Page 21 of Ruining Vanessa

Other cops aren’t half as fun as Slayer, though.

“It’s that easy to give up on your morals?” Vanessa twists her fingers in her lap. “Just a bit of money, and never mind all the girls suffering?”

Slayer sighs, his own meal abandoned for the moment. “Look. If the girls weren’t at these clubs, they’d be on the streets. At least here, they’re being taken care of.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Vanessa asks, incredulous. “It’s basically slavery.”

“Are any of us truly free, under a capitalist society?” I rub her shoulder absently. “The poor, the downtrodden, all being forced to slave away so that the rich can get richer, hoping for a small scrap that will allow them to avoid hunger and destitution.” Then I laugh. “Of course, I’m benefiting under that system, so I don’t give a crap. Next question.”

Vanessa glowers at me, but she considers for a moment. “Have you ever been in love?” she asks me.

I keep smiling, although I unconsciously dig my fingers deeper into Vanessa’s shoulder. She flinches, but she can’t escape me.

“Love? Nah. Childhood crushes. You shoulda seen me chasing after Damien’s cock before he finally gave in.” I laugh and loosen my hold on her. “What about you, darling? Did you have a high school or college sweetheart? Ooh, did we steal you away from some man who is now worrying about you not returning to your classes?”

Vanessa frowns at that, clearly not liking the way I’ve turned the question around on her. Or maybe she just doesn’t like thinking about her ex—or exes—any more than I do. “I had a boyfriend in college. Friends. There will be people who worry about me, yes,” she says.

Not that it’ll make a difference. They’ll never find her here. They’d never even know where to look. They’ll just assume she dropped out and was too ashamed to keep in touch.

“What boyfriend?” Damien asks, suddenly very intense. “What was his name?”

Vanessa squirms a little under his scrutiny. “Um. Brad. But we broke up like… a year and a half ago?” Her smile looks forced. “Anyway, it doesn’t really matter.”

“Damien had a girlfriend a few years ago, too. Then he dumped her because she was offended he was fucking me, or something.” I let go of Vanessa to finally eat some of the food I’d slaved away to cook. “Why’d you dump your guy? Was he too controlling? Cock too small? Made too many dumb jokes?”

Vanessa’s smile completely fades, and she stares down at her food. Her fork remains next to the plate, and she doesn’t move to pick it up. “He dumped me,” she says quietly. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Who would be stupid enough to dump you?” Slayer scoffs. “Fucking idiot.”

“Want us to drag him out here and torture him as punishment for making you cry?” I suggest.

“What was his last name?” Damien adds, and I think he actually does want to murder this guy for daring to have touched Vanessa.

She blinks, looking a little overwhelmed by the onslaught of questions. She gives a quick shake of her head, though. “It doesn’t matter. It’s been long enough. Anyway, what about you, Slayer?” she asks.

Slayer shrugs. “I’ve had a few girlfriends in the past few years, but nothing serious. Married to the job, you could say. I don’t have enough time to pamper some chick who wants all of my attention.”

Vanessa nods like that makes sense to her. I reach out to ruffle her hair, and she flinches in surprise.

I let my hand trail down her scalp, to the back of her neck. For Damien’s benefit, I wrap my fingers around that slim neck of hers and squeeze very, very lightly. Damien notices immediately, his mouth parting lightly.

“Are you done with questions?” I ask Vanessa, smirking at her. “Because I was thinking… It’s just a standard dinner party right now. We should give our guests a little taste of what’s to come.”

Vanessa has gone still, as though she’s afraid I’m going to squeeze if she moves. She nibbles on her bottom lip so cutely that I want to do the same to her, to taste her. “Like what?” she mumbles.

“Yeah, what do you have in mind, Jules?” Slayer asks, paying no attention to his food—and he’d better not think I didn’t notice he hasn’t touched the salad, either.

I spear a bit of chicken onto my fork and lift it up to Vanessa’s lips. “You like how the… coq tastes?”

Vanessa clamps her mouth shut, but I smear the food over her lips until she gets the hint. She takes the food off the fork and swallows quickly, like she’s trying to get it over with as fast as possible.

“The chicken’s good,” Vanessa answers quietly. “But I can feed myself.”

I put the fork down and place my hand on her belly. “I’m sure you can. But it’s a shame to leave your craving for… coq unsatisfied. I know you want some English cock instead of French coq.”

“Technically, it’d be… half-Italian cock,” Slayer points out. “Or American cock. We aren’t Brits.”

“We’re all just American,” Damien says flatly.

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