Violent Tendencies

Selene

I pull an all nighter, mapping out the obnoxiously large mansion and marking as many things as I can remember about the layout. Every door I walked through, every stupid painting, everything.

I mutter to myself as my feet throb from the walk home, cursing out the rude cunt for the millionth time for not bringing me home. I don’t want him knowing where I live, but he could have dropped me a lot fucking closer to home instead of expecting me to walk.

I flick through some papers I’ve scribbled on recently, double checking his movements and actions I’ve noticed through the week. I add that his son obviously lives at home, which is annoying as fuck, but not a complete issue. If I’m lucky, I can get the pair of the rich cunts in one go, I just have to play it smart.

I stash everything away before grabbing my shoes and calling an Uber, wandering outside to wait for it on the curb.

My day is planned out well.

I’ll have breakfast at the diner in town to wake my ass up properly, I need to buy a new dress for my next meet with Henry, and then the local bar is calling my name. I really need a fucking stiff drink.

I indulge a little too much on breakfast, knowing it’ll hurt the bank, but I’m fucking starving, so it’s worth it. Especially when they bring out my plate that’s piled high with eggs, bacon, and toast. The coffee is a gift from the gods, too.

I take my time eating, scoping out the other customers and keeping my ears open for anything interesting. It is amazing how many people talk about shit that they shouldn’t, making my life a hell of a lot easier.

Now that I feel slightly human again, I walk the short distance across the street to the department store, browsing through the stunning dresses until my eyes land on a tight thigh high black dress. It’s dipped low in the back, and the moment I try it on, I know it’s the one.

It makes my tits look fucking amazing, and once I add some heels to the outfit, my legs will look fucking stunning, too.

I guess all I need now is a drink.

I wander further down the street to the bar, surveying the room as I sit on a stool and order a drink. I’m aware of the drunken sleazebag beside me, but I blatantly ignore him and sip my whiskey, scanning the room again before turning my attention back to my drink.

“Hey, you look lonely, doll face,” Sleazebag slurs, almost falling off his bar stool as he leans closer. The smell of whiskey and cigarettes is sickeningly strong on his breath, and I fight the urge to gag.

“I’m talking to you, you stuck up bitch!” He growls when I continue to ignore him, my eyes finally sliding to his as I cock my head a fraction.

“I was hoping you’d get the picture and take a hike,” I say sweetly, his bloodshot eyes narrowing.

“Fucking slut!” He spits out, staggering to his feet to try and tower over me. If I were going to run away from the asshole, his breath would have done it, not his height. He is barely five and a half feet tall.

He jabs his fat finger into my chest, stumbling slightly as he belches in my face.

“You think you’re too good for me?” He demands, and I let out a light laugh.

“I know for a fucking fact that I am. Like I said, take a hike, asshole.”

I brace myself as he throws himself at me, almost knocking me off balance, but a hand comes out of nowhere and grabs the back of the guy's shirt, hauling him back sharply. Before the drunken dick-bag can react, a fist hits his face just before the side of his head is slammed down onto the bar.

My eyes flick over to my defender, and I’m surprised as fuck to see the rich asshole’s son standing there, holding the guy down by the back of the neck as he struggles.

“Hank, the fuck have I told you about attacking women who don’t want your shriveled-up dick? Apologize. Now,” he demands, surprising me further. I was unaware the prick even knew the word apologize.

The man stutters, rambling on about some random crap, but Zander growls loudly, slamming him down again.

“Hank, I’m not fucking around.”

“Sorry, Miss,” the man who’s apparently named Hank blurts out, stumbling away the moment he’s let go. Cowardly piece of shit.

Zander’s eyes skim over me before his lips kick up into a cruel smirk.

“You’re the paid whore that Henry brought home yesterday.”

I quirk an eyebrow, grabbing my drink and downing it before replying.

“I haven’t taken any money from Mr. Walton, so the name calling is a little unnecessary if you ask me,” I say dryly, but he snorts and leans against the bar, not taking his eyes off me.