Chapter Two : Twist of the Tuck.

Vincent Virenson.

The night air was cool, laced with the faint tang of burnt rubber-Marco's brilliant idea of "warming up" his motorcycle tires earlier. We leaned against the graffiti-smeared wall near Carmelo's Garage, talking about tomorrow's race like it was the apocalypse.

"Bro, I'm telling you," Marco bragged, eyes glittering under the streetlight, "my baby, he said pointing to his car, tuned to perfection. You'll be eating my dust."

I smirked. "Marco, your car wheezes like an asthmatic grandma going uphill. The only dust I'll be eating is the one you cough up."

He punched my shoulder. "Keep talking. Tomorrow, you're-"

"Vincent."

The sound of my name cut through the night like a whip.

I turned-

-white-hot pain tore into my side.

For a moment, I didn't even register it. My brain scrambled: What the hell? Did someone just hug me with a knife?!

And then I saw him.

Tattoo Neck.

The same guy I'd fought yesterday for messing with Violet. His snake-like ink seemed to coil under the flickering streetlight, alive, hissing.

"You-" I choked, teeth clenching as the blade twisted deeper. My vision pulsed red.

"Tell your little princess," he growled, voice dripping venom, "this is just the beginning."

He yanked the knife free, shoved me, and disappeared into the shadows.

I staggered, blood slick and hot under my palm. "Marco-" I gasped.

But my so-called best friend? He froze, eyes wide-then bolted. Just... gone.

Traitor. My ride-or-die just chose ride.

My knees hit the pavement hard. The cold seeped into my bones. My mouth filled with iron.

"Oh no... am I really dying?" The thought slithered in, calm and absurd. "Great. I didn't even finish my pizza."

The world tilted, the streetlights blurring into stars.

Alone.

Bleeding.

And then-

---

Violet Virgilson

Something was wrong.

I'd been pacing my room for twenty minutes, chewing my lip raw. Vincent was late. Too late. For him, lateness was normal. But this? This felt different. My stomach twisted.

"Pick up," I muttered, calling his phone. No answer. Again. Nothing.

Enough.

I grabbed his leather jacket from his closet (yes, I have access, don't ask why) and stormed out. It smelled like him-motor oil, mint gum, and trouble.

The streets were eerily quiet. My boots echoed. Every step was heavy.

And then I saw him.

Vincent.

Collapsed on the ground. Blood. Too much blood.

"Vincent!"

I dropped beside him, hands pressing frantically against the wound. His skin was ghost-pale, breaths shallow.

"Stay with me! Don't you dare close your eyes!"

He groaned.

"Vincent, if you die on me, I swear I'll drag you back just to kill you myself!"

His lashes fluttered, and then-he smiled. Actually smiled.

"For you," he whispered, voice weak but steady, "I'd die with a smile... even if the world ended."

My heart stuttered. I smacked his shoulder. "Idiot! This is not the time to be romantic!"

He chuckled faintly, before his eyes closed again.

"Vincent!"

I half-carried, half-dragged him all the way home, swearing under my breath. By the time I got him onto my couch, I was drenched in sweat.

"Take your shirt off," I snapped, yanking the first-aid kit open.

He cracked one eye. "Normally, I'd make a suggestive comment, but since I'm bleeding out, I'll... save it."

"Shut up."

I cleaned the wound. He hissed like a cat.

"Oh, stop being dramatic."

"Try getting stabbed and then tell me who's dramatic."

I paused, frowning. "What happened?"

His gaze softened. "Tattoo Neck. The guy from yesterday... stabbed me. Said it's just the beginning." His lopsided smile chilled me.

"What?!"

"Guess I made an impression."

My hands trembled as I patched him up. "Vincent..."

"I'll die for you, V," he murmured, voice fading.

"...Don't you dare," I whispered back.

"Too late. Already decided." His eyes slipped shut.

"Idiot," I muttered, brushing his hair back. "Go to sleep. I'll stay."

---

Vincent Virenson

I woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of Violet humming in the kitchen. My side throbbed, but the blanket over me was warm.

I heard her muttering. "Stupid tattoo guy... stupid Vincent... making me worry like this..."

