Cult

37

My hand finds its way down to her waist. I give her a light squeeze, grasping the shimmery fabric of her navy dress, but I resist the urge to graze my hand over her ass. I may be a psychopath, but I don’t want to get whopped by her dad in front of all these people. I could probably take on her dad, though, I just can’t risk getting kicked out. V made it clear that I needed to find and take this girl by whatever means necessary.

The girl rubs her hand against her waist, as if expecting me to hold her tighter, or hold her properly, one of the two. I haven’t danced in ages, but I figure I’ll give it my best shot just because this red head has the biggest look of disgust and shock on her pretty little face. She looks like she’s about to yank my tie off and choke me with it. She’s not my type whatsoever, but I wouldn’t mind getting a little rough with her…

Her grip tightens in my hand, but she stands more than a foot from my chest. She’s stiff, too stiff to just be angry. It seems like she’s never been this close to a man her age. I look at her mouth and watch as she sucks on her lip. Fuck.

I clear my throat, hoping she might stop that fuckery. Nope. She bites it harder. I grab her waist more tightly and give her a stronger squeeze. She glares at me with her menacing, but still pretty blue-green eyes. I can’t tell which they are, but they’re holding a shit load of anger and annoyance for me. I feel pretty special.

"Where are your glasses, ginger?" I speak up. My hand reaches for her face and I touch her cheek briefly, tilting her face to see her eyes more clearly. She looks down shyly, but slightly angrily.  

"What are you doing here?" she hisses quietly.

I tilt my head and watch her body standing close to mine. “Dancing with you," I smirk. Girls hate those kind of obvious answers.

I run my fingers through a few stray strands of her hair and twirl it.

"Your hair is so soft, so red, like blood," I tell her, meeting her gaze.

"You know what I mean. What are you doing at this Ball?" she mumbles, letting her gaze follow up my legs to my face. She’s checking me out.

"You're a terrible dancer so I figured I'd be your partner," I lie. Well, she does suck slightly, but I’m only here to get a slight squeeze of her ass and somehow get her to come home with me— not for that reason.

"Wow, you're so considerate," she rolls her eyes. I start to laugh and the corner of her lip turns up as though she wants to laugh too, but she stops herself.

I hold her closer to my chest and she takes a deep breath. As she calms her nerves, she’s able to keep up with my rhythm and dance with me.

"I thought you said you couldn't dance?" she whispers. I lean close to her ear and deepen my breathing.

"I lied."

She shakes her head and a tendril of her deep red hair falls down. "Fantastic. One of the many great qualities of Mr. Red Bandanna," she groans in playful annoyance. I laugh quietly and gaze down at her pouting. She crosses her legs and adjusts her skirt.

"What is it with you and ripped dresses?" I ask, touching her knee.

"It was made that way," she insists. I shake my head and she glances up at my hair as though it is an exotic animal. I ruffle my hair up and let it stick out at odd angles.

We continue dancing and I twirl her around, taking the moment to watch her skirt catch air and float around her legs like a blue aura. My eyes catch on her necklace nestled close to her cleavage. I don’t mean to stare, but there’s something strange about the necklace.