Devour You

1

Victoria

Within each deliberate step, my heels peel from the sticky floor as I head in the direction of the bar. The booming club music is loud, pounding in my ears - though it seems to control everyone else from their swaying and bouncing bodies in the room.

Under the flickering strobe lights, I claim a barstool. The unfamiliar and tan bartender meets my brown eyes. His hazel irises are framed with eyeliner as either of his eyes scan across my features themselves.

"Let me guess, a bourbon on the rocks just like these fine ladies?" He shouts over the pounding music, gesturing toward the clique of short brunettes who are giggling just a few seats down.

Firmly, I shake my head. "Tequila, please." I begin. The tan bartender turns to grip the clear bottle of alcohol in return, and I watch the drink smoothly pour out onto the crystal rocks in my glass.

"Where are you from?" He asks, starting up conversation. I flick my gaze from the glass and onto his observant irises.

He slides the drink my way, and I take it into my grasp. I bring it up - only for the cool glass to trail on my lips before I answer.

"Detroit." I answer loudly enough. In turn the middle aged bartender perches an arched brow.

"You've traveled long ways. Vacationing here in Puerto Rico?" He asks, his piping tone hinting curiosity and interest. I nod, taking a delighted sip of the alcohol.

"Work, actually." I state, my throat burning from the smooth tequila fluxing down, and instinctively I purse my lips.

"Ah, business woman, huh?" The bartender smiles.

"Something like that." I suppress my grin, reverting the half filled glass to the bar's surface again. "My business partner is back home, waiting on me to deliver."

"Deliver?" His shouts, his arched brows escalated.

I lick my lips briefly, before my cell buzzes in my purse, and I plunge it out only to scan across a text message.

Waiting on that call, sweetheart. Let me know when it's done.

The sight of the message causes my tequila lips to twitch, and I bring the glass up to my lips again to cherish a few more sips. I peer my gaze over to the bartender again.

"I better get going. Have a nice night." I shout, when either of my two feet hit the floor after I hop off the barstool, abandoning my mere empty glass on the bar when I walk in the opposite direction.

And I don't face a sliver of thought to turn back around; because after tonight I won't see any of these people again. Ever, most likely. Tomorrow I'm returning home - to the gangster.

Reaching the back of the club, my heels guide my sweating body on the sticky perimeter toward the VIP lounge - just where I'm meant to be. My hand briefly grazes the thick black curtain, that is, just before I step inside.

The hammering club music doesn't fade. I head deeper inside the darker lounge; glancing across several older men who claim their seats to gawk at the women dancing before their intrigued eyes.

I mentally note the expectant features of my target, preparing myself for whom to search for.

My brown irises peer over onto a suited man slouched in a leather chair, his dark brown hair being tugged by another woman's seductive hands - as she claims his lap and sways on him to the beat of the music. My target.
I can hear him sounding a low moan from across the room where I stand.

I, however, internally groan in disgust.

I keep my lingering eyes on his slouched, gawking frame. And just then, his gaze lazily peels over to mine. I'm catching his eyes. Perfect. In my tight black dress, I lean my back against the cemented wall - my leg deliberately rubbing against the other in a teasing, caressing manner.

I gently throw my head back onto the wall, and continue to watch his lustful gaze trail me - adrenaline pumping wildly in my veins.

My stomach is plummeting, because this steady and longing gaze watching me isn't his. But I have to deliver - I want to do what I was asked. As long as this pervert doesn't touch me.

I watch him push himself up from his seat as he comes to a stand, pushing aside the dancer who once seductively swayed against him. My target walks this way, in my direction. I straighten, fluttering my brown irises purposely as he nears.

I turn around, briefly glancing over my shoulder to see him following behind me; I begin in my deliberate tracks toward the corridor leading to the back rooms.

I head in the direction of the room I learned my target stays in, and when I reach the outside walls of the curtain that his room lays behind, I stop in my tracks. The music has faded - but the vibration of the pounding bass still lurks behind the walls.

I feel his frame linger behind, before his aroma of stench and perspiration reverts to the uncomfortably close proximity; he plants his two feet before me.

My target's lustful irises pierce into mine, and I try so hard not to shift and shiver uncomfortably. I have to lead him into his own room for what I am to do. I softly take in a breath - his eyes send my body a gawking once over.

Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew...!

Forcibly, my lips curve upward as I watch him watch me, and I back up in steps - entering the room that lays behind the thick curtain. He follows, perfectly.

Standing in his room, I spin around to push him aggressively onto his own bare mattress. He lands on his back, and as I stand in my heels on the hard floor, I prepare myself.

Reaching for my purse, I slip my hand inside it - for my fingertips to curl around the hard and warm handle of the gun in my grasp. I snake the weapon out, keeping it close by my side. My thumb presses down on the hammer, igniting the propellant just before I aim.

My target's wide eyes are now panicked, a frantic expression plasters as his face pales in color. I grin smugly, satisfaction blooming within my gut.

"You know that money you stole from a gang, darling? I'm here to get it back." I begin, lifting my aim just a bit higher, just as I was taught, and concentrate between either of his eyes - my blood beginning to rush.

His perspiring lips quiver - moments before his thick brows narrow. "You're a gang member?!" He wails.

I roll my brown eyes in annoyance. "Where's the money?" I hurriedly walk up to him, his quivering frame tensing. I press the golden gun up to his forehead - his eyelids squeezing shut.

"And I'm gonna need you to hurry fetching it for me. I have a call to make." I state, my steady finger gently brushing against the trigger.

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