Dylan (18+) [ON HOLD]

chapter three: B E A C O N

Dylan

. . .

I frown as Stella prances around in her new lingerie. 

As the daughter of a wealthy film producer, Stella had given up her dreams of being a nurse for a failed career as an actress followed by a life of designing skimpy nightwear.

She's not bad at it either, but her current pieces just can't seem to draw my attention.

A fact that does not please Stella. "Do I have to pull the bow loose to get you to look at me?" 

At her comment I look up, finding her with her back towards me, her ass-less, bow-knot panties leaving nearly nothing to the imagination.

I hold back a grimace as I notice her wet slit. It no longer gives me an erection, and in order to avoid Stella detecting my simple lack of attraction towards her: ignorance, in every situation, was my current method of getting her to break up with me.

I hadn't wanted to be in a relationship with her in the first place.

At the time it had seemed like a great idea, when we kept meeting up, and the media caught wind, we figured why not.

This. This is precisely why not.

I'm saved by the sound of my phone beeping across the room but, as the tone—the one I picked specifically for Gabby—I find myself scrambling over the couch to get to it.

Face ID unlocks the device quickly enough, and soon I'm faced with the screen of the beacon app. Police are en route, the screen says whilst I fumble with the little GPS director for directions.

I'd bought Gabby a pair of earrings that had GPS trackers in them, a pair of black studs. And she'd gotten her ears pierced a second time so that she could wear them without disrupting her usual wardrobe.

However, those worked through WiFi, and if Gabby didn't have service, they were useless.

This bracelet however, is one that my older brother programmed himself. And is was more of a beacon than a tracker.

It didn't follow Gabby, but when she needed to be seen, it shouted her location from the rooftops.

"Where are you going?" Stella shouts as I run, barefoot into the elevator.

Shoes are trivial little pieces of shit.

"Gotta go."

"What do you mean you've 'gotta go?!'"

Stella's mad, and while usually it would be rightfully so, with Gabby on the line, little else matters.

"I have to check on Gabby," I say. 

That's all it takes for her dumbfounded expression to disappear. Her blue eyes narrow into pissed off slits, and she opens her mouth to speak, but neither of us are able to say anything more as the elevator doors close.

The ride down to the lobby is swift. Outside, the stars and moon are bright as a light rain sprays the area. I curse at myself for not grabbing a jacket and make a mad dash for my car.