The Deadly Seven

Rory King [2/7]

Sitting with an arm stretched over a woman’s milky white shoulder and his other hand balancing a glass of martini, Rory King had once again captivated every gentleman and lady in the Black Star Lounge.His silky, baritone voice spoke like a soothing wind, speaking with such charisma and elegance that the audience had forgotten he was talking about himself.

For Rory, he never felt like himself if he wasn’t making sure everyone knew they couldn’t compete against him.  Ever since he was little, he always considered himself the better person, whether he bragged about until everyone was nauseated, or he subtly slipped in a cheeky one-liner that subdued whoever he felt was more superior than him.

Moving his arm down his companion’s chest, he took a sip from his beverage and resumed his story.  “Mrs. Eliza would have had to foreclose if I hadn’t gotten Preston and Roger involved rescuing her.”  Rory King was a freelancer, working mostly with estate agencies.  He was thirty-three and a bachelor.

Rory King’s companion, Ash Dawson turned her giggling face towards him and said in a tipsy voice, “Come on, Rory, let’s go to my place.”  Her fingers folded around his tie and she tugged on it slightly.

Ignoring her suggestion, Rory removed his arm from her and stood up to join the other gentleman at the casino table.  Still holding his refreshment, he walked around the table, observing everyone’s cards before walking to the bar to charm another woman.  He was tall—six feet exactly.  He had a peculiar face that was strangely attractive.  His jaw was long, his cheekbones prominent, and his green-blue eyes were shaped like a sly cat’s.  He had a slender build, but wasn’t skinny.  Rory King made it his business to stay in shape, for he was asked often how his work-out schedule was going.  And of course, he didn’t want to be the only man in the room who had to stand in silent humiliation while the others boasted of their accomplishments.

Rory, ever since he was very young, felt a sort of entitlement over people.  He was extremely judgmental and couldn’t look at someone without finding some fault in them.  To him, other people were nuisances unless they agreed with him or constantly paid him compliments.  If he didn’t like someone, he would find a way to smudge their reputation just enough so that they would never be in the same room with him. 

Smoothing out his Giorgio Armani suit, he paid for another drink and looked over at the leggy brunette beside him.  Her emerald evening gown had a deep neckline and back and, as if those weren’t enough to make a man weak, her dress had a slit from the bottom all the way up to her thigh. 

“Can I buy you a drink?”  Rory asked, looking her up and down slowly.

“You can ask my husband,” she replied coolly, nodding over to one of the players at the table.

Rory’s delights were dampened at the sight of an older gentleman with already greying hair.  Taking up his drink, he gave her a condescending look and returned to talking to his shallow audience.