Shan R.K

I had two great loves.
The first had the power to weaken me.
The second broke me.
Vincent Stone was my addiction before he turned out to be my disease.
Our love was forbidden, he was my stepbrother.
But that wasn't the worst of it all.
No, you see he was a Made-Man and I was his muse.


INSIDE THE BOOK

How could life tumble in turfs that are unraveling to the human mind?
How can I succumb to this latitude of proportions that takes me to this darkness?
It's breaking me.
I keep believing that the world is whole, that my mind isn't.
It is like my soul is pushing me to this place I can't see, but my heart is taking me somewhere else, to a place where I can't fathom.
How do I see it happening when my very existence is slipping through my fingers?
When I look in the mirror I barely recognize myself.
I am just empty, dying.
I feel that there are days where I want to end it, end this treachery of these unknown parts.
I am scared.
Oh god, help me.
This weight is beating me down, taking me in.
I breathe every second, telling myself I am human, I should feel something, but I can't because every time I think, every time I even consider it he goes and takes more lives.
He says I am his muse, yet all I see in the mirror, all I feel is a monster, a killer.
He kills them in my name, he takes their lives because they took me. He makes me watch, he forces me to accept it.
I know it's wrong, I know I should stop him, but when he touches me something awakens in me that I can't feel unless I am with him.

They say to be strong is to face your weakness, but how do I face him when he is also my strength.

Vincent Stone is a Made-Man and I am a pawn in his game

Love, Hate and Billions is a story about a woman who loved a Capo with everything in her. This suspenseful thriller is packed with twists, thrills, and a storyline that is unique

Love, Hate and Billions

My feet pain, just as my heart squeezes in agony with every step I take closer to the jet. I don't see but hear Vincent leave and for the first time I am not going to worry about that, I know I have to let him go.


He was never mine to begin with. And though I bleed in my reality that our story was never a story, just a figment of my imagination, I know forgetting him is what I have to do.


My steps slow down as I spot the guy standing next to Michael's Chrome Jet, near the air-stairs wearing A Satan Sniper's Motorcycle Club jacket, which they call a cut. He is looking like a model from those tattoo biker books Diamond keeps begging me to buy every damn month.


What a fine piece of meat with those ripped dark Jeans. And maybe if I wasn't so close to the brink of breaking down I would have told him just that. He doesn't see me looking at him, as his attention is on his phone.  


Kylie