bonus chapter

johnny

Sullied - Warlord Colossus, Istasha

T he air smells like cinnamon and pine, the kind of scent that coats your lungs and makes everything feel too clean, too goddamn sweet. I hate it. Fucking Christmas . The decorations are everywhere, littering the streets like the town is begging people to get into the holiday spirit—big red bows, twinkling lights wrapped around lampposts, wreaths hanging from every door. It's picturesque. A postcard town.

But I'm not here for any of that.

I sit on an ass numbing metal bench by the outdoor skating rink, my hands wrapped around a paper cup of hot chocolate that smells like sugar and childhood memories I'd rather forget. The rink is crowded—families and couples, bundled up in coats and scarves, skating hand-in-hand, laughing like they don't have a care in the world. Like nothing bad could ever touch them here.

They think they're safe in this bubble of snow and cheer, but I know better.

St. Jacobs. This little slice of Christmas-perfect bullshit. It's all fake. The people here are fake . Too much money, not enough sense. They throw their cash around like it'll make them happy, but underneath it all, they're empty. Hollow . Just like my mom. She would've fit in perfectly with this crowd. Pretending to care about Christmas, about appearances, about keeping up with the neighbors while everything rotted inside.

Lifting the disposable cup to my lips, I take a slow sip of the hot chocolate, letting the warmth settle in my chest as I scan the crowd, my eyes moving lazily over the skaters. Most of them are the same—laughing, clinging to each other, bright eyes full of bullshit holiday cheer.

All except one.

Her.

She glides across the ice like she's been doing it her whole life. Not showy, not trying to get anyone's attention, just… moving. Effortless. Her short hair bounces a little as she skates, the icy strands stopping just below her ears. It's that kind of platinum blonde that looks almost white, like the snowflakes falling around her. Her eyes, though. Stormy grey , like there's a tempest swirling just under the surface. Dark, and piercing. There's something there, something brewing . I can fucking feel it, like a magnet pulling me toward her. She's a storm, hiding in plain sight.

All these idiots around her, and none of them see it.

But I do.

My body shifts forward slightly, my elbows resting on my knees as I watch her, sipping the hot chocolate just to keep my hands reaching for my hardening cock. She's wearing a cute little puffy vest—white, matching the snow—and tight black leggings that hug every curve of her ass as she glides. Her movements are smooth, graceful, and so fucking angelic . She looks like a snowflake, delicate and pure, but I know better. I know what lies underneath. I can feel it—her darkness, waiting to be dragged out.

And fuck , I want to be the one to drag it out of her.

I can already see it, the way her body would bend beneath mine, the storm in her eyes finally unleashed as I make her eyes roll back into that pretty little head of hers. She looks like the type who keeps it all locked up, but to me, that's just a challenge. I'll make her let go. I'll make her feel everything she's been hiding.

I lean back on the bench, watching her like a predator, my gaze tracking her every move. It's not about the hunt, not really. It's about the game . How far can I push her before she breaks? How deep can I go before she realizes there's no going back?

Just as I'm about to stand up, to walk over and introduce myself to my little snowflake, I see him.

Who is this fucking guy ?

He comes out of nowhere, sliding up behind her like he owns the place. His arms wrap around her waist, pulling her back against him, and they kiss. Right there in the middle of the rink, with all these happy families skating around them. Like it's normal . Like she belongs to him .

My hands clench around the cup, the cardboard crumpling under my grip. I can feel my jaw tighten, teeth grinding together as I watch them. Watch him as my anger grows. He's tall, way taller than her, with tanned skin that screams privilege and money. He's wearing one of those stupid expensive coats, the kind that says I have more money than you , and a scarf that's way too fancy for this fucking rink. Glasses. The kind you know are designer, not for necessity. Everything about him screams money .

I don't even know him, but I know I can't fucking stand him.

He leans down and whispers something in her ear, and she laughs.

She fucking laughs .

I stare at them, feeling the heat rise in my chest, but it's not the kind of heat that makes you warm. It's the kind that burns, that makes your skin crawl. This guy… this fucking asshole … he thinks he can just wrap his arms around my snowflake and claim her?

He has no idea who she really belongs to. Not yet.

I imagine walking over there, grabbing him by the back of that fancy coat and dragging him off the ice. His glasses would probably crack when I smashed his face into the frozen ground. The sound would be satisfying, like bones snapping. I could take his head in my hands, twist it just the right way until I hear that crunch . But not here. Not now with everyone watching.

I promised Lux and Indie, I'd lay low. Stay quiet and not draw attention. Besides, that death would be too easy. Too quick. No, this guy needs to suffer. He needs to know what it feels like to lose everything before he dies.

And he will. Because by the end of this weekend, she'll be mine. All mine .

I'll follow them, see where they go. Maybe they'll head back to one of these fancy-ass houses with their perfect snow covered lawns and their perfect Christmas lights. I can almost see it now—him lying in a pool of his own blood while she watches, those stormy eyes wide with fear and excitement. I'll make her see that he's nothing. That I'm the only one who can give her what she really needs. What she fucking wants .

She just doesn't know it yet.

As I watch them skate off together, my blood boiling with every second they stay wrapped in each other's arms, I can feel the plan forming in my mind. It's clear. Simple. He's going to die, and she's going to be mine. And by Christmas morning, I'll have my little snowflake exactly where she belongs.

In my hell.