Kissed by the Killer

Prologue: The Frantic Flight.

Violet Virgilson.

Today was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. My wedding day. The day every little girl dreams of - white dress, walking down the aisle, smiling faces, tears of joy, forever vows.

But for me? It felt like a slow death wrapped in silk and suffocated with perfume.

I stood in front of the hotel mirror, lips painted in nude rose, veil pinned to perfection, eyes hollow behind layers of mascara. The dress? Gorgeous. The location? Perfect. The groom? A monster. And my heart? Screaming.

I looked like a bride, but I felt like a caged bird.

Somebody save me from this hell, I whispered.

This hotel wasn't mine. It wasn't home. I practically lived with my mum, but Rudolpho insisted I stay close to the church. Said he didn't want "any drama" or "a late bride." God forbid I arrive at the altar two minutes late and ruin his grand spectacle. So I lodged at the most expensive hotel near the cathedral - all part of Rudolpho Ransom Reedson's master plan.

Mum wanted me to dress from home. She said it was tradition. She fought me on it, but I begged, cried, and persuaded until she gave in. I think part of her suspected the truth. Or maybe she was just tired.

God, I wished Dad was here.

He would've never let this happen.

When I was twelve, my dad picked me up from boarding school for the weekend. That day, we were driving home - laughing, singing along to some old-school Whitney Houston track. Then out of nowhere - BOOM.

A drunk driver, high on cocaine, came flying across the road and slammed into us. My father died instantly. I survived, but not without scars - physical and emotional. I've been bleeding in silence since.

And now, I was about to marry another crash.

Rudolpho Ransom Reedson. The kind of name that sounds like a royal curse. Rich. Handsome. Dangerous. His father was a feared mogul who raised him like a weapon. Love was weakness. Women were leverage. Control was power. Rudolpho didn't want a wife. He wanted a pet he could parade and punish. And I was supposed to say "I do" to that?

No. Hell no.

The church was packed. Cameras flashed. Vows echoed. The air was so thick, I could barely breathe.

Then came the moment.

The pastor smiled gently. "Do you, Violet Valley Virgilson, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband? To have and to hold, in riches and in-"

"No," I said.

Loud. Clear. Defiant.

Gasps. Chaos. My mother was so shocked, she almost fell off her chair. I didn't wait for the backlash - I turned and ran.

Yes, in my wedding dress. Full speed. Down the aisle, past the shocked choir, out the cathedral doors. Like a bride possessed. Or free.

I didn't have a plan. Just adrenaline. I ran like my life depended on it - because it did. I couldn't go home. I couldn't go back to the hotel room - I'd already checked out.

So I just... ran.

And that's when I collided with him.

Literally.

Tall. Fair. Muscular. Deep blue eyes. Leather jacket. He looked like sin himself - trouble dipped in sugar and dusted with mystery.

I slammed into his chest and stumbled. He caught me, eyes narrowing.

"You okay?" he asked, voice deep, smooth, dangerous.

I looked up at him, panting. "I-I need help. Someone's after my life."

He raised a brow. "You're in a wedding dress. Did you murder the groom or just ditch him at the altar?"

"The second one," I huffed. "But I probably should've done the first."

He let out a low whistle. "Damn. Alright, Runaway Barbie. Let's go."

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward his car - a sleek black Mustang that smelled like danger and new leather. He opened the door and tossed a bundle of clothes at me from the backseat.

"Here. Change. Fast."

"You just carry spare clothes for random runaway brides?"

"No," he smirked. "But I just came from the gym. You're lucky I'm messy."

I changed in the backseat - stripping off layers of lace and pearls and shame. Slipping into a hoodie, ripped jeans, and a new identity. I didn't recognize myself in the rearview mirror. I looked like freedom.

"What's your name?" I asked as he started the car.

He glanced at me. "You first."

"Violet."

He smirked. "Of course it is. Pretty name for a chaotic bride. I'm Vincent."

Vincent. Of course.

He drove fast, weaving through traffic like he had nothing to lose. I held my breath the whole ride, adrenaline still buzzing.

Finally, we got to my house. I thanked him and stepped out, unsure of what was waiting inside.

Mum was already there.

How?!

She stood at the door like an executioner. Arms folded. Lips pursed. And before I could even say a word-

SLAP!

My face snapped to the side. My earring flew off.

"You stupid, ungrateful girl!" she yelled. "How dare you disgrace us like this?! Do you know how many people were at that wedding?! Do you know how much money was spent?!"

"Mum, he was hurting me! He-"

"GO BACK TO YOUR HUSBAND!" she screamed, voice cracking. "NOW!"

She slammed the door in my face.

Boom. Just like that. Locked out of my house. Out of her heart.

I stood there, numb. The slap still stinging. The rejection still fresh.

Vincent was leaning on his car, watching the whole thing with that unreadable expression.

"You done?" he asked casually.

