Sinful Desires

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

"Meet me at the 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 bit 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. His slimy tongue darted 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 a 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 his eyes searching for another one. His eyes watched Laira and his friend, Richard, before they snapped behind Laira.