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Drop your feminism at the door. Haidyn Reeves is going to make you his good little dirty whore in every way.
“A well-fed devil is more loyal than a starving saint”
In a world of shouting men, be the one who remains silent, my mother used to say all the time. If they cannot hear you, they won’t see you.
I can tell by her demeanor that she’s a princess who will live in some high-rise in New York, and I’ll be the monster who will live in the basement of a prison no one knows exists. We’re not the same.
How does a woman thrive when she’s kept in the dark and never watered?
His eyes are a pretty blue—like the ocean. It’s also the first one that he’s smiling in. Straight white teeth and a perfectly lined nose. He’s clean-shaven and has a cigarette tucked behind his right ear. He’s wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt with the sleeves bunched up around his elbows and a pair of jeans. He’s the tallest one out of them all. If I passed him on the street, I’d definitely turn around to watch him walk away.
They’re a deep, dark blue and remind me of two sparkling sapphires. She can’t be over five three. A petite little thing. Like a doll. Or a toy. Either way, I’d chew her up and spit her out. I’m always up for a snack.
“I’m going to kill her,” I lie, hoping he believes it. Maybe if he thinks she’s in jeopardy here, he’ll take her somewhere else. “Don’t you get that? If I touch her, she’s dead.” I take a deep breath. “And the worst part of that is she doesn’t deserve it.” I hang my head. “She’s not responsible for what happened once she was gone.”