A smile tugged at my lips. For a moment, the pain didn't matter.

But then-footsteps creaked outside. Heavy. Slow.

Not Violet's.

The front door handle rattled.

And I realized-I wasn't as alone as I thought.

Chapter Three : Dangerous Desires

Violet Virgilson

The faint metallic smell of blood clung to the air as I helped Vincent Virenson into the guest room. My hands shook slightly, though I'd like to pretend it wasn't from his injury-or from him.

"Careful. I'm not as fragile as I look," he muttered, one eyebrow arching in that infuriating, arrogant way that made my pulse spike. "But... apparently, I am in Marco's incompetent hands."

I ignored him and guided him onto the bed, stacking pillows behind his back. His blazer was ruined, his shirt soaked in blood, his jaw clenched like he was daring me-or the world-to challenge him.

"Don't worry," I said, masking the tremor in my voice. "I know what I'm doing."

"You'd better," he rasped, eyes glinting with mockery. "I wouldn't want my death to be caused by... nervous hands."

I bit back a retort, reaching for the torn fabric. Every inch of him radiated danger and arrogance. My eyes lingered a second too long on the sharp line of his jaw. My pulse betrayed me.

"Vincent," I said firmly, "stop pretending you're indestructible. You're bleeding."

"Do I look hurt?" he smirked. "I look... annoyed. That's much more my style."

I rolled my eyes, but a reluctant smile tugged at my lips. He was impossible.

When my fingers brushed his skin as I cleaned the wound, he hissed-whether from pain or something else, I couldn't tell.

"Careful, sweetheart," he drawled, voice low, teasing, dangerous. "Keep touching me like that, and I won't let you stop."

I froze. My heart jumped, but I masked it with sarcasm. "Vincent Valentino Virenson, if you say one more ridiculous thing, I swear-"

"You'll what?" His smirk deepened. "Tell me off? Adorable."

I huffed and focused on the bandages. "Why did Marco run? Why did he leave you like this?"

Something flickered in his eyes-hurt? Rage? He hid it quickly, but his jaw tightened.

"Marco made a mistake," he said coldly. "A very, very expensive mistake. And when he realizes what he's done..." His voice dropped, lethal. "...there will be blood."

I swallowed hard. Even broken, he radiated power.

"Violet," he said suddenly, his tone soft but sharp, "you shouldn't be here. Stay, and you'll burn. Leave, and I'll still find you."

The possessiveness in his words made me flinch... yet shiver.

"You're done," I said finally, tying the last knot in the bandage. "Now rest. You've had enough adventure for one day."

"I don't rest."

I arched a brow. "So you're going to lie there, bleed, and look heroic while I watch you suffer?"

"Exactly." He smirked, even pale and exhausted.

"Infuriating," I muttered.

---

Vincent Virenson

She thought she was untouchable, standing there glaring at me. But Violet Virgilson was dangerous in a way I hated to admit. Not the kind that killed with knives or guns-but the kind that killed slowly, with care. With eyes that made me want to trust.

"You know," I murmured, "you could have killed me."

She froze. "Excuse me?"

"One wrong stitch, one slip..." I let the words hang. She bristled, exactly as I expected. "But you didn't. So I guess I owe you."

"Don't start."

Her voice trembled-proof she cared. Dangerous. Problematic. Addictive.

"You should sleep," I told her, watching her try to walk away.

"I don't sleep."

"Then I'll have to make you."

---

Violet Virgilson

I was halfway to the door when his voice caught me.

"Violet... sleep on the bed with me."

I froze. "Excuse me?"

"Don't play games. It's either here, or the sofa with Caroline."

My cat. The judgmental furball who'd glare at me all night.

"Fine," I snapped, crossing the room. I perched stiffly on the edge of the bed.

He smirked. "Relax. I won't do anything you don't want. I'm too tired. Plus, injured."

My cheeks burned. I stared at him, stubbornly refusing to melt.

---

Vincent Virenson

She sat rigid, pretending I didn't affect her. But her breath gave her away. Her pulse betrayed her.

