Page 1 of Valentine's Slave

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Valentino

It’s nearly Valentine’s Day, and I’ve secured my target. I’ve been stalking Ava Montgomery for the past seventy-two hours now, studying her, analyzing the desolation and innocence emanating from her lonely blue eyes, in contrast with the fight and thefuck-offdemeaner of her black nails and ever-ready middle finger.

I had begun to doubt that I would find someone like Ava at all, with time running out, with my expectations so much higher. This year will be different since I refuse to merely bury myself in a random woman for a night of mediocre vanilla sex.

This time, it took much longer, days crawling slowly by as I scoured the city, hunting down someone just as dark as she was delectable, just as masochistic as she was wild. This year, I decided my ritual would reach new heights. I don’t ask for a lot, but I need to have this, and I will. I’ll have it all. I’ll haveher.

It’s 11:09 p.m., and the moon shines faintly through the New York smog. Ava’s hair is illuminated by the light of thestreetlamp, lush blond locks spilling out of her knitted woolen hat. Several strides bring me closer, and I watch her as she clutches her phone in a desperate kind of way, discomfort and shame flitting through those haunting eyes, eyes that I want to watch my reflection in while they fill with desire, with ecstasy.

She looks to be in her mid-twenties, which is quite a bit younger than I am, not that that bothers me. She’s wrapped up in a frayed black coat that keeps her warm while still showing off her curvy form. A thrill pumps through my core, and I study her for a few more seconds before moving in close, stepping behind her as if I’m casually waiting for the bus.

Glancing over her shoulder, I read her screen. She’s on a sugar daddy site, the thought of which makes me sick. She’s desperate, and I’ve seen evidence. Yesterday morning, she came into Cora’s Diner, her minimum-wage-paying workplace, with a bulging backpack and gym bag, her face looking hollow and frail. She had bags under her eyes and looked distressed. It was obvious that she’s barely making it and perhaps doesn’t even have a place to stay.

And yet, the sick part of me revels in that, the fact that she’ll be completely and utterly dependent, driven by her circumstances to cling to me with everything she’s got. She won’t be able to refuse even if she wants to, and now I know exactly how to proposition her.

She clicks through her sugar baby profile and opens her inbox to a message from a grey-haired man. She then hurriedly turns off her phone and slides it back into her pocket.

I get the sense that she doesn’t really want to sell her body to wrinkly old men for sex. And yet, she’ll sell it to me.

She must feel my gaze, and glancing behind her, Ava looks me up and down, eyes narrowing. If she senses something dark, she’s absolutely right, and I smirk at her. I don’t hide who I am. She turns away quickly and doesn’t look back as she cranes herneck to look down the dark street, straining to catch sight of the bus.

She doesn’t seem to recognize me from the several times I went to Cora’s, though I was careful not to sit in her section so I could observe her without her notice. She was too stressed to take in much around her, in any case. If the prey observed the lion just as carefully as the lion observed the prey, it might just escape. But not her, not from me.

Like every year, it’s a test of my limits. By December, I’m salivating. By January, I’m throbbing. By February, when the Valentine’s roses and chocolate come out, I’m nearly dying, but I never jump the gun, even if it kills me. I don’t give in to my own whims. I put them in their place until the time is right. And then, I conquer.

It’s 11:23 p.m. when the bus finally pulls up. Ava hasn’t looked at me again, but she can’t keep her hands off her phone. I’m sure that she’s reading messages from more sugar daddies, that she’s torn as much as she is sickened.

I follow her to the back of the bus, where she sits in the very last row. When I also sit in the last row, opposite her, she throws me a dirty glance, and I just give her another smile. She’s on her phone again, mascara-hooded eyelashes brushing her fair cheeks as she texts rapid-fire. She doesn’t have her bags with her today, and I wonder where she’s staying tonight. I had originally planned to find out exactly where she was going, but now my plan of action has taken a different turn.

The bus is crowded, and I immediately notice when a shady-looking man in a ratty coat, clutching a garbage bag in his hands, traipses up the stairs towards the back of the bus. He’s looking straight at Ava, seemingly entranced by her, walking towards her as if he’s a zombie going in for his next meal.

She doesn’t see him until it’s nearly too late, her face buried in her phone. I’ll teach her how to be alert of her surroundings, how to break her phone addiction. But this time, I step in.

In a heartbeat, I’m on my feet, about to step between Ava and the wandering-eye homeless man. My movement finally wakes Ava from her social media–induced haze, and she lets out a small gasp as her entire body tightens.

“Get thefuckaway from me,” she spits at the man, and something tells me this isn’t their first run-in. Did Ava sleep on the street? I’m ready to beat this guy’s face into the ground until he’s nothing but purple pulp.

His eyes jump between her and me. His eyes look bloodshot and high.

“Now, you know the rules,” he says to her, his voice like burnt gravel.

Ava stares him down, gaze scorching as she clutches her bag closer to her chest. “Get lost.” Her voice is almost a whisper, but it packs a punch. The homeless man takes another glance at me, and so do some of the other people on the bus. Finally, he backs off and walks back down the stairs.

Ava turns on me next.

“I don’t need your help,” she snaps.

I fight the wicked smile playing at my lips.

You certainly do, and you will accept it.

But instead, I just give her a silent nod and turn back to my seat.

The rest of the bus riders go back to minding their own business, and I keep my gaze in front of me, all the while noticing in my peripheral vision that Ava glances at me every few seconds. Her lips can lie, but those crystal-blue eyes can’t.

I don’t look at her again until the bus arrives at her stop, and she gets up with something like hesitancy, glancing at her phoneas she walks down the stairs to the door. I watch her perky little ass all the way there, and then I smirk.

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