Swamp Murder

Swamp Murder. 10

"I'll pass," I say, giving a small, apologetic smile. "Remember, I don't know how to dance. Can't even remember the last time I did."

Black tilts his head, his dark eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher me. "Come on, don't be a joy kill," he teases, a hiss of laughter slipping through his teeth.

"Sorry," I mumble, half-expecting him to insist again. But at that moment, his phone vibrates in his pocket. He glances down, and a smirk tugs at his lips. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere," he says, voice smooth as ever, before he disappears into the crowd.

Left alone, I scan the room, hoping to catch sight of the guy I saw earlier. The club lights flash in erratic colors, casting everyone in a distorted glow. I can barely remember what he looked like—only that glimpse of laughter caught briefly in the sharp angles of disco lights, half-covered by shadows.

Suddenly, I spot Black across the room, talking to two men who look important. They exchange nods, their faces stoic. I wonder what it's about, but I know better than to ask.

Just as I start to enjoy people dancing, Black's hand suddenly finds my arm, pulling me close.

"We're leaving," he says in a low voice.

"Already?" I ask, surprised. But the look in his eyes tells me not to question him. Without another word, he leads me out through the throngs of people, his grip firm, almost possessive.

Black ascends the stairs, leading us to the last floor, which has a penthouse. He presses a button, and I hear the door click open. With a gentle but insistent pull, he draws me inside, and my eyes widen.

The room is a whirlwind of energy. People are lounging, deep in conversation naked, and some are pushing the boundaries of comfort, caught up in the atmosphere. Black leads me to a low table and hands me a cup, his eyes glinting with encouragement. I shake my head.

"I'll pass," I say.

"Suit yourself." He shrugs and takes a quick drink. I watch as he refills and takes another.

I thought you said we were leaving, I ask, glancing around the room. He grins, leaning close.

"The party, not the fun," he replies, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Then, without a word, he loosens his tie, tossing it aside, and strips, I catch the glint of mischief in his eyes. He looks at me, his fingers reaching for my belt, but I pull away.

"Let's head home," I suggest, my voice calm but firm.

Black's face hardens. "If you stay and have sex with me and my friends," he says slowly, "I'll knock ten thousand off your debt. Plus, I'll throw in a thousand cash—yours to keep."

The offer hangs between us. I still owe him more than I'd like to admit. My mind races, weighing the temptation against my principles.

"You don't believe me?" Black smirks, pulling out his wallet. He peels off a few bills and tucks them into my pocket. "Believe me now?"

"Trust me." He grins, the world slipping away as I meet his gaze. Without hesitation, I strip bare, vulnerability in every inch. Memories flicker—of nights tangled in shadows, a blur of bodies, heat, and whispers. an impulsive release. Yet as the night wore on, fragments of regret crept in, faint but persistent, like shadows in the dawn.

As the night faded into the early hours of dawn, the energy had shifted. By the time we were done, four of them had fallen asleep, their heads resting on each other's shoulders, while two others were lounging in a daze, eyes half-lidded, lost in whatever haze they'd gotten high on. One of the guys, slurring heavily, looked over at me and raised a glass, "Stay for another round... I enjoyed it," he muttered with a lazy grin.