"Violet," I murmured, brushing my shoulder against hers, "staying here changes everything."

She flinched. "I'm not-" Her voice faltered.

I smirked, satisfied. "Shh. You'll be fine. Just sleep."

But as her eyes finally fluttered shut, I wasn't looking at her.

I was staring at the window.

Because in the reflection of the glass-

-I saw a shadow.

Someone was watching us.

--

Chapter Four: Blood and Betrayal.

Vincent Virenson.

The first thing I felt when I woke wasn't pain. It wasn't even the dull, burning reminder of stitches pulled too tight. No. The first thing I felt was her.

Violet.

Her warmth pressed faintly against my side, her breath fanning across my shoulder like she had no idea she was lying next to a man who had ruined lives, who had enemies that could break through her door at any moment.

And yet there she was.

My chest tightened. My instinct screamed at me to get up, to leave, to keep her safe by keeping her away from me. But another part-one I'd spent years burying under arrogance and blood and a smirk that could silence men-didn't want to move. That part wanted to stay here, with her, in this absurd, fragile peace.

I turned slightly, ignoring the sharp stab from my side, and studied her face. Messy hair. Lips parted as she dreamed. Eyebrows furrowed like even sleep couldn't fully chase her worries away.

Dangerous. Reckless.

Beautiful.

I smirked at myself, shaking my head. "Get a grip, Virenson," I muttered under my breath.

Her eyelids fluttered, and for a second I thought she'd caught me staring. But she only shifted, mumbling something incomprehensible, then nestled back into the pillow.

I let out a quiet laugh-soft, almost foreign. Who the hell was I becoming?

---

The phone buzzed on the nightstand. My entire body stiffened.

I reached for it before the sound could wake her, grimacing at the pull in my ribs. Marco's name flashed across the screen.

Of course.

"Perfect timing, Marco," I growled, slipping out of bed. I closed the door behind me before answering.

"You alive?" his voice rasped, all smoke and nerves.

"Barely. Thanks to you," I snapped. "You want to explain why you disappeared in the middle of a knife party?"

"I didn't disappear. I was regrouping."

"Regrouping?" I repeated, nearly laughing. "You left me bleeding in an alley. That's not regrouping. That's betrayal."

Silence. The kind of silence that confirmed more than words ever could. My jaw clenched.

"Listen," he finally said, his voice low. "Things are changing. Deals are being made. Lines are being drawn. If you're not careful-"

"If I'm not careful, I'll end up dead. I know. Thanks for the pep talk."

"I'm trying to help you, Vincent."

"No. You're trying to help yourself. And when it comes down to it, you'll cut my throat if it buys you another hour of breathing."

I hung up before he could respond. My hand tightened around the phone, the urge to smash it against the wall almost overpowering.

Marco was a problem. And problems didn't get second chances in my world.

---

When I stepped back into the room, Violet was awake, sitting up against the pillows with her hair a chaotic halo around her. She narrowed her eyes at me instantly.

"Who was that?" she asked.

I arched an eyebrow. "Good morning to you too, darling."

She crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. "Don't 'darling' me. You were whispering like a teenager sneaking out past curfew. Who was it?"

I smirked, sliding back onto the bed with deliberate slowness. "Jealous already?"

She rolled her eyes so hard I thought she might strain something. "You're insufferable."

"And yet you stitched me back together and let me share your bed. Curious, isn't it?"

Her cheeks flushed, and she glared daggers at me. "That was pity, not preference."

"Mm," I murmured, leaning closer, savoring the way she stiffened. "Keep telling yourself that."

She shoved me lightly on the shoulder, careful not to hit the wound. "You're impossible."

"And you're adorable when you're furious," I shot back, grinning despite the storm churning in my gut from Marco's call.

For a brief moment, it was easy to forget. Easy to let myself drown in her exasperation, in the strange comfort of being here. But reality has sharp teeth, and it never lets me rest long.

---

Later, she fussed over me like she didn't want to but couldn't help it.

"Don't move too much," she scolded as I tried to stand. "You'll rip the stitches."

"I've had worse."

"That's not the point."

"What is the point then?" I asked, smirking.

