Page 3 of Twisted Little Thing

CHAPTER II

Evan

She looks just like her. The resemblance is so strong that I almost believe it is her, until the girl lifts her arms into the air and I see that she has no ink.

When she turns around and I see her face for the first time, there is no doubt that she is someone else. Someone pretty, nonetheless.

She’s dancing wildly, throwing her arms up in the air, her body moving like a flag waving in a heavy storm. Her eyes are closed and she’s completely lost in the song that’s playing. She has no idea that I’m watching her – and doesn’t care if anyone is.

That’s one of the major differences between the people in here and the guests at the gathering I just fled from. Money feeds the shallow traits in most people, it seems. There was dancing, but it didn’t compare to this club. The girls were busy holding their hair in place, only moving their starved bodies in delicate motions as to not break a sweat or lose control of their gazelle-like frames. Dancing is nothing they enjoy; it’s something they do because it’s expected of them. It only serves to lure in a random guy, one who is loaded, of course, who will take their hand and drag them off to the side to treat them to an expensive drink. Champagne, preferably.

I’ve done it. Several times. It’s beyond easy to get laid in this world, especially if you are an industry name like me. They are attracted to you like moths to a flame. The girls are pretty, there’s no doubt about that. But they are all pretty in the same way, and they lack personality to an almost painful degree.

Besides, they couldn’t give me what I needed. There was no challenge, no joy in breaking them, because there was nothing to break. Most of them got scared and whiny when they realized what it is that I am into. Scared in a bad way, the real kind of fright. It’s the biggest turn-off imaginable.

Sheila was different. She looked like she was one of them, but I knew she wasn’t. She was fierce, strong-willed, and opinionated. She was a constant challenge.

A challenge I lost.

The long brown curls of that eccentric girl on the dance floor keep reminding me of Sheila. I certainly have a type – and she is it.

Streams of sweat are running down her face, and when the song is over, she finally opens her painted eyelids and absentmindedly brushes the hair that’s sticking to her face away. She’s breathing heavily, as if she just finished a workout.

It’s so fucking sexy. I can only imagine what she would look like under my touch.

I want to see that face drenched in sweat because of me. I want tears ruining that heavy make-up of hers. I want to hear her scream.

My cock rises to attention. Has it really been that long?

It has. I’ve been busy as hell, and the last fuck I had was anything but satisfactory. Like I said, getting laid is easy, but getting what I need is not.

The girl walks away. I’m right on her heels as she staggers over to the bar. She collapses onto the counter and yells something at the bartender. He places a bottle of cheap beer in front of her and she greedily grabs it, downing half of the bottle in one gulp.

I love everything about it.

"Same as her," I say when the bartender turns his attention to me. He quickly glances over to her, and I can’t help but notice the short moment of wariness when he casts a look back at me.

He might recognize me, even though I’m sure most people in this place wouldn’t. My face and name are out there more than I’m comfortable with, but I doubt that any of the folks here follow the kind of news that would reveal my identity to them.

He might just acknowledge how inappropriate my clothing looks in these surroundings. I came here straight from that other party, the one that was thrown by one of my business partners. My get-up is more suitable for a gathering with fancy drinks around an extraordinary rooftop pool instead of this underground bar.

I’m very aware, but I couldn’t care less.

I keep my eyes on her long enough for her to notice. It’s just a mere moment, not even two seconds of eye contact.

She frowns and instantly turns away.

She sees it, too. I’m out of place, and she sees nothing but an intruder from another world when she looks at me. At least, that’s what I think is going through that beautiful head of hers.

She walks away from the bar counter, taking the beer with her. I let a few moments pass before I nonchalantly stroll in the same direction.

My environment is soaked in smoke, the smell of beer and sweat and the glare of flaring lights breaching the darkness like glowing daggers. The music is so loud that it vibrates deep inside my chest, and I feel the urge to dance. It’s been so long since I’ve mingled in a place like this, and I hate myself for it right now. How could I ever think that I could change into a soulless robot like the ones I work with?

Sheila took more of me with her than I was aware of. Losing her almost made me forget who I am.

And now I’m chasing a girl through a club who looks just like her. A girl who dances like a maniac, who loses herself in the music, a girl whose blasé manner has had me mesmerized from the moment I saw her.

What does she look like when she’s drunk with pleasure? What happens if she’s brought right to the edge of climax?

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