Chapter 1

Everybody knows to fear Damien. I never did, but watching him punch a man to death is reason enough.

But, why do I feel so tight inside?

The night started like any other night with dozens of customers coming in for dinner at Cheesy Matt. And I have been nothing if not busy with six tables that never seemed to go vacant.

I noticed Damien walk in with a some other guys, and that was the last I saw of him until closing hour. It wasn’t my responsibility to take out the trash, and I have no idea why I volunteered.

The night has grown quiet and the hassle of the day has died down. If not, I wouldn’t have heard it. A low groan followed by a rumbling noise that sounded like footsteps.

Honestly, I thought it was that annoying cat eating out of the dumpster in the alleyway again. So I rounded the corner to investigate.

It wasn’t the cat that made the noise, it was Damien.

Two man lay motionless around him even as he sat atop the third, raised his fist, and delivered a skull-cracking blow. And then another, then another. Again and again, until his fist was sleek with blood, and the man couldn’t make any more grunts of pain.

I just watched a man get punched to death ... I just, oh my God,. Damien just killed a freaking man.

I wanted to sneak back around so he wouldn’t notice me. But of course, I had to step on a soda can, and now ... now Damien is standing two feet in front of me.

His ruby red hair was disheveled, his white shirt ruffled and torn with stains of blood all over him.

He has a black eye, bloody lips, and a very bloody fist. And all I can do is stand there. He is easily two heads above my 5ft 4” height with his broadness overshadowing my petite frame. And he has that darkness about him like I’ve never seen before.

I mean, he just killed three men his own size, what’s stopping him from snapping me in half like a chopstick?

And what is stopping me from running back into the restaurant for help?

It’s silly, you know.

How you see someone everyday throughout your life and not have a second thought about that person until you see them in a certain situation.

I have known Damien since middle school and I could swear the only things I ever noticed about him are his ruby red hair and the fact that he is in the Bloodhound gang.

But now ... now I’m frozen in place under his charm.

Can ... can I call it charm though?

I just watched him kill a fucking man, and he just stood aimlessly before me. His bloody fists clenched like iron vices, his muscles so tensed they seem to have grown twice their original size.

It’s terrifying and I find myself wondering why he hasn’t killed me yet.

I have no idea how long we both stood there staring at each other. Okay fine, I’ll say it properly...

I have no idea how long I stood there hypnotized in his stare. And I didn’t even notice when he ran a bloody finger across my cheek.

All I know is that he said something - I have no idea what - and then he left. Leaving me reeling from feelings I can’t explain. Missing the absence of his sleek finger on my cheek and the danger of his sight.

Am I attracted to him? If so, why now?

Why did I have to see him kill someone before I noticed how manly he was ... how sexy he was?

My hand subconsciously goes to the cheek he stroked, and my other hand found its way to my chest.

Fuck, it’s so tight inside. What the hell is wrong with me?

Damien? Damien is a gangbanger, and a criminal. So why the fuck do I want him to run his bloody fingers on my cheek again?

Three hours later, the police dropped me off at my apartment after a million questions about what I saw - which for some reason I kept saying nothing.

I go into my apartment; not bothering with switching any light on. Walk straight to the bathroom to wash myself. Soap and shampoo, hot water, and a long relaxing bath later; I’m no longer thinking about Damien’s build or his bloody fists. I can’t even recall the feel of his touch...

Ah, God damn ... I’m thinking about him again.

I walk out of the bath nide as day with only one thing on my radar, vodka. If I get myself drunk, I’ll stop thinking about that brute. That fucking murderer.

I found the vodka on the kitchen counter, poured myself a glassful, and made my way back to the...

Wait a minute...!

I turn around towards my sitting area. And there is a dark silhouette on my favorite couch. My mind is yelling run, and my brain is screaming danger, but I’m too curious. I want to know who or what is seated on my couch.

The switch is just a couple of feet to my left, I pushed the button for the living room and ... yes, you guessed right.