Page 8 of Slaughter

AVERY

I SIT AT THE ROUND TABLE tucked back in the corner of the dark club. My right ankle is propped up on my left knee, and my arms span the back of the circular booth.

Being here reminds me why I hate these places. Music so loud you can’t hear yourself think. Neon lights so bright they’re blinding. And the drunks. I’ve never cared for them. They’re annoying, to say the least. I’m a drinker, but I’ve been doing it for as long as I can remember. My father always said that alcohol would cure anything. That was why he was always shoving it down our throats. I had developed a tolerance by the time I was fourteen.

The brunette at the bar, the one who brought me to this God-forsaken place, gets my attention when she throws back the shot.

She looks so different than I remember. She used to have blond hair; she called it highlights. And she kept it short, right above her shoulders.

Now it’s a rich brown and long. She stands at the bar, her back toward me, wearing a silver glittery dress that the neon lights bounce off—making it easy for me to keep an eye on her. It’s shorter than any dress should be—attracting attention from every guy here.

Her six-inch fuck-me black heels make her look taller than I know she is. I’ve been in New York for five days, following her every move. She stays home all day, and every night, I’ve ended up at a smoky bar or a packed club. She drinks until she stumbles out of the establishment and goes home with a man. The past two nights have been the same guy. I’m not sure what relationship they have or if they’ve recently met, but he’s not here tonight. I looked. Not that I’m worried. Even if she does have a man in her life, it won’t complicate things. I’ll still get what I want.

Her!

I’ve always wanted her!

That’s my problem.

But now I have a reason. An excuse to take what I want.

She was what I once thought I wanted. Needed. But things change. She throws back another shot and spins around to face the dance floor. My eyes go to her tits. They’re on display like all the other nights. The dress has a plunging neckline, showing off what I now know were paid for.

My cock starts to harden, and I grind my teeth in annoyance. I’m not the kind of guy who thinks with his dick.

Not anymore.

I once loved her, but she cured me of that disease. Now I only fuck women until I throw them away—just as she did with me. She taught me well.

I reach forward and grab my scotch. I take a sip, sitting back in my seat, and watch as she pushes off the bar to head to the dance floor. Her brown hair flows down her back, and she spins around, placing her hands above her head while her hips sway to the music.

I adjust my slacks while she dances as if no one is watching. My eyes lower down over her ass and to her thighs, remembering what it felt like to be between them.

She may be a whore now, but I had her before anyone else did. A part of me is proud of that, and the other part is just ashamed. I worked so hard for it, and now she gives it away to anyone who throws her a smile.

She’s smaller than she used to be. She reminds me of a runway model fresh off the stage in Paris. Over the years, I’ve grown to prefer a woman with curves, but there’s something about the way she dominates a room—she demands attention, and no man can deny her that. Even the women stare at her with envy.

A man gets my attention when he sits down at the bar in the seat she just vacated. He looks around quickly before pulling his phone out of his pocket and snapping a couple of pictures of her on the dance floor.

My jaw tightens, knowing he will be jacking off to them later. As if he has that same thought, he places his hands between his legs and adjusts himself. His black eyes look her up and down before he bares his teeth and runs his tongue over them. He’s salivating like a bitch in heat.

I quickly look at her to see she is still dancing and then back at him. Now he’s looking down at his phone, typing away on it, and I know he just sent that picture he took of her to his boss—Damon. The same man who I’m trying to keep her from.

He gets up off the barstool and pockets his phone before throwing her one last look and then making his way through the crowd and out the front door.

Tonight is her lucky night.

Once my threat is gone, my eyes go back to her, and I watch a new man approach. Wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her to him, he thrusts his hips into hers, and my anger rises when she pulls him to her instead of pushing the stranger away.

What did I expect? This is what she does. Gets drunk and takes a random guy home to fuck. Thankfully, that other guy took his pictures and left. Otherwise, I’d have to act sooner than I had planned.

She’ll be mine soon, though.

She wraps her arms around his neck, and he lowers his lips to hers while he pulls her flush to his body. Her hips grind into his, and his hand drops to cup her ass. I take another drink of my scotch.

My hand tightens around the cool glass when her head falls back, lips parted and eyes closed. I wonder if she ever thinks of me like I do her.

“Avery.” She cries out while lying on her back as I hover over her. Our bodies slapping, and our breaths ragged.

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