Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)(13)

“About Lorenzo’s lack of feeling for females,” Leo tells her.

Melody laughs. “I don’t know... based on the noises coming out of his bedroom at around midnight last night, I’d say he was feeling something with a woman.”

“He was making her feel something. Big difference.” Leo turns back to me, cocking an eyebrow. “What was this one’s name?”

“Barbie,” I say.

“And is Barbie her real name?” Leo asks. “Or is that just what you’re calling her, since she was platinum blonde and plastic?”

Okay, he’s got me there...

“That’s what I thought,” he continues when I don’t answer. No point wasting my breath. He knows. “Bet you probably don’t even remember her real name.”

“It was Tina.”

“Really?”

“No, I don’t know,” I say, standing up. “I didn’t pay attention to a word she said.”

His laughter follows me as I snatch up the pair of heels and stroll toward the doorway. Melody eyes me cautiously as I pass her. She doesn’t flinch away… anymore… but I wouldn’t exactly say she lets her guard down around me, either. Her gaze shifts to the shoes, her brow furrowing. “Are those Loubitons?”

“That’s what they say.”

“Why do you have them?”

“Why do you ask so many questions?”

She has no comeback for that, which is for the best, considering Leo probably will hold it against me if I sucker punch his girlfriend for meddling in my business. I hear Leo chime in, explaining to her about Cinderella, but I just walk away. Prince Charming, I am not, nor will I ever be. No, you see, people call me Scar for a reason, and it doesn’t entirely have to do with the fact that my face got f*cked up. I’m the villain; I’m the lion that swooped on in, destroying their pride lands. I killed the king and sent Simba packing. But unlike the fictional Scar from the cartoon, I don’t intend to lose at the end of my story. Everything the light touches in this city belongs to me. I’m the f*cking Lion King.

I know, I know… another animal metaphor.

Man, I need some sleep.

Trudging upstairs, I make my way down the hall, to the bedroom in the far back. Everything about it is impersonal, no distractions—plain white walls and a California king bed with the best mattress money can buy, the kind of memory foam that just cradles you, that embraces you like it loves you, cloaked in expensive Egyptian cotton, but none of that makes a bit of difference when it comes time to fall asleep.

After setting the shoes down on top of the only dresser, I peel off all of my clothes, discarding them on the floor, and fall right into the bed on my back, naked. The ceiling fan above me lightly spins around and around and around. I track it with my gaze. It helps me relax, like some strange version of counting sheep, or maybe I just get so dizzy that I eventually pass out, but regardless, I usually catch some sleep that way.

But not today.

No, even as I watch the spinning blades, instead of shutting down, my mind starts to wander, thoughts of a petite brunette with wild hair creeping in. The smirk on her red lips right before she ran that last time, the smug ‘I got you, motherf*cker’ smile, like she was gloating, invades every part of me, like an infection settling in, eating away at my insides. She has no idea who she’s messing with, but she’s going to learn. Little Miss Scarlet Letter robbed the wrong motherf*cker. I’m getting my money back, every single penny of it, and she’ll be damn lucky if I don’t take her last breath as interest.

I wonder if she’ll smile then, with me pinning her down, my body on top of hers, keeping her locked in place. I wonder if she’ll smile when I wrap my hands around her throat, squeezing, pressing against the carotid artery, making her look me in the face as I wring her neck. I wonder if she’ll smile as the color drains from her cheeks, as the spark diminishes in her eyes, because I sure as f*ck will.

I get hard just thinking about it.

Nothing turns me on more than seeing someone struggle, fighting for survival. It’s feral, instincts kicking in. They give it all they’ve got, because they know if they don’t, there will be nothing left. I’ll take it all. I’ll take their dignity. I’ll take their money. I’ll take their family, too, if I want it. I’ll take their life in every sense of the word. Desperation at its core, exposing those raw nerves of self-preservation. There’s nothing more powerful than holding someone’s life in your hands, knowing they’re not strong enough to overpower you... knowing their only hope is you being merciful.

Closing my eyes, I grab my cock, roughly stroking it. Hard and fast, not trying to savor it, needing the release to ease my tension, hoping like hell it’ll put me to sleep. It takes less than thirty seconds before my abs clench, my cock pulsating as the orgasm strikes me like a punch to the chest. Gritting my teeth, stifling the groan, I feel it as cum spurts out, hitting my stomach and the bed sheets. Warmth spreads all through my body, tingles coating my skin as my cock twitches. I stroke a few more times, breathing deeply as my muscles relax.

Finally.

Sighing, I let go, keeping my eyes closed, not bothering to clean up the mess. Heaviness settles into my limbs, numbness spreading.

But still... still... sleep won’t take over.

“Fuck this,” I grumble, climbing back out of bed, staggering, swaying, as I head for the shower. “Another day awaits.”