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Doc Vineson was a flame. Isis wanted to burn. And, as always, Chaos ensued. HIS HAIR WAS WHITE-I don't know if that's what his original color was, but when I met him, his hair was white as snow. He had thick black brows, pink lips tugged up into an everlasting smirk. Everything was a game to Doc-he found his madness his quite scintillating. And it was. Doc Vineson was a flame, and he knew it. He burned everything he touched, and yet, there were some who never learned. They grew to love the pain he brought, until he destroyed them. I guess I was one of them. The only difference between me and them, is my madness originated from me. I wasn't something pure that he could taint. I was tainted, I was painted black. I drew people like him in like a moth to a flame. Whether I was the moth or the flame-I couldn't tell you. We were too much alike, too different, too everything. We should have never existed. As individuals we should've never existed, Doc and I. It seemed impossible that we could exist together. The two of us, born from the same ashes, different degree of burns, but burnt all the same-we should have never tried to be something we couldn't. As I lay, dying next to him, his hand in mine, I remind myself how I got here-the Earth around me sco

Romance / Action
4.8 4 reviews
Age Rating:


Two years before...

MY LIPS TUG UP, enjoying the violent scene. What can I say? I enjoy bloodshed. Some man is getting his ass beat. I incorporate it into my routine, dancing as wild as the offenders punches.

My legs wrap around the pole, swinging upside down. I grow fascinated at the sight of my hair, hanging, weightless almost.

Black curls floating, defying gravity.

Or at least, so it appears.

Nothing defies gravity.

My song is coming to an end. Soon I will sit in the VIP seat, and drive men insane.

My favorite pastime.

They're all pussies to me. Honestly, they see a girl with a bit of confidence all their masculinity goes to shit.


I turn around to look at my 'boss'. He's a short fat, rich white man, who makes money off of the misfortunes of women like me, and lusts of men like him.

Some days, I imagine roasting him like the pig he is.

"Porky!" I mock him, ignoring his glare. I bring in half of his profits.

I could call him my bitch, and he wouldn't try and get rid of me.

"I need you to entertain some new clientele," He runs his fingers through his greasy blonde hair, "Important ones."

The smell of smoke, alcohol and sex fill my lungs, the low lights shielding his face a bit. But he's anxious. I hear it in his voice.

"How important?"

"If they told me to fire you, I would."

Well, then Porky. Thanks for the perspective.

"And what am I supposed to do?" I glare, placing my hand on my hips. The familiar jingle of my bangles cuts through the air. "I'm not a a prostitute."

Porky comes close, his head reaching my neck. Barely.

"If they tell you you are, you are. These are... Dangerous men, Is."

Now that, is intriguing.

I tell him I'll do it. I love crazy, and by the way Porky is sweating these men are crazy.


MY BRACLETS CLACK beautifully as I make my way up to the VIP room. Kim's is a seedy place, with all sorts of shady characters, but every one of them has money.

Anticipation builds in me. I wonder what these guys are? Gangsters? Or, better yet, Mobsters?

I lick lips. I do love violent men.

Daddy issues, don't ya know?

The sky high heels I prance in dwarf my already short gold dress.

Two more velvet red stairs. Bobby and Vinny, low gangsters, guard the doors. I eyes their guns with a smirk, as they step aside.

As soon as those double doors open, I'm hit with the scent of Cuban cigars, the expensive kind, cologne, money and blood.

I love it immediately.

It's the mafia for sure.

The leather sectionals placed on red velvet carpeting holds a number of men. All of them are looking my way.

There are girls here, but I command the room.

"Hello boys." I smile coyly, using my sexy voice.

Just an octave lower than my normal one.

My eyes sweep over the group.

They aren't Italian. They aren't Russian. Not even Irish. They aren't Latinos.

I'm lost.

I approach them, sitting beside the most important man in the room.

I can tell. He commands respect, promises bloodshed and all types of immoral behavior. If I believed in love I would've fell right in that shit.

His cold brown eyes assess me blatantly.

His hair is snow white, his eyes dark brown. He wears a simple white tee, black leather jacket, jeans and a gold chain.

He has a pocket watch, with a chain on it, and one gold tooth. Just one.

His body isn't covered in tattoos but his hands are. Cobras wrap around his wrists like hand cuffs.

It is silent in the room as I appraise him, and him me.

He hasn't spoken yet, just eyeing me with those narrow eyes.

"I'm Isis." I introduce myself, getting closer to him.

He doesn't stiffen as I cuddle up next to him taking liberties with his space.

Like the snakes on his wrists he strikes when I get close , almost on his lap.

His strong hands reach out and grab my chin, making my breath hitch. With a crooked smirk, he draws me closer, his grip tightening.

The man brushes his lips over my ear. My whole body is trembling. I've never met someone like him.

My only consolation is that he hasn't met anyone like me either.

"I don't care," He whispers lovingly, minty breath fanning my brown skin. I nod, but he doesn't let go.

He nuzzles my neck, leaving no time for reactions as he sinks his teeth into my throat.

I gasp. Moan. There is no one there but me and him at that moment.

His hands leave my body, slouching back in the chair as if nothing happened.

"Can I get a fucking drink," He demands. "I think I deserve a fucking drink."

His low, deep voice thunders, forcing the girls to scurry around like chickens with their heads cut off.

Only I don't.

I sit by his side and don't move.

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