Page 36 of King of Violence

My stomach twists at the thought, equal parts shame and something I don’t want to name. I wasn’t thinking straight. I let emotions—anger, frustration, whatever the hell else—drive me right to the edge. Worse, I almost used him. I wanted answers. Istillwant them. And for a split second, I thought maybe…maybe I could get him to crack if I let things go far enough. It was a fleeting, stupid idea, and it makes me sick knowing I even considered it.

But there’s another knot of guilt tangled up in the mess. Because if I’m being honest with myself—and I hate how hard that is—I wasn’t just looking for answers.

I wanted him.

I let my head fall back against the couch and stare at the ceiling, tracing the faint cracks in the plaster. That’s the truth I’ve been avoiding for weeks. Somewhere between his smug smirks and those rare moments of vulnerability he probably doesn’t even realize he shows, I let myself start to care.

Which is insane, because he’s probably in the mafia.

The thought hits like a bucket of ice water. I sit up and press my palms to my knees, trying to ground myself. Julian’s whole life is a series of half-truths and shadows. I’ve heard the whispers on campus and seen the way people avoid his gaze like it’s dangerous to make eye contact. And then there’s the “sporting goods store.” I’m not stupid. I know what that means.

I should hate him for it. I should walk away and never look back. But every time I try to put distance between us, he finds a way to pull me back in—a text, a look, a brush of his hand against mine that feels deliberate, even if it isn’t.

And tonight?

I shudder, pressing a finger to my temple. Tonight was too much. He showed up here, drenched and determined, and the walls I’d been holding up crumbled like they were never there at all. He has this way of looking at me like he’s daring me to tell him no…and I should have.

Instead, I kissed him like I’d been starving for it.

“Because I have been,” I say out loud to no one.

The realization settles like a lead weight in my chest. I’ve been craving him—his attention, his presence, the way he somehow manages to make me feel seen and invisible at the same time. It’s infuriating…and intoxicating.

I grab my hoodie off the back of the couch and toss it across the room like that will make the memory go away. It doesn’t. I can still feel the way his hands gripped me as if I was the only solid thing in his world. He’s dangerous. I know that. And yet,I keep letting him inch closer, like a moth drawn to a flame it knows will burn. I should be smarter than this.

I get up and start pacing again, trying to shake the energy that’s buzzing under my skin. Maybe this is what he does—draw people in and make them trust him, only to use them. Maybe I’m just another pawn in whatever game he’s playing.

But then I think about the way he looked at me tonight, like he was the one who’d crumble if I turned him away. Like he needed me.

I press my hands against the wall, my forehead resting against the cool plaster. “You’re an idiot, Felix,” I mutter under my breath.

Because despite everything—despite the lies, the danger, and the fact that Julian probably has blood on his hands—I can’t seem to stop wanting him.

And that scares me more than anything else.

The next few days pass in a slow, infuriating blur. I tell myself I’m not waiting to hear from Julian, but every time my phone buzzes, I can’t help but check it like a fool. Nothing. Not a single word from him since that night at my apartment.

It’s for the best, I tell myself. Someone like Julian belongs to a world I don’t understand—a world I’m not sure Iwantto understand.

Your life will be so much easier if you just fucking believe me.

The memory stirs something I can’t name, a strange mix of curiosity and dread.

Saturday night comes, and the city hums with its usual chaos. I’m curled up on my couch, a textbook open in my lap that I’m pretending to study, when my phone buzzes on the armrest. My heart jumps before I can stop it.

It’s him.

Julian: Come out with me.

Just four words, no explanation, but my pulse kicks up like I’ve been caught in a spotlight. I stare at the message, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

Me:Where?

His reply comes fast, like he was waiting for me to answer.

Julian:You’ll see.

Julian: I want you to know the real me.

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