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Also, bit of a dick move if he thought I was as drunk as I was pretending to be.
Don’t get me wrong, I had downed half a bottle of whiskey. I loved the burn of it sliding down my throat and then the slow heat as it settled in my stomach. The cheaper the bottle, the better. But I was still in complete control.
I was in complete controlis what I told myself.
Even as I noticed my sight blurred slightly before it cleared again after my near fall, the rush of blood to my head obscured my vision with the assistance of the alcohol.
Okay, so maybe it was more like a full bottle, and maybe that was poor judgment on my behalf. Still, I was certain I could take everyone in this bar.
I wasn’t here for them anyway, not really. They were a means to an end to get out the lust for violence that lived within my veins.
But once I had them cleared out, whether they walked or dragged themselves by their fingers, would depend on how much of a fight they put up, then I could destroy the clubhouse. I’d developed a bit of a taste for arson—for some reason, I felt comfortable with flames, funny that—and I figured if they don’t have a place to action the crime, then crime would be reduced.
I got my kicks, bad guys lost, and I’m not being a wimp about it. Everybody wins.
“Watch your hands there, buster…” I purred as I looked at him, “… you just might lose them.”
He laughed, and I actually flinched when he grabbed my breast in his hand, palming it roughly. I cocked an eyebrow at him, but he wasn’t looking at my face. He was too busy watching the motion of my flesh under his hand, jiggling my breast obscenely. Did he really think women derived pleasure from his fumbling? I suppose he didn’t really care.
His other hand was still clamped firmly against my hip, pressing me against his side.
“Maybe you should be careful where you wander into, girly.” He snickered, slapping lightly at my breast. I frowned at him. He was takingwaytoo many liberties with this act I was putting on, and I’m sure a vein in my neck was twitching at the effort not to break his hand.
Or his neck.
When he licked my cheek, I snapped. Fucking disgusting prick. I lost the giggling demeanor as quickly as if it had been wrenched from me when he slapped at my other breast. Moving sharply, I yanked away from him, twisting my body out of his hold. But either his grip or these damn knee-high boots caused me to trip.
It had to be one or the other because I certainly wouldn’t admit drinking that much prior had been poor judgment, and the alcohol had affected my reflexes.
Demons don’t make mistakes. We own them.
Mid-trip, before I had a chance to righten myself, he kicked my feet out from underneath me, and then he was on top of me, faster and heavier than I had anticipated.
Fuck.
“Get off me, you pig,” I spat at him as he grabbed for my hands, unable to get a grip on my wrists as I beat at his arms and shoulders. He kneeled as he covered his face with his forearms, deflecting my blows. My attack wasn’t graceful, but I didn’t like being in such a vulnerable position unless Ichoseto be there. I was angry.
“That fucking hurts, you bitch.”
But I kept hitting him, eventually curling my fingers into fists and punching at every inch of him I could reach. I was pissed my little act hadn’t gone to plan and I had been humiliated by this fucking human who managed to get me in such a defenseless position—on my back, on the floor.
“Steady there, gorgeous.” The other voice was deep and vibrated through me as two large hands grabbed at my forearms, attempting to stop my onslaught of punches toward the biker on top of me. With the two men working together, they managed to get my arms above my head and pressed hard against the floor, tucked under the knees of his helper, and the larger man chuckled as the first started unbuttoning my too-tight leather pants.
He had the nerve to shush me as I growled, letting the sound pulse through me and fuel my anger. “Hush hush, calm down, lovely.” When he leaned over me, I smelled beer and sweat. “Struggling will only make it worse when we take turns with you.”
I bared my teeth at him, drawing another laugh from the rotten hole he called a mouth. There was something else I could smell, and in the split second it took me to recognize the scent, I pinpointed it with my senses and drew on it, allowing it to infect me. It didn’t matter where the scent originated from, an old injury newly aggravated or someone simply accidentally cutting themselves, it tainted my senses, and enthused me.
Blood.
When I opened my eyes again, I had let them slide back into their natural glowing yellow, and it took the two men a second too long to see the change as I let my inner demon shift beneath the surface of my skin.
Leaping off me simultaneously, the first man screamed, “What the fuck?” as they both scrambled to their feet.
Crouching, I drew in deep, rattling breaths as I found the center between my human form and allowed my demon out to play.
Because I wanted to play.
Finding the center wasn’t something I had mastered yet, and these men should pray I got the balance right.
