CHAPTER 9: Drunk or True

"Another drink, sir?"

Damien didn’t answer. He simply waved his fingers, his other hand gripping a tumbler half-filled with scotch. The bass of the music moved through the dark corners of the exclusive club, and strobe lights painted the walls in shades of red and purple, all his head could think of is what the board members had said.

Girls danced on polished poles like their souls weren’t already dead. Smoke clouded the air, filled with perfume, cheap cologne, and sin.

A brunette with fake lashes leaned in, pressing her lips to Damien’s neck. "Want me to make you forget tonight?"

He pushed her away without looking. "I said, get me another drink. Not your cheap mouth."

She flinched, scurrying off.

The table was a mess. Empty bottles, cigarette ash, a half-eaten fruit platter. Damien leaned back into the leather booth, legs stretched, surrounded by three girls barely clothed, giggling as if their laughter was worth something.

He was waiting. Waiting to feel alive. Waiting