The annihilator

Kyle Molotov

Being brought up a certain way usually forced someone to become a monster for everyone to fear, a shield, a weapon... a ruthless murderer.

Blood and anarchy became my companions.

Trust was a distant memory and my heart was a fortress of ice. Mercy? An alien concept.

Shadows were my allies, silence was my creed. I hunted in darkness, unseen, unheard. Every breath was a calculated threat. In this world, only the strongest survive.

And I?

I was the wolf they never saw coming.

“What are you, a dog? Stop blocking me, Molotov, or it’ll be your head I’ll strike next.”

And her? The infuriating little thing. Did I mention she was the sole reason for my restless nights and days equally twitchy?

Dozens of guards occupied the private golf pitch, all armed and alert. I bet all of them with functional dicks would be ecstatic to sneak under her tiny skirt that barely covered her ass and be her personal guard. To accompany the mafia princess to her shopping sprees and sauna where they could peek at her perky tits or even grab her in the crowd to protect her. No man with testosterone running through his veins would give up on an opportunity as avail as this.

No man but me.

I'd rather take a bullet to the chest than spend a second with this five-foot-four-inch ball of spoiled, shiny, bratty entitlement. I hated her. I hated her glossy, fake perfection, her whiny voice, and her infuriatingly pampered existence.

She strutted around like she owned the fucking world, flashing that smug grin at anyone who so much as glanced her way. Every time she opened her mouth, I wanted to gouge my ears out. The way she batted her lashes and pouted her lips, expecting the whole damn universe to bend over backwards for her, made my skin crawl.

Watching her prance around with her designer clothes and manicured nails, I couldn’t help but think about all the people who work their asses off just to get by, while she wasted her daddy's money on the latest fashion trends and luxury vacations. It was sickening. She was sickening.

And those guards—pathetic.

They fawn over her like she was some goddess, tripping over themselves to please her. I could see the hunger in their eyes, the way they practically drool at her feet. Disgusting.

If I had my way, I'd leave her to fend for herself for just one day. Let her see what it was like to live without her army of sycophants and her endless stream of wealth. She wouldn't last a minute in the real world, the pampered little princess.

But no, instead, here I was, stuck in this hellhole, watching her play her games and flaunt her shallow existence. I'd rather be anywhere else, doing anything else, than be a part of her ridiculous charade.

“You deaf too?” Her irritating voice fell upon my ears and oh dear lord, if I bury her here alive, Judas wouldn’t mind, right? He had to forgive me for this one murder. Her perfectly shaped brow arched and she pointed her golf stick at me. “Get out of my way, Molotov?”

I clenched my jaw, barely restraining the urge to snap that golf stick in half and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. “It’s Kyle,” I corrected with barely concealed contempt.

She rolled her eyes as if my name was an inconvenience she couldn’t be bothered to remember. “Whatever. Just move. You’re blocking my shot.”

I stepped aside, my fists clenched at my sides.

Watching her line up her shot, I couldn’t help but fantasize about how satisfying it would be to see her miss and fall flat on her face. But of course, she wouldn’t. Daddy probably hired the best golf coaches’ money could buy to ensure his precious princess never failed at anything.

She swung the club, the ball sailing perfectly across the green. A chorus of obsequious applause erupted from the fucking guards, and she basked in their praise, her narcissistic grin widening.

“Nice shot,” one of the guards gushed, practically tripping over himself to hand her a towel.

“Of course it was,” she replied smugly, dabbing at her forehead as if the tiny exertion had been a Herculean effort.

I turned away, my stomach churning with disgust.

This was my life now, babysitting a spoiled mafia princess while real problems went unaddressed. Every moment spent in her presence felt like an eternity in hell. At least Judas was fun. I should’ve stayed in Russia and never showed my face here.

She swaggered past me, the fuckers following like a pack of obedient dogs. “Come on, Molotov,” she called over her shoulder. “I don’t have all day. I have a reservation at the sauna.”

Sauna? There was a fucking business party she needed to attend in an hour and she wanted to visit a sauna? “We don’t have time for this,” I clenched my fists and failed to hold back my tongue. “Unless you want to sweat like a pig right before a high-profile event is a brilliant idea.”