She froze for half a second, then muttered, "The point is... I don't want to deal with cleaning up your blood again."

I tilted my head, catching the truth buried under her sarcasm. "You care."

She shot me a look that could have frozen lava. "Don't flatter yourself."

But her hands trembled just slightly as she adjusted the bandage, and that was all the confirmation I needed.

---

The knock on the door shattered the fragile air between us.

We both froze.

Violet's eyes darted to mine. "Expecting someone?" she whispered.

"Not unless it's a bullet delivery service," I muttered, already scanning the room for a weapon. My gun was on the dresser, too far for comfort.

The knock came again, harder this time.

"Stay here," I ordered, pushing myself to my feet. The wound screamed in protest, but adrenaline drowned it out.

"Vincent-" she started, but I cut her off with a sharp look.

"Stay."

For once, she obeyed.

I grabbed the gun, cocked it, and approached the door. My muscles tensed, every instinct on fire. Slowly, I cracked it open.

And found Marco on the other side.

---

"Miss me?" he asked with that greasy smile of his.

My finger twitched against the trigger. "You've got a lot of nerve showing up here."

He shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a people person."

Violet appeared behind me before I could stop her, peering over my shoulder. "Who's this?"

I groaned inwardly. The last thing I needed was her anywhere near him.

"Trouble," I muttered.

Marco's smile widened as his eyes flicked to her. "And who's this lovely-"

"She's none of your business," I snapped, stepping between them.

Violet raised an eyebrow. "Rude, much?"

"Trust me, sweetheart," I said tightly, never taking my eyes off Marco. "This is the polite version."

Marco chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. "Relax, Vincent. I just came to talk."

"Funny. Last time we talked, you left me to bleed out."

His expression shifted, just slightly. Enough for me to see the crack.

"Things are complicated," he said.

"They always are," I muttered. "Get inside before someone sees you."

Violet gave me a look like I'd lost my mind, but she didn't argue. She shut the door as Marco stepped in, dripping sleaze all over her apartment.

---

The conversation that followed was blood and betrayal wrapped in humor sharp enough to cut. Marco danced around answers, I pushed, Violet interjected with sarcasm that almost made me laugh despite the tension.

But underneath it all, the truth crystallized.

Marco had made a deal. With people who wanted me gone.

And now, he was here, not to save me-no, he never would-but to use me. To buy himself time. To throw me to the wolves when the moment came.

The betrayal stung sharper than the knife wound. Because I had trusted him once. Foolishly.

Never again.

---

By the time Marco left, Violet was pacing, her arms crossed, muttering about how my life was a soap opera with more blood. I leaned against the wall, exhaustion finally sinking into my bones.

"Why do you let him get away with it?" she demanded. "He's clearly scum."

"Because," I said quietly, "sometimes you keep your enemies closer. Close enough to slit their throat when they finally turn their back."

She froze, staring at me like she wasn't sure if I was joking.

Spoiler: I wasn't.

And as the night deepened around us, I realized this was only the beginning.

Blood had been spilled.

Betrayal had been carved into the bones of this story.

And Violet... she was already tangled in it, whether she liked it or not.

And God help me, I wasn't letting her go.

Marco's hand trembled around the knife, but his voice didn't.

"You think you're untouchable, Vincent?" His tone carried a dangerous kind of desperation. "You think no one dares to play you? That's where you're wrong."

Vincent tilted his head, a cruel smile ghosting his lips.

"Careful, Marco. That knife is shaking so much it looks like it's dancing salsa. Should I play the music?"

Violet snorted before she could stop herself, earning a deadly glare from Marco.

"Oh, don't look at me," she said, crossing her arms. "If you stab anyone, at least aim better. You're embarrassing yourself."

Marco's eyes narrowed at her, then flicked back to Vincent. "You brought her here. You think she's on your side?" His voice cracked, revealing something ugly beneath it. "You have no idea who's whispering in your ear. Someone close. Someone feeding me pieces of you."

That made Vincent pause.

Just for a second, his smirk faltered.

Violet noticed.

The tiniest flicker in his usually unshakable armor.

