HarleyThe all-too-familiar, excruciating sickness consumes my body quickly, jolting me awake from a drug-induced slumber. I bolt upright, sore as fuck and sick as fuck, frantically scanning the room, realizing I am in my bed. And I have no fucking idea how I got here. The last thing I can remember is being with him.Brixton. What a fucking sexy name. It fits him perfectly, and I love how it sounds on the tip of my fucking tongue. He must love it too. Why else would he have fucked me like a goddamn animal the moment his name escaped my lips last night? What did he mean that what we did was going to change everything?As I climb out of bed and away from the warmth of the blanket that has been wrapped around me, I try to think of an answer to my question. I only realize the blanket I was wrapped in is not mine when I drop to the ground to pick up my box. It's his. I would wrap myself in it and infuse my nose with his scent if I were not currently convulsing from sickness. I take out my

HarleyIt's been a week now, and I haven't seen Scotty or Brixton since that morning in my apartment. I'm worried, but at the same time, I'm not. Brixton is my biggest concern, not Scotty. He draws me to him in a way similar to how a moth is drawn to a flame. I'm addicted to him, and without him, I can't function-just like an addict and his bag of fucking drugs. I've been staying away from my apartment as well, and have made a lot of money from spending all of my time at the club. I'm not sure what to do with it. While moving has crossed my mind, I'm not yet ready to let Alec go in that way. I've considered returning to school, but my drug problem is far too fucking severe for any hope of normalcy. I've even considered switching fucking jobs again, but for some reason, I find it difficult to leave the life I've fallen into. I crave the risk and danger that it entails. It's the only thing that makes me feel alive. I feel a sense of comfort and safety in the crime that riddles my surrou

Brixton"Brixton, move your gun away from my face. This shit isn't funny." My little bird begs, her voice cracking as she tries to keep her tears at bay and fight the rush of emotion barreling through her. She's so fucking sexy when she's completely at my fucking mercy, and I wouldn't want it any other fucking way. Changing the subject altogether, I keep my gun pressed against her body, but I move it down her cheek, gliding it along her neck until I get to her tits. Her hard nipples poke against the fabric of my wife beater, the thin cotton making them perfectly noticeable. I lick the water off my lips as saliva pools in my mouth. With my free hand, I adjust my cock, grin at Trig again, and pierce my gaze back into my little bird as I run the barrel of my gun over her tits, watching intently as her chest heaves hard."Is that better?" I smirk, evil in my tone, but I can't help the peril spilling from my lips."No, I don't want your gun on me at all. It scares me.""Would you rather my

BrixtonSitting in the interrogation room with my hands cuffed to the table, I curse Trig up and down loud enough for the fucking cops behind the two way glass to hear every fucking word. I don't give a shit. He got me into this fucking mess and when things got hot, his ass took off and ran, leaving me behind to deal with the aftermath. Fucking coward. I refused to say a word when they brought me in, but I didn't put up a fight—I didn’t need a resisting charge added to my shit; it wouldve given me more fucking time.But as I sit here—not even thinking about the fuck up I just did while already on fucking parole—my future isnt what's on my mind. I can't stop thinking about my little bird and thoughts about not seeing her again really start to fuck with me, sending panic rushing right to my head.The door suddenly opens and the arresting officer walks in with a seriously pissed off look on his face as he comes over and unlocks the cuffs around my wrists, not saying a word as he does i