Grace
If someone ever told me the devil didn’t exist, I’d look them dead in the eye and tell them the truth.
He does exist. And I’ve made the terrible mistake of crossing paths with him.
Apollo Reed stood in front of me, close enough to steal my breath. His presence was enough to suffocate me. His gaze didn’t just look at me, it looked through me, like he could see all the things no one else ever had. The things I buried. The parts I didn’t let anyone touch.
His eyes drifted slowly, and lazily from my face down to every part of me.
It felt like he was undressing me with just a glance, peeling me apart layer by layer. By the time his gaze returned to mine, I could swear there was a flicker of something in his expression.
Amusement? Satisfaction? Or was my brain just trying to protect me by making this feel like a bad, weird dream?
“Hmm,” he said, voice low, almost bored. “You sure take your time thinking before speaking. Should I take that as a confession to your crimes?”
My eyes wide