"No," I choked. "I think I just got disowned."

"Perfect. Now you're officially reborn."

I blinked. "What?"

He tossed me a bottle of water and opened the passenger door. "Come on, V. The real ride's just beginning."

Chapter One : A Welcome to Woe.

Vincent Virenson.

I didn't know where to take her.

She was still in my passenger seat - hair messy from the hoodie, wedding makeup smudged, eyes darting like a hunted deer. The kind of girl you don't take home unless you want trouble.

Naturally, I took her home.

Not the kind of "home" with flowers on the porch and welcome mats. No. My world. The place where deals are made with a handshake or a gun, where money smells like gasoline, and where half the men have white powder on their noses by midnight.

A world full of men who race high on cocaine.

A world full of women who smile like angels and bite like devils.

A world full of things I'm not proud of.

As soon as we stepped into my loft - a sprawling open space above my garage, smelling faintly of motor oil, leather, and trouble - I saw her.

Caroline Cataline Carterson.

Tall. Perfectly put together. Eyes sharp enough to slice skin. My girlfriend - or whatever the hell we were calling each other this week. She was draped in silk, sipping champagne like it was holy water, and the way she looked at Violet made my stomach knot.

"Oh," she said, smile sweet but voice like venom. "You brought home... charity work."

A fling, right?

"Caroline," I said flatly, already annoyed.

"I mean, really, Vince. You're into strays now?" She tilted her head, eyes sweeping Violet from head to toe. "She's cute. In a... homeless prom queen sort of way."

I should've told her to shut up. I didn't. Instead, I left them - because if I didn't walk away, Caroline would push until one of us said something unforgivable.

I went to talk to Marco about the race schedule. Two minutes, tops. But when I turned back, Violet was gone.

And my gut told me she wasn't just wandering to the bathroom.

---

Violet Virgilson.

She was beautiful. The kind of beautiful that makes you want to stare and vomit at the same time.

Caroline Cataline Carterson. That's what she called herself. Like she needed the extra syllables to make her sound more important. She swanned up to me the moment Vincent left, smile fake enough to peel.

"Good girls coming to bad boys for hot sex, she whispered".

What!!? I exclaimed.

You heard me.

"You know who he is, right?" she said, swirling her champagne like she was narrating a murder podcast.

"I... just met him."

She leaned in, voice dropping low. "He's dangerous. Not the bad-boy-you-can-fix dangerous. The bury-you-in-a-field dangerous."

My stomach turned. "What?"

"He killed a man." She said it casually, like she was commenting on the weather. "And he races. High-speed, high-risk, high on adrenaline. A ticking time bomb with nice cheekbones."

He loves dangerous sports

My brain screamed at me.

V! What were you thinking following a man you know nothing about home?

I didn't have an answer. I also didn't have money, or a plan, or a clue. But I knew I wanted to leave.

"This place," I said slowly, "is... awful."

Caroline smiled like I'd just told her she was prettier than me. "Sweetheart, it's just getting started."

Nope. Not today, Satan.

I turned, found the nearest door, and walked out like my heels were on fire. My heart was pounding so loud I could barely hear myself breathe. I spotted a gate - big, black, heavy - and beyond it, freedom. Or at least distance from Vincent Virenson and his champagne-sipping viper.

A group of men stood near a row of bikes, laughing too loudly, eyes glassy from whatever they'd been snorting.

"Excuse me," I said, voice trembling but steady enough to pass for confidence. "Can I get a ride into town? I'll... pay you back, when I get there ".

The tallest one - tattoos crawling up his neck - grinned. "Oh, we'll take you for a ride, princess."

Something in his tone made my stomach drop.

Another man stepped closer, blocking my view of the street. "Pretty thing like you shouldn't walk alone. We'll keep you safe."

Hands. Too close. Breath hot against my cheek. My pulse spiked.

"No, I-"

One of them grabbed my wrist. Hard. My skin screamed.

And then-

"Let. Her. Go."

Vincent's voice. Low. Deadly.

The men froze. Slowly turned.

He was standing just inside the gate, leather jacket half-zipped, eyes like a loaded gun.

"Or what?" Tattoo-Neck sneered.

Vincent moved before the guy finished breathing. A blur of motion - fist to jaw, knee to gut - and Tattoo-Neck hit the pavement like a dropped sack of cement. The others backed off instantly, muttering curses as they disappeared into the shadows.

I was shaking. Not just from fear - from the realization that the man Caroline called a murderer had just saved me. Again.

"You have a death wish?" Vincent growled, stepping closer.

"I was leaving," I shot back, voice sharper than I felt. "Your girlfriend said you killed someone."

You are a murderer!

He stared at me for a beat, then smirked - but it didn't reach his eyes. "You believe everything she says? Cute."

"She also said you race high on adrenaline."

"That part's true," he said, brushing past me. "Come on. Before you find more new friends."

