“Let me help you,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper—one last plea.

Julian doesn’t respond, and I don’t wait for him to. The door closes behind me with a quiet click, leaving him alone in the silence.

JULIAN

The first time I recruit someone into the family’s operation, I tell myself it’ll be the last—a one-off, a necessity to keep the heat off me. But that was months ago, and now the lines I swore I’d never cross are blurry at best.

I’m spending more time at the “sporting goods store”—the convenient euphemism for the money-laundering scheme running through my family like the blood in our veins. Business is booming, and my father sees an untapped goldmine in my position at Valmont College.

“Students are easy marks,” Elijah says one evening, justifying the growing pressure. “Broke, desperate, willing to look the other way for quick cash. You’d be stupid not to use that.”

---