Georgia Pyne was a complication wrapped in a five-foot problem.
My job was simple, make her forget what it felt like to breathe without my permission. I didnt ask for her or want her. She was nothing more than another task I had to complete.
But the longer I toyed with her, the harder it became to stop. Instead of avoiding the ritual, I found myself enjoying it.
Bend her.
Break her.
Bind her.
Breed her.
I would make her fall to pieces. And when there was nothing left but bruises and obedience, I’d decide if she was worth keeping. By the time I was done, sweet little Georgia Pyne would be begging for it to end. Because in this world, I was the only nightmare she needed to be worried about.
Georgia may be as sweet as a lollipop, but I was the poison that would rot her core.
