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How did she manage to evade the cops so easily?
I had planted that meat sack so perfectly with her knife, making sure the notorious Snow White was placed at that scene. Then, I tailed her to the cove, and after giving her a much-needed clock to the head, I stole her little toy and released him right at the police station.
It took an hour of sweating my ass off in those bushes, waiting to see the whole brigade of cops swarming to get the little blonde fiend. But no, instead, I saw a sobbing mess being hauled off in a straitjacket.
It was very rare that I didn’t get what I wanted. I’d spent a lot of time and money to ensure I always had anything I was remotely interested in trying within reach. Anger boiled beneath my blood. I pushed off Callie or Chloe or whatever her name was and snapped up my pants.
“Hey,” she protested, spluttering on the ground.
I didn’t bother giving her a second glance because I didn’t want her anymore…I wasn’t lacking in women begging for my cock, and I liked to have my pick. I grabbed my button-down shirt and left the room. The booming sounds of the club’s music vibrated over my skin, and that tangy scent of sex and sweat coated me like a cologne.
Damn, Little Shadow, damn the police for being idiots, and damn me for not shoving her in the water when I had the upper hand.
Why the fuck didn’t I do it?
The woman was the bane of my existence. I hated her, and she fueled my rage to an inferno level, but something about her calculative nature made me want to face her head-on. It was a challenge of a lifetime, and I wouldn’t waste a perfect game by cheating the other player. I wanted to revel in her failure, watch her face as she saw me defeat her, and feel her sweat and blood coat my hands. Hopefully, I would finally shake off the humming, buzzing sensation her addictive smile created in my body.
“Heeey,” a drunk bimbo purred at me, plastering herself to my chest.
I swear, these slutty females were such a pain in the ass. This particular one I’d fucked three days ago, and her slurring and panting made it apparent that she wanted more.
“Remove yourself from my arm, or I’ll do it for you,” I said, feeling distaste crawling up my body.
Why do some people have no respect for personal space?
My tone must have had enough of an edge to it to sober her up because she let go with a sob and ran off. Good, she could console the other female she was with, Cameron, or whatever. I walked to my bar. Guto and Sam masterfully used the Boston shaker and strained the rocks into margarita glasses. Guto caught sight of me and smiled his expensively whitened teeth in my direction.
“Hey, boss. Want your usual?”
I nodded. “Yeah, give me the bottle.”
Guto whistled and handed me the Russo Baltique, my favorite liquor from my home.
“Rough night, my man?”
Guto was a kind Brazilian guy. He had worked for me for years, and he and Sam kept things running smoothly. They were both good-looking people, and they had their fair share of fun with the patrons and partygoers. I didn’t care one way or another if Guto got his dick wet as long as my bar was staffed and some of the idiot women, who were doused in so much perfume I couldn’t breathe, were taken care of and left me alone.
“You could say that.” I shrugged, knocking back some of my favorite vodka that reminded me of Russia.
“Hi, boss, how was your night?” Sam came strolling over, her delicate creamy hands shaking some man’s drink. The dude was leaning so far on the bar to get a view of her ass that I was surprised he didn’t fall over.
I smiled at Samantha. She was a beautiful soul. The kind of person I sometimes wished I could be. Her short, bouncy black hair and curvy body always made me happy. I would never fuck her, though. I didn’t mix business and pleasure, not that I got much pleasure from sex. Sex was more of a mechanical need to ‘oil the motor’ and keep me somewhat cooled off.
I never understood why people made such a big deal about sex. It did nothing more for me than a good workout could get me.
“Good evening, Samantha.” My words always made her blush.
She told me, more than once, that my accent did things to her, and I guess she wasn’t lying because she was batting her thick black eyelashes at me. Winking, she giggled and went back to her customers.
Sure enough, that horn dog that couldn’t get a good enough view of her nice ass eventually fell off his barstool, smashing into the bar table. The dumbass busted his lip.
A bunch of people gasped and fussed over him, Samantha being one of them. She ran over to the corner, snagging the first-aid kit. She pulled out some ointment to help the fool.
I watched with disinterest as she dabbed his lip with a cloth and applied goop to the wound.
I was about to turn away when the sorry, sad sack decided to grope her, her discomforted squeak barely audible in the chaos of the room.
Seriously. What was up with the handsy fuckheads tonight?
