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Chapter One
Damian
Damian’s head snapped back and the sound of a palm striking him across the face echoed. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, rubbing his burning jaw. He fixed the irate, naked woman in front of him with an annoyed stare. Since when did asking someone to vacate the premises warrant a slap in the face?
Brunette, as he’d decided to refer to her—because try as he might, he could not remember her name—inhaled sharply. “You’re kicking me out?”
“No, I asked you to leave, nicely,” Damian bit out through clenched teeth.
Brunette threw her hands up and her exposed breasts swayed with her movements. Usually, Damian would have been enticed by the view. Not this time. Maybe the problem was the throbbing in his head, a harbinger of a killer hangover. But since when did something like a hangover stop him from continuing a party the morning after?
“Just like that?” She scoffed. “I thought we would have breakfast, spend a little more time together. Perhaps arrange another date.”
Damian’s eyes rounded. Another date? First of all, he didn’t date and he couldn’t understand why Brunette considered being picked up at a bar afirst date. Hopeful eyes stared back at him and long lashes batted prettily.
He stifled a groan, realizing what he’d gotten himself into. It was one of those one-night stands. The one where the woman somehow interpreted one night as a marriage proposal. Massaging the bridge of his nose, he huffed. “Look ...” Lucy, Lexy, Lena … He vaguely recalled that her name began with an L. He shook his head, and gave up on the frivolous thought. “You knew what this was when you agreed to come back to my room. One night. Nothing more.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “You bastard. You don’t even remember my name, do you?”
Damian’s shoulders lifted and he shook his head.
“It’s Lacy,” she spat.
He nodded. Ah, there it was. He didn’t feel bad, not in the least. He knew Lacy’s type all too well. She trolled fancy hotel bars and other hot spots for the wealthy, hoping to sink her money-hungry fangs into a rich man. Damian had been her prey. She had taken one look at him, calculated, and summed up that he had money. Then she’d descended like a vulture, confident that she could use her sexual prowess to convince him into something more than one night. He’d let her hunt him, let her believe she had a chance…because he’d wanted a body to warm his bed for the night. Lacy’s sexual prowess had been on point—good enough to ensnare many weaker men. But, not him. Never him.
In the end, he was never anyone’s prey.
He was always the predator.
Damian’s lips twisted with amusement. Of course, he was now the monster for breaking her frostbitten, gold-digging heart. “You’re not wrong, Lacy. I am a heartless bastard. So everyone says anyway. It’s hard to feel sorry for you though. You knew what you were getting into. You just overestimated your skills. You thought you were enough to hold on to me. You were wrong.”
Lacy snarled and stomped away in the direction of her clothes, which were heaped on a chair. He watched as she shrugged on her panties and dress. It puzzled him as to why the woman was so furious. What part of one night wasn’t clear? He might have been a little tipsy when they had stumbled to his room, and he might have forgotten her name, but one thing he was sure of was that he’d let her know what was what before they began their wild night. He was always clear. It wasn’t his fault when they chose to expect more.
“You’re such a pig,” Lacy hissed.
Stark naked, with his dick still half-erect and sheathed in a condom, Damian rolled his eyes and reached for his jacket. Bastard, pig…he’d heard it all. He was accustomed to the indignant whining and name-calling, but Lacy’s voice was grating on his extra-sensitive nerves. He found his wallet and pulled out a wad of cash, not bothering to look at the bills. He extended the cash in offering, hoping it would make Lacy stop talking and just leave. “Here, is this what you want? Money? Take it and go.”
Lacy’s head snapped up. She zeroed in on the cash then shifted her focus to him. Damian was surprised to see outrage and disbelief glistening in her honey brown eyes. “I’m not a prostitute, prick,” she spat.
His brow lifted, and then he shrugged. “I’m not judging.”
She marched up to him, snatched the stack of bills and threw them at him. Fifty and hundred dollar bills hit him in the face and then floated to the red carpet before settling around his feet. She rolled her eyes. “You’re despicable. I can’t believe I thought you were anywhere near decent.”
Damian took no offense at her insult. He’d accepted that he wasn’t decent a long time ago. He was expecting another slap in the face though…definitely not his own money thrown back at him. So, all in all, this morning after wasn’t going too badly.
Without emotion or expression, he waited for her to charge out of the room. Letting out a breath when the door slammed, he spared the scattered bills around his feet a second glance and walked off toward the bathroom. Whomever cleaned the room when he checked out would find the generous tip. With distaste, he removed the condom and dumped it in the bin. What a waste. He hadn’t enjoyed his time with the enraged-yet-lovely Lacy. He usually managed to squeeze an ounce of enjoyment out of his trysts, but not this time.
He was supposed to be in a state of elation. He had finally gotten what he’d craved for years—revenge. He’d manage to take down his enemy. Aldridge was done, in every sense of the word. Damian had spent the night celebrating. He’d practically emptied the bar he was at and picked up what was supposed to be a stellar one-night stand.
On his way to the shower, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His grim expression and flat eyes reminded him that he wasn’t enjoying his triumph as much as he’d expected.
“Sweet revenge, alcohol and a gorgeous woman. What more could you want?”
He stared at his reflection, confused, as if he expected the miserable image of himself to supply an answer. Could his mother have been right? Could taking down Caleb Aldridge not be the answer to him at last finding some semblance of peace?
With a deepening scowl, Damian stepped away from his reflection. Like hell. He wasn’t happy because he hadn’t done enough. The punishment had to fit the crime. All he had to do was find a way to drive a few more nails into Aldridge’s coffin, and then he’d be satisfied, he was sure of it.