"Ah," Marco grinned, teeth stained red with blood from where Vincent had struck him earlier. "Now you're listening."

The air between them thickened. Violet could almost hear the weight of that accusation drop like a stone. Someone close to Vincent - betraying him.

Vincent's gaze sharpened into steel again, though his jaw tightened. He let out a dark chuckle.

"So, let me get this straight..." He leaned closer, voice a razor's edge. "You're admitting you're too stupid to pull strings yourself, so someone else is pulling them for you?"

Marco's pride flared. "Laugh all you want. But you'll choke on that laugh when you realize you've been bleeding from the inside."

In a blink, Vincent moved.

The knife slashed - not at him, but toward Violet.

Her heart lurched, but Vincent caught Marco's wrist mid-swing, twisting it so hard the bone cracked. Marco screamed. The knife clattered to the ground, spinning across the concrete floor.

Blood spattered.

And that was when chaos exploded.

Vincent drove Marco back against the wall, fists raining down. Each punch landed with a sickening thud, the sound of knuckles breaking skin. Marco swung back wild and sloppy, his face already swelling, but desperation made him dangerous.

Violet stumbled backward, her breath shallow, watching the violence unravel like a nightmare made flesh. Yet when Marco's hand scrambled blindly for the fallen knife, her instincts screamed.

She moved.

Before Vincent could react, Violet kicked the blade away - hard - sending it skittering under a heavy metal shelf. Marco roared, lunging at her instead.

Vincent's fury became animal.

He yanked Marco back by the collar, spun him, and slammed his head against the wall with such force the plaster cracked. Blood streaked the surface as Marco sagged, coughing, laughing through broken teeth.

"You're already too late, Vincent," he rasped. "The betrayal's already inside. And when it surfaces-"

His words cut short with Vincent's fist smashing into his mouth, silencing him in a spray of crimson.

Silence fell.

Marco collapsed, groaning, semi-conscious on the floor.

Vincent stood there, chest heaving, knuckles split open and dripping with blood. The rage in him didn't seem human. His eyes darted to Violet, as if checking she was unharmed, though his expression was unreadable.

"Why-" she swallowed, her voice rough. "Why didn't you just kill him?"

Vincent's lips curled into something cold and cruel.

"Because dead men can't talk. And I need to know exactly who betrayed me."

Marco stood at the far end of the old warehouse, his shadow stretching long under the dim, flickering light. He didn't look like the friend I grew up with. No-he looked like a man who had peeled his soul off and sold it for power.

"You came," Marco's voice was calm, almost casual, but I could hear the smugness under it.

"I almost didn't," I spat. My fists were already balled at my sides. "But curiosity kills cats-and apparently best friends too."

Marco smirked. "Always with the dramatics, Vincent. You never change."

"Funny," I snapped, "I was about to say the same about you. Except-" I stepped closer, the air between us heavy, "-you changed everything."

His smile faltered, but only for a second. "You think betrayal comes easy? You think I wanted this?"

"No, Marco. I think you wanted more. And you didn't care who bled while you took it." My voice cracked, anger and hurt tangling together.

He scoffed, pacing like a caged wolf. "You're still clinging to honor. To loyalty. To some childish idea that people don't stab each other in the back when survival is on the line."

"Survival?" I laughed bitterly. "Don't dress it up. This wasn't survival. It was greed. You wanted my place, my power, my trust-and you got it. Congratulations. Except now you're standing in the ruins of both of us."

For a long moment, silence stretched. Only the buzz of the faulty light filled the space.

Then Marco chuckled, low and mocking. "You always were good with words, Vincent. Too bad words don't stop bullets."

And just like that-his hand brushed his coat, the metallic glint of a gun flashing beneath.

My heart didn't race. My blood didn't boil. Instead, a strange calm settled over me. "So this is it then? Best friends to blood brothers to... murder scene of the week?" I tilted my head. "At least make it quick. I've had a long day."

Marco's eyes narrowed. "Still joking?"

"It's either that or cry," I said with a crooked grin. "And honestly, I'm not in the mood for mascara stains."

His lips twitched like he almost laughed, but the gun stayed steady.