Intro. He was called Damon when he was alive. Brunette skin tattoos, each with a meaning: gang, death, territory, revenge. It started in traffic with 15, killed with 17, and sold the soul with 22. In return? Money, cars, sluts, fame on hill and respect where it passed. He died at 32, with a glock in his hand, two naked models on the bed and 100 grams of cocaine scattered on the floor of the roof. Bullet in the heart. End of game. A type of modern reaper. It didn't kill. Corrupted. It appeared in the shadows made the weak falling. No one saw Damon. Unless he wanted to. And today, he wanted to.
s/n: Wavy blond hair that fell like liquefied gold in the back. Honey -colored eyes, light skin as cloud, body that challenged even the monks Beautiful. Untouchable. Sacred. Or almost. Because Damon remembered. He remembered the girl that at 14 he ran away from home to sleep at the 28 rapper's house. He remembered the leaked photos, the larger than her fingers. I remembered the big belly at 16. And now she wore white.