Page 9 of We The Depraved
The doorknob is in my hand again and this time, I do leave.
She calls out to me, “Fuck you!”
Her words hit at my back but I don’t stop. I don’t breathe until I’m behind the wheel of the Porsche and speeding down the highway. I nearly took her against her will.
Fuck, I think.
I need pussy.
I need to take control of a woman because if I don’t, I’ll scare my pretty little kitten. She doesn’t need another scare from me at the moment.
CHAPTER4
Sage
Not much scares me. After all, my boogeyman is dead and buried now. If someone had told me a new one would rise up to take his place, I would have declared you were a liar and maybe shot your toe off for good measure.
The black card that the monster with money handed me the other night seems to dig into my flesh feeling heavy … my eyes search it over. His last name seems extremely familiar.
Nikita Safaryan.
Since I’m sitting in the back of the club, watching the cameras and making sure nothing is going wrong up front, I take time to type his name in to a search engine. Article upon article populates. Nikita Safaryan is a Russian billionaire, the man has his own Wiki page. He is essentially, a Russian Bill Gates.
Now I know why he thought it was funny when I offered him all the money I had. He was a big fish, my little coins were nothing compared to his net worth.
There was an article about him starting stem classes for some of the schools in Houston.
“A regular fucking Santa Clause,” I let the words tumble from cherry stained lips.
I sit back in my chair then, a slight squeak fills the air and I take in my mystery man. The man who has declared we are to be married for reasons I don’t know sits on my computer screen. His deep green eyes stare back at me; I want to squirm. It feels like he is peering into the deepest parts of my mind from a screen. Part of me wants to pick up the phone and warn Khrystina, and tell her to run. The other part of me knows that she will be safer away from Houston.
My fingers flip the card over without much care and then I toss it into a desk. My boots that I chose to wear tonight are Jimmy Choos. The man can design some damn shoes and these are a rare limited edition pair. They’re red, the color of blood and they make me feel sexy and powerful. I can hear them clicking against the concrete floor, even above the heaving thumping of the music. People and strobe lights fill my vision.
Heading to the bar, I survey the scene and then move to get a drink. Silver, my best friend notices me and pours bourbon, with no ice. She’s a pretty girl, wears pearls in her ears while bartending and always has her jet black extension bone straight. Men come to the bar just to tip her and stare into her grey eyes. She promises nothing in return but a cold drink.
We’ve known each other for a long time. I have a hard time opening up to people but Silver is just that type of person, easy going. It was her getting her sports journalism degree that helped me to decide on going to school for my Bachelor’s in Business.
My brain shifts into gear and I remember I have assigned reading and a short report due in a few days. It’s not going to happen, and I know I’m going to fail out of my classes this semester.
And impending nuptials, I think.
That causes me to feel sick.
“You have a look,” she says.
Taking the glass, I analyze it before swallowing the liquid. “I have a problem. Hit me.”
She eyes me.
I don’t usually have much to drink and the night is still young. I like to keep my senses about me.
“What’s the problem?”
“A Russian,” I grumble.
She holds up her finger; there are men catcalling her at the bar wanting drinks. I nod and then lean against the bar to watch the dancers. Drake is playing out of the speakers and my fingers thump on the bar.
The weather has been shitty, it’s cold and the frigid air coming in from outside turns the tip of my nose into a popsicle. Complaining about it to the door man wouldn’t make sense because every time it opens someone comes in. I think, I even see a few of the Houston Trailblazers come in. If they’re out tonight then that means the girls will be happy and happy dancers will perform better.
