Past is a lonely place

Just like any other Saturday night, the club was loud and filled with deplorable people. The tight black spaghetti dress I wore managed to lure many but not the one I had my eyes on. The straps of the heel caged my ankles as I tapped my feet to the rhythm of the music.

My hair cascaded down my back, as my hawk-like eyes scanned the area.

“You ready, Bella?” I smirked. Hell, yeah!

With the twist of my lips, I glanced to my right to find a stunning face that could make allure you into darkness. Her bleached hair was pulled back in a slicked into a high bun and the fake gold Channel earrings glimmered against her pale skin.

“Meet me at back,” I said, voice slurring slightly. This was needed. I couldn’t do this sobered up.

Serena took it as a signal before I watched her swaying her hips and sliding towards the dance floor, where our next target was. My eyes glimmered watching the way she seductively swayed her hips on the dance floor. Her head was thrown back and the curve of her fingers trailed down her body, feeling herself as she played with her hair and bite her lips to hold the men around her in a lewd grasp.

Serena was a natural seductress, like a siren, she could lure any man with her deadly charm.

A smirk formed on my lips. There he was. Richard Montego, son of the Chief Director of Montego textiles and soon-to-be husband of Sarah Anderson, daughter of James Anderson, Director of New York Times, America’s top-selling newspaper. Man of awful pride and a foul smile. Saying from experience.

My eyes trailed over to him, as he slowly undressed my friend. Men were men. Tongue darting out as he licked his patched lips, a tall glass of expensive liquor in his right hand while his other hand rubbed the stubble on his chin apprehensively. Richard Montego was the first of the three men who were going to be destroyed tonight. A pretty boy to be exact, with common blue eyes and messy brown hairs, he was an average-looking man, but with an extraordinary way of enjoying life. The rumours were, he swung both ways.

I wonder what a prestigious man like him doing in a shady club like this. A man from Oxford University. After returning from England, he built his own company in only three months, with money he earned while staying there making it one of the leading industries in the States. No one could disentangle how he did it without any support. Unless his connections were severe. To be more precise, he and the daughter of news of America were barely seen together, the tale of their romance was yet to be announced in public.

I sipped on my drink slowly, watching as he broke away from his two business partners, Nicholai Santiago, a dimwit and Francis Moreno, my target. My target grinned at Richard, encouraging him. Laira smirked. Her back faced them and still, she knew his every move. Her hips swayed, and her lips turned into a victorious grin the moment Richard smacked his arm around her waist, pulling her hard to his chest.

I sighed, my eyes immediately landing on Francis who grinned against the half-naked woman begging for him to take her against the table. His hands fumbled through the rim of her dress as she mounted him massaging his shoulders. Her mauve lips trailed over his neck as he moaned.

Bastard.

My eyes cautiously scanned him. Waiting for the perfect moment. Usually, men like him were impatient and rich. Ready to shower anyone with big breasts and have fun for the night. Francis was the regular customer of this club, changing women every night like his damn vintage clothes. He would’ve looked decent enough to be a businessman if it wasn’t for the deep scar running down his left cheek that made him look a little dangerous.

Gulping the last of my liquor, I stumbled across the dance floor, purposely colliding with the heated bodies of males as they gave me a lusted smile. Francis threw bundles of cash at the women surrounding him as he sat on the sofa whilst his eyes searching for another one. His eyes watched Laira and his friend, Richard, before they snap behind Laira.

I smirked. Turning around, giving him a view of my backless dress.

“Shall we dance?” A warm male body was pressed against my back as I felt two arms wrapping around my waist.

I smirked, “Why not.”

My voice suddenly made me cringe for I couldn’t believe this was me.

I moved seductively, body in tune with the sensual music. Yet, there was a sort of lewdness to my moves that made the man behind me groan every time my hips would grind against his. I smirked, I was someone people shouldn’t underestimate. Closing my eyes I pushed my hips against his groin rubbing against his hard-on for his hands to skim to my thighs, stroking the rem as I tangled my fingers in his hairs.

When I opened my eyes, my gaze directly collided with Francis’s. He pushed the girl off him eyes raking over my own as he stumbled through the crowd. I made sure to keep my eyes on him, sensually biting my lips and parting my lips to draw in a heaved breath.

