Ravaged By Passion

Jeanie

The club’s lights are down low and the music pulses through my body like quicksand. I feel it in my limbs, in my spine, in my feet and fingers. I sip a glass of champagne—stupidly overpriced and sold by the bottle—and watch as Gavino leans forward to say something to Malcolm.

This is hell. It’s the worst situation imaginable. If I had to envision the ideal torture situation, this would be it. Sitting in a club with Malcolm and Gavino. It’s so loud and so crowded and so dark that I can’t really think, which is probably a good thing. It keeps me from obsessing about what happened in Gavino’s house the night before. Benedict is sitting at the bar, throwing me rage-filled glances, and Gavino’s barely said more than two words to me since bursting into my suite, dragging me into my bedroom, throwing a bunch of clothes at me, and demanding that I get dressed and follow him.

I almost refused to go, but something in his stare made me obey.

Now here we are, drinking champagne with Malcolm in a club, while people mill around, grinding and dancing in front of the DJ booth, holding up drinks and laughing in groups, shouting to be heard over the noise.

This should be my scene. I’m twenty-two years old and in my prime partying years, and yet I’ve barely ever gotten drunk, not really drunk, and this is my first time going into a club. The people in here have more in common with me than they do with Gavino and Malcolm, and yet they seem like they belong while I’m sitting on the edge of this couch wondering when I’ll get the chance to go home.

When did I end up like this? So bitter and angry and alone?

I know when. It happened gradually, over years and years of my mother’s asshole boyfriends flirting with me, trying to touch me, trying to corner me in the bathroom. Years of my mother slowly sliding deeper into oxy addiction.

These people are young and I’d bet they haven’t been through half of what I’ve survived already.

“You’re not having a good time.” Gavino practically shouts into my ear as the dance music’s beat goes crazy and people all over start screaming with excitement. “You need to have a good time.” He’s leaning close and smiling, but his eyes are dangerous.

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t give a damn. Laugh like I said something funny.”

I smile at him like I want to rip his head off.

“That’s better.”

I roll my eyes. Malcolm notices our little back and forth and he beams like he’s witnessing a lovers’ quarrel, and from his perspective that’s probably what this looks like. He’s the only other person in the world that knows what happened in his office, and he believes Gavino is keeping me around in order to sleep with me.

Is that so far from the truth?

The memory of Gavino’s mouth between my legs replays, again, for the millionth time. A shiver runs down my spine and my nipples stiffen. What’s wrong with me right now? That night was so good—up until I ruined things by asking about Sonia.

I just can’t help myself. It’s like whenever a good thing gets within inches, I have to shove it away and destroy it, because I don’t deserve joy.

Not until I get revenge.

“Excuse me,” Malcolm shouts, “I’m going to get a refill on my drink. That cocktail girl over there seems like she might be the perfect one to service me right now.” He roars with laughter and Gavino grins as Malcolm gets up and wanders off. I watch him go, feeling sick to my stomach, as he zooms toward a young girl—basically my age—with huge boobs and straight blonde hair. That sick bastard will ruin her if she lets him, and based on the way she’s giggling and brushing her hair behind her ear and batting her eyes, she’s going to let him.

“We’re wining and dining,” Gavino says in my ear, sitting closer. The heat rolls from him in waves. “It’s part of the damn game.”

“I’m not playing, remember? I want to tank this deal, not help it.”

“And I want you to tank it too, but I don’t need Malcolm getting suspicious in the meantime. Taking him out and showing him a good time is part of the experience.”

I grind my teeth then throw back my drink. Screw it, if he wants me happy and playing along, then I’ll give him what he wants. I shift toward him and put a hand on his thigh, forcing my face into a flirty, seductive smile, or at least the best version of one I know how to do. Gavino seems surprised, but quickly a smirk replaces his widened eyes and I move closer to him, whispering in his ear.

“Is this better?” I say and move my hand up his leg and back down again. “Do you want Malcolm to think we’re fucking?”

“It’s useful for him to think that. He’ll underestimate you that way.”

“And what if we are fucking?”

He releases a soft growl and his hand finds my hip. I shiver, not sure if I’m doing this to play his game still or if I’m really trying to seduce him. My pulse is erratic, and lust floods my chest like I’m drowning in it.

“My tongue was between your legs last night, little princess. If I wanted to fuck you, I would.”

“Asshole, that’s not how it works. I get some say in the matter.”