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Wicked Little Prayer

ผู้เขียน: Krystal Bahmz
last update ปรับปรุงล่าสุด: 2025-07-14 21:53:42

I woke up with a tight breath, my throat dry and raw like I’d been screaming in my sleep. The digital clock on the nightstand blinked 2:04 AM in angry red, like the bored eyes of some lazy demon.

I sighed, bent my knees, and stared up at the ceiling. How long had it been since I last slept without nightmares? I didn’t know.

I don't know. And I hated not knowing.

My stomach twisted quietly. Shit. 2 AM hunger. I cursed under my breath and got up, I walked slowly over the cold wooden floor that bit into the soles of my feet.

When I reached kitchen, the low pendant lights flickered on automatically, revealing ivory cabinets pressed against rough gray stone walls. The fridge, a huge stainless-steel beast, hummed softly. I opened it and scanned the shelves I’d stocked a week ago.

Whole chicken. Fresh Roma tomatoes. Almond milk. A bundle of cilantro. Pecorino Romano. Crisp lettuce. Ripe plantains. And in the far bottom corner... a bar of Belgian dark chocolate I’d been saving for next month’
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  • TO HATE, TO TOUCH, TO RUIN   God Bless This Beautiful Hell

    I stood in the long hallway of the villa, the home theater door shutting tight behind me with a soft click. The giant stone wall clock stared back coldly. 10:18. A.MTwo hours of Bollywood in a dark room had done nothing but slap the hell out of whatever part of my brain was still drunk on last night’s fever dream.I rolled my neck, stretched my shoulders with a sigh. Elena stood next to me, fixing the white apron I’d half-ruined dragging her onto the couch earlier.“Come nap with me,” I mumbled, lazily persuasive. “Just a quick one. We’ll sleep for thirty, then cook. I swear I won’t make you watch another Shah Rukh Khan dance number in a mustard field.”She laughed quietly, cheeks pink. Her eyes flicked nervously down the empty corridor.“I can’t, Krystal. Aldo asked me to help in the back kitchen. Some... new stock came in. I need to check—”I groaned, cutting her off with a glare. “Aldo? Again? What is it with you and that bulldog-headed man? I’m way more attractive, you know.”Her

  • TO HATE, TO TOUCH, TO RUIN   Coffee, Control, & The Lack of Both

    I stood in the kitchen, wooden spoon in hand, a hot pan in front of me, and the shame from last night still clinging to the back of my neck like a bad tattoo I couldn’t scrape off with this damn kitchen knife.The oil hissed softly as bits of bacon dropped in one by one, filling the air with a scent that should’ve been comforting. But nothing could comfort my brain this morning.I stirred too fast, too hard. A few pieces flew out of the pan and hit the stove with a sizzle. I cursed under my breath and fished them out with a fork.“Shit. Why a dream? Why him?” I muttered to myself. “Why not dream sex with Christian Grey or something...at least he won’t be in my damn kitchen the next morning—”“I’m hotter than Grey.”The voice dropped like a grenade in my ear.I snapped my head up, breath catching. And there he was. Zach Romano. Leaning against the kitchen counter like it was built just for him, wearing a white T-shirt that clung to his body and loose gray sweats. His face was blank, ca

  • TO HATE, TO TOUCH, TO RUIN   Lap of Danger

    I pushed my bedroom door open slowly, holding my breath like the whole damn villa could still hear the noise of my heart crashing against my ribs. The dim light from the bedside lamp spilled across white walls, highlighting the rumpled gray linen sheets that had wrapped around my body just a few hours ago.My mind was a mess. Not from the broken AC or the Mediterranean heat outside, but from something else entirely. Something that had been clinging to my skin ever since I’d planted my ass on the very obvious hardness underneath Don Cosa Nostra’s holy-forbid-he-feels-love sweatpants.God. His size.Jesus.I closed the door behind me with my elbow and dropped onto the bed like the mattress could swallow the leftover sins still stuck to the back of my neck.The taste of chocolate still lingered on my tongue, but it was nothing compared to the bitterness of what had just pressed into me. No one had ever handed me a manual on How to Sit on a Mafia Lap Without Getting Mentally Wrecked. Sadl

  • TO HATE, TO TOUCH, TO RUIN   Wicked Little Prayer

    I woke up with a tight breath, my throat dry and raw like I’d been screaming in my sleep. The digital clock on the nightstand blinked 2:04 AM in angry red, like the bored eyes of some lazy demon.I sighed, bent my knees, and stared up at the ceiling. How long had it been since I last slept without nightmares? I didn’t know.I don't know. And I hated not knowing.My stomach twisted quietly. Shit. 2 AM hunger. I cursed under my breath and got up, I walked slowly over the cold wooden floor that bit into the soles of my feet.When I reached kitchen, the low pendant lights flickered on automatically, revealing ivory cabinets pressed against rough gray stone walls. The fridge, a huge stainless-steel beast, hummed softly. I opened it and scanned the shelves I’d stocked a week ago.Whole chicken. Fresh Roma tomatoes. Almond milk. A bundle of cilantro. Pecorino Romano. Crisp lettuce. Ripe plantains. And in the far bottom corner... a bar of Belgian dark chocolate I’d been saving for next month’

  • TO HATE, TO TOUCH, TO RUIN   No Walls High Enough

    Dusk melted slowly into the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of orange and red like old wounds that refused to heal.His horse stepped carefully down the rocky slope, carrying us toward the beach, where the sand was already turning cold under the bite of the sea breeze. Zach’s body was still behind me.Big, warm, silent like a threat that hadn’t been spoken yet.I drew in a deep breath. The ocean ahead looked like a shattered mirror.“What are you going to do to Matteo?” I asked, not turning around. My voice was swallowed by the crashing waves.He didn’t answer directly. His horse kept walking like we hadn’t spoken at all. But I could feel his stomach tighten against my back. I could feel the chill in his voice before he even spoke.“The worst,” he murmured. “If he doesn’t take responsibility for what he’s done.”I just gave a small nod. No surprise there. I knew who Matteo was. And I knew what loss felt like.“I’m not defending anyone,” I said to him. “My cousin was murdered a ye

  • TO HATE, TO TOUCH, TO RUIN   Devil Behind Me

    The sky above the villa had turned a pale shade of blue, signaling that afternoon was slowly giving in to evening. I stood by the tall white wooden fence, watching a row of horses in the stone stables at the east end of the property. Chestnut brown. Snow white. Midnight black. The stable’s ceiling arched high, with wrought iron chandeliers hanging from beams like we were standing inside some forgotten ballroom in a fantasy novel.Only, there was no prince here. Just a predator standing a few paces behind me.I could hear the slow, heavy crunch of his boots on the gravel floor.He wore tan chinos, a black fitted tee, and a dark brown leather riding jacket unzipped down the front. The wind had gotten to his dark hair, tossing it around and baring that sharp face with no filter to soften it.God. If he wasn’t mafia, he could pass for the cowboy in a high-end cologne ad.“Ever ridden a horse?” he asked, low, rough, like it knew the exact nerve in my neck to land on.I glanced back at him

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