My Coworkers Made A Cruel Bet About My Weight—Until The City’s Most Dangerous Man Claimed Me As His Prize
Part 2
The knife plunged through Greg’s hand was a brutal declaration of war, and within twenty-four hours, the streets of the city bled.
Craig’s penthouse became an impenetrable fortress.
Armed guardsmen built like freight trains patrolled the gilded corridors while I paced the massive marble floors.
The weight of the escalating violence pressed heavily on my chest.
I had spent my entire life trying to be invisible, apologizing for the space I occupied.
Now, I was the epicenter of a mob war, the singular obsession of the city’s most lethal predator.
Late one Tuesday night, the strain finally broke me.
I retreated to the state-of-the-art kitchen, unable to sleep.
I was stress-baking, covered in flour, vigorously kneading a massive mound of dough on the granite counter.
I wore only one of Craig’s oversized black silk dress shirts.
The fabric clung to my generous curves, my thick thighs bare against the cold floor.
Tears slid down my flushed cheeks as I wept over the senseless violence.
Craig appeared in the doorway, his tie undone, looking exhausted but fiercely alert.
He moved across the kitchen with the silent grace of a panther, wrapping his massive arms around my wide waist.
He buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply as if my scent was the only oxygen left in his world.
I whispered that people were dying because of me, because of a joke about my weight.
Craig spun me around, his large hands gripping my thick upper arms to ground me.
He fiercely corrected me, insisting they hadn’t insulted my weight, they had insulted his soul.
He pulled me flush against his hard chest, declaring he wanted to build a world where I was the sun and everyone else just orbited me.
He confessed the rival syndicate was dead the moment Greg opened his mouth, and he was just doing the paperwork.
Despite the sweetness of his dark devotion, the danger closed in fast.
Dan, Greg’s cunning older brother, took control of the syndicate and aimed directly for Craig’s stated weakness.
The following Thursday, I begged for a semblance of normalcy and convinced Craig to let me visit a local cafe.
He sent Steve, his top enforcer, and three armed men with me.
I was standing at the counter, paying for a latte, when a black SUV violently hopped the curb.
It smashed directly through the front plate glass window.
Glass exploded inward like shrapnel as three men in tactical gear poured out, raising semi-automatic rifles.
Steve roared for me to get down, returning fire with lethal precision.
One hulking hitman flanked the counter, spotting me huddled on the floor.
He yelled to grab the heavy cow, lunging forward to twist his hands into my hair.
He severely underestimated my solid mass and the sudden, fierce will to live that Craig had ignited within me.
I planted my boots firmly on the floor and threw all two hundred and forty pounds of my weight backward.
The sudden shift broke his grip and sent him stumbling off balance.
I grabbed a carafe of boiling drip coffee and hurled it directly into his face.
The man shrieked, dropping his weapon and clutching his blistering skin.
Just then, the front doors were completely blown off their hinges.
Craig walked through the smoke and dust, looking like the devil incarnate.
He executed the remaining attackers with chilling mechanical efficiency, leaving the burned man for last.
He pointed the barrel of his gun directly between the hitman’s eyes, demanding to know who sent him.
The weeping man confessed Dan sent them because he thought my weight made Craig weak.
Craig didn’t say another word before pulling the trigger.
Craig burned their entire empire to the ground that night to protect me, but as we stood at the spring gala six months later watching my old bullies tremble in terror, I had to ask—did his ruthless protection go too far, or is this terrifying devotion exactly what I deserved after a lifetime of cruelty?
