Anónimo

I loathe individuals born with a silver spoon in their mouths, people like Alec Blackwood. I watch as he glides across the street on that black Harley, Leaning low and turning women's heads like some conquering hero. He has money coming from all directions - Gold watches, Gucci shoes, an apartment in the most expensive part of town. People call him the King of Manhattan. But underneath the darkness of his gaze, I can sense something supernatural - Fangs that glow in the light like a warning, ready to strike. I can't let him discover what secrets I am hiding, But something about him makes ...