“I’ll be right back,” grumbling to the man behind me, I pushed him off me. This was the first rule of the game. Make them impatient and then shoot your arrow. My hips swayed right to left, legs crossing in front I tilted my head to the side as I walked towards the bathroom.

Francis would be here in-

My eyes closed and counted.

Three.

Two.

One.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?” I gasped with fake surprise. My arm was seized in the hold as he pushed me against the wall. My back straightened as I let him grasp my tiny waist.

“I can ask you the same,” my voice lower and laced with venom of seductress. I winked and he grinned. His eyes watch my every move. His eyes lowered to the sight of my cleavage, and almost rolled my eyes. His knees parted my legs and I moaned as my dress rode up my hips. He groaned pressing his body against mine tight enough that I slip my hands into his pockets and grab his wallet.

“What’s your name, sweetness?” He peppered my neck with his sloppy kisses, and I could barely keep my cringe inside.

“Laura,” I whispered innocently, nuzzling my face in his neck as his strong cologne infiltrated my senses. My eyes fixated on his hold watch as I let him roam his dirty hands all over my body, feeling me up.

“Laura,” I could barely feel anything by his words or touch, the disgust and bland taste left me unsatisfactorily annoyed. A smile stretched over my lips as he pulled away and his heavy lust-filled gaze fell on my lips.

“Why don’t we have some fun?”

*****

“Twenty-five thousand dollars, not bad.” Laira grinned and I rolled my eyes.

I tucked the money inside my bra for that seemed to be the safest place. Glancing in her direction, I find her changing into dark skinny jeans and a red tube top covering her torso with a black leather jacket.

“You sure you don’t wanna go?”

I shook my head.

“Nah! I’m good. Anyways, who’s the next target?” Laira raised her brow, placing her hands on her waist and smirked.

“Don’t know. But Tony said they’re some big fishes,” Wiping the lipstick off my lips, I wore a black mask.

“They better be. I’ve got some serious bills to pay,” Tugging her sleeves her sparkling blue eyes looked at me and she placed the Red Devil helmet on her head, a perfect angel disguised as the devil. Flying one leg over her Ducati, she grinned at me.

“See you later, then.” I nodded as I watched her bike roaring to life before she drove through the crowd.

I met her two years back, in front of a brothel. It was cold, freezing, and painful as I was dragged by some mobster there. She had left me in shock when she killed two men with the rough blade of her keychain. It was quite cinematic how I land in front of the brothel but it was the story for some other time.

Family betrays. Always. The thicker the blood was, the less viscous it was.

I landed on the streets of New York three years ago, tattered and devastated. With a torn dress hiding my dignity, empty hands and a heart full of grudges. The first year was challenging, I didn’t know how I survived by just stealing food from the streets and spending sleepless nights under the subways. Ironic, coming from a girl who always lived in luxury. The girl was raised in one of the wealthiest families in Italy.

‘Get out of here! You’re not my daughter anymore!’

The past was a lonely place. And I resided in it as a stranger.

I pondered, as I walked down the sidewalk. Moonlight stretched itself leisurely over me, approaching the winter breeze brushing against my skin, I could feel it. After the autumn had fled and gone south in search of warmth, I always felt coldness seeping through my veins, numbing me.

Life was never decent for me, nor was my lifestyle. Laura introduced me to her clients, assuring me that the world was divided into two illusions, one where love was an irrelevant word and family never existed and the other where I was. She taught me many things, the temptation of flesh to lure, that having a soft heart in a cruel world was a weakness, not courage.

My expectations from this world died the day my mother died, my father kicked me out of his house and I lost a piece of my soul. If I expect this world to be fair to me because I was a naive little girl, then that was equivalent to expecting a lion not to eat you just because you didn’t eat him.

The thoughts plagued my senses and to ease my overwhelming emotions, I took a deep breath in and released. One of the exercises my therapist gave me. Now it had been weeks since I last visit her, I was doing fine, she concluded. I wouldn’t call what happened two years ago trauma, but it was more than that.

Walking down the street, I finally reached my destination, the small apartment I had rented that Laira suggested was convenient for me.