She glared at me, her eyes narrowing to slits. Hands on her slender, trim waist. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, was I being too practical?” I shot back rolling my eyes and the guards around gasped. Fucking dramas. “By all means, let’s ignore the schedule and hit the sauna. I’m sure your family will understand when why their little princess is drenched.”

She clenched her jaw and came at me with the golf stick in her hand, but before she could hit me, I grabbed her wrists, twisting them lightly, not enough to hurt her. Couldn't have her running to Daddy crying.

“You bastard,” she swore, her eyes blazing with fury. Ah. Now that’s the reaction I wanted to see. To rail her over and see the mask faltering. Where was the miss prim and proper now?

This wasn't the first time she had tried to hit me; it had happened on various occasions, countless times. I still couldn't understand why her father assigned me to her, knowing his little princess hated me as much as I hated her.

“Temper,” I taunted and leaned slightly so that I could look into her sharp green eyes. “Wouldn’t want to break a nail, would we?”

I hated how her skin felt soft and smooth under my rugged palms. I usually refrain myself from touching her. But some situations were too obvious. “Let go of me,” she snarled, struggling against my grip.

I released her. “As you wish, princess.”

She glared at me with face flushed with anger. “You’re insufferable.”

“Right back at you,” I replied with a smirk. “Now, unless you plan on adding assault to your list of hobbies, how about we get moving?”

She huffed, tossing the golf stick to one of her fawning guards. “Fine. But this isn’t over, Molotov.”

“It never is,” I muttered under my breath as I followed her towards the waiting car. The sooner this day was over, the better.

*****

We were half an hour late. Just because she couldn’t decide what dress she should wear. The fucking woman just rejected ten red dresses before trying each of them. What was the point anyway if she was going to wear a revealing low-cut green dress that made her eyes fucking sparkle and her tits bounce. Whore.

She followed me out, her heels clicking angrily on the marble floor. I could feel her seething behind me, but I didn't care. I was done pretending to tolerate her whims, done with her petty games and self-centred antics.

Outside, the car waited. I held the door open for her with a clenched jaw. She slid in, her dress shimmering under the streetlights, and I slammed the door shut with more force than necessary.

I watched her through the rearview mirror, her fingers tapping away on her phone, a smug smile playing on her lips as she adjusted the straps of her dress, pushing them down just enough to expose more of her cleavage. The green fabric hugged her curves, glimmering under the soft light inside the car. She knew exactly what she was doing, flaunting herself like that like she owned the damn world. And every man’s dick would harden at her sight.

I heard the familiar ping of a notification and pulled out my phone, not expecting anything more than the usual useless updates. But there it was—her latest post. I didn't mean to, but my thumb pressed on the notification, and her photo filled my screen. That smug grin, her chest pushed forward, the dress barely containing her. One second ago. I refreshed it. Ten seconds ago.

What? I only followed her for safety. After all, she was too precious to her family, a damn princess in their eyes. If they ever knew what I really thought, they'd have me six feet under before I could even blink.

But still, as I stared at that picture, something twisted inside me. A darkness I hadn’t felt in years. She reminded me of someone I’d buried deep in my past. My mother.

Childhood memories clawed their way to the surface. My chest tightened, breathing shallow. I could hear my mother’s voice, sweet and venomous. Always dressed to kill, always the centre of attention. She knew how to play men, how to keep them wrapped around her finger.

And me? I was her good boy. Her little protector. Forced to watch as she flaunted herself, using her beauty like a weapon. I was helpless. My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat. The same cold sweat that used to drench me as a kid returned, beading on my skin.

Now, this woman—this bitch—was doing the same. Smug smile, seductive tilt, playing everyone, including me. My hands clenched into fists, knuckles white. The car felt like a coffin, memories suffocating me. My heart pounded, blood rushing to my head. I could feel the anger, hot and wild, burning through my veins.

She was my mother’s ghost, haunting me in a different form. And that made my hatred burn even deeper.

Soon, she’d become just like her. A prostitute. A sex-hungry woman, and a woman who fed on men.

That’s what women were, weren’t they?

Deceivers. Fucking manipulators. Users. They took what they wanted, and left obliteration in their wake. My mother had been the blueprint, the original evil.

And I was her kin.

I wouldn’t let another woman ruin me like my mother had done.

*********