Predatory Game (GhostWalkers, #6)(2)
“It damn well does, honey,” he snapped. “You owe me.” He hated that distant, clinical look she gave him. She needed a real man to put her in her place—and he was just the man to do it.
Saber forced a smile. “And if I don’t—how did you so delicately put this?—if I don’t ‘put out,’ you intend to dump me off right here in the middle of the street at two o’clock in the morning?”
She hoped he would make a move or force the issue, because he was going to get a lesson in manners he was never going to forget. She had nothing to lose. Well, almost nothing. She had stayed too long this time, made too much of a life for herself, and if she wiped up the floor with good old Larry the Louse before she disappeared, she’d be doing the women of Sheridan a favor.
“That’s right, darling.” He smirked at her complacently. “I think you’ll agree you need to be a little reasonable about this, don’t you?” He slid his hand along the back of her seat, fingers not quite touching her. He wanted to. Usually by now he was doing a lot of touching, loving watching the woman squirm. Loving the power he had over them. He didn’t understand why he wasn’t forcing her mouth to his, yanking open her blouse and taking what he wanted, but as much as he longed to do that, there was something inside of him warning him to go slower, to be a little more cautious with Saber. He was sure that very soon she would sit quietly and he’d be able to do whatever he wanted with her. He expected her to cry and plead for him not to leave her there, but instead, perfect little white teeth gleamed at him like bright pearls, making his stomach clench.
He looked so smug Saber wanted to slap his boyish good looks right off his face. “I’ve got some bad news for you, Larry. The sad truth is, I’d rather pull out my fingernails one by one than sleep with you.” She slipped out of the low-slung car. “Your breath stinks, Lar, and let’s just face it—you’re a creep.” She slammed the door with such force he winced visibly.
Fury swept through him. “This is a bad section of town, Saber. Drunken cowboys, drug dealers, deadbeats. Not a good idea to stay here.”
“Better company, I’m sure,” she taunted.
“Last chance, Saber.” His eye twitched angrily. “I’m doing you a favor here. Sex with a scrawny thing like you is no Fourth of July. Basically you’re a pity f*ck.”
“So tempting, Lar, