Page 10 of Poisoned Pawn

“It’s Becca. And no need to thank me.”

I step outside, ready to get out of here when Becca stops me.

“Can I offer you some advice?”

Turning to face her, I give a nod. “Sure.”

“I may be way out of line here, but I don’ think you want a nice guy.”

I try not to let her words offend me, even though they do. She doesn’t know me. Attempting to keep the bite out of my words I ask, “And what do I need then?”

“Sometimes we need the opposite of what we think we need. Forget the suits and go get yourself a man with a little bit more…danger about him. Someone that will take care of you in a way you never knew you wanted.”

“Okay, thanks for that, Becca. Goodnight.” I walk away, quickly disappearing round the corner. “A man with a little more danger, huh? I don’t fucking think so,” I mumble as I find my way back to the main street.

My whole life has been spent around dangerous men. Why would I risk my heart to a man whose sole purpose in life is death?

Because he’s the type of man that feeds your fantasies.

The words rattle around my brain, joining with those of Becca and giving credibility to my therapist’s idea that the reason my dates are always such a failure is because I’m dating the wrong men.

Trisha has been telling me for the last three years that I pick safe men. She believes my taste in men is linked to my sexual preferences and is my way of suppressing them, to make me more normal—my skewed version anyway.

I’d like to call bullshit on that, but based on my dating history—always with men who think a riding crop is only for a horse, wear suits and work a safe 9-5 job—and my recent visit to a particular club where I met a man who not only knew what he was doing expertly but also didn’t leave me feeling like a dirty little whore, I’d have to give some credence to her theory.

Reaching my car, I get in, slamming the door shut and attempting to ignore the very real thrumming between my legs at the memory. I start the engine, rubbing my hands down the front of my thighs, but all it does is remind me of his hands.

I shove the car into gear and pull away, almost colliding with a car coming in the other direction. The drive home is one involving numerous beeping horns and a fair few middle fingers—from both parties but the majority of the up yours lie with me.

Once home, I head straight for bed, ignoring the ringing of my phone as I switch it to silent and place it on the bedside table. It’s Toni. But I’m too frustrated with myself to talk to her right now.

Sleep finds me and offers nothing but a circus of light and dark, pleasure and pain, dreams and nightmares.

CHAPTERFOUR

STAR

After waking late, I make coffee, put washing on and shower before calling Toni.

“Star Kavanagh, you and I are going to have a serious conversation about best friend etiquette,” she barks down the phone before I can even say hello.

“I know.”

“You know. That’s all you have to say?” My silence is my answer, and she takes it as such. With a sigh she says, “How bad was it?”

“So fucking bad. He’s an accountant.”

She gasps. “Nooooo! Call the fucking cops,” she says, her words full of sarcasm. “If that’s his worst crime then I think your safe.”

“Very funny. And no that wasn’t his worst crime. Not even close.” I tell her about bailing on him and that all the staff know who he is, even the damn chef. She can barely talk she’s laughing so hard.

“Okay, well… Moving on, do you want to know how my Saturday night went?”

I roll my eyes. “Do I? Because if you’re about to tell me in the most detailed way that you got railed by some guy, then no.”

“You’re such a spoil sport,” she grumbles. “Anyway, I need to get going. I have to go to my dad’s in an hour. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck.”

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