I hesitated. "Why should I go with you?"

He turned, walking backward now, grin flashing like the devil himself. "Because, Violet... you just walked into my world. And in my world, you either stay close to me-" His gaze flicked to the spot where Tattoo-Neck had grabbed me. "-or you don't survive it."

I swallowed hard. My feet moved before my brain decided.

And just like that, I followed him back through the gate.

My welcome to his world wasn't a handshake - it was blood on the pavement and danger in the air.

I should have run.

Instead, I stepped inside.

Chapter Two : Twist of the Tuck.

Vincent Virenson.

The night air was cool, laced with the faint tang of burnt rubber-Marco's brilliant idea of "warming up" his motorcycle tires earlier. We leaned against the graffiti-smeared wall near Carmelo's Garage, talking about tomorrow's race like it was the apocalypse.

"Bro, I'm telling you," Marco bragged, eyes glittering under the streetlight, "my baby, he said pointing to his car, tuned to perfection. You'll be eating my dust."

I smirked. "Marco, your car wheezes like an asthmatic grandma going uphill. The only dust I'll be eating is the one you cough up."

He punched my shoulder. "Keep talking. Tomorrow, you're-"

"Vincent."

The sound of my name cut through the night like a whip.

I turned-

-white-hot pain tore into my side.

For a moment, I didn't even register it. My brain scrambled: What the hell? Did someone just hug me with a knife?!

And then I saw him.

Tattoo Neck.

The same guy I'd fought yesterday for messing with Violet. His snake-like ink seemed to coil under the flickering streetlight, alive, hissing.

"You-" I choked, teeth clenching as the blade twisted deeper. My vision pulsed red.

"Tell your little princess," he growled, voice dripping venom, "this is just the beginning."

He yanked the knife free, shoved me, and disappeared into the shadows.

I staggered, blood slick and hot under my palm. "Marco-" I gasped.

But my so-called best friend? He froze, eyes wide-then bolted. Just... gone.

Traitor. My ride-or-die just chose ride.

My knees hit the pavement hard. The cold seeped into my bones. My mouth filled with iron.

"Oh no... am I really dying?" The thought slithered in, calm and absurd. "Great. I didn't even finish my pizza."

The world tilted, the streetlights blurring into stars.

Alone.

Bleeding.

And then-

---

Violet Virgilson

Something was wrong.

I'd been pacing my room for twenty minutes, chewing my lip raw. Vincent was late. Too late. For him, lateness was normal. But this? This felt different. My stomach twisted.

"Pick up," I muttered, calling his phone. No answer. Again. Nothing.

Enough.

I grabbed his leather jacket from his closet (yes, I have access, don't ask why) and stormed out. It smelled like him-motor oil, mint gum, and trouble.

The streets were eerily quiet. My boots echoed. Every step was heavy.

And then I saw him.

Vincent.

Collapsed on the ground. Blood. Too much blood.

"Vincent!"

I dropped beside him, hands pressing frantically against the wound. His skin was ghost-pale, breaths shallow.

"Stay with me! Don't you dare close your eyes!"

He groaned.

"Vincent, if you die on me, I swear I'll drag you back just to kill you myself!"

His lashes fluttered, and then-he smiled. Actually smiled.

"For you," he whispered, voice weak but steady, "I'd die with a smile... even if the world ended."

My heart stuttered. I smacked his shoulder. "Idiot! This is not the time to be romantic!"

He chuckled faintly, before his eyes closed again.

"Vincent!"

I half-carried, half-dragged him all the way home, swearing under my breath. By the time I got him onto my couch, I was drenched in sweat.

"Take your shirt off," I snapped, yanking the first-aid kit open.

He cracked one eye. "Normally, I'd make a suggestive comment, but since I'm bleeding out, I'll... save it."

"Shut up."

I cleaned the wound. He hissed like a cat.

"Oh, stop being dramatic."

"Try getting stabbed and then tell me who's dramatic."

I paused, frowning. "What happened?"

His gaze softened. "Tattoo Neck. The guy from yesterday... stabbed me. Said it's just the beginning." His lopsided smile chilled me.

"What?!"

"Guess I made an impression."

My hands trembled as I patched him up. "Vincent..."

"I'll die for you, V," he murmured, voice fading.

"...Don't you dare," I whispered back.

"Too late. Already decided." His eyes slipped shut.

"Idiot," I muttered, brushing his hair back. "Go to sleep. I'll stay."

---

Vincent Virenson

I woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of Violet humming in the kitchen. My side throbbed, but the blanket over me was warm.

I heard her muttering. "Stupid tattoo guy... stupid Vincent... making me worry like this..."

A smile tugged at my lips. For a moment, the pain didn't matter.

But then-footsteps creaked outside. Heavy. Slow.

Not Violet's.

The front door handle rattled.

And I realized-I wasn't as alone as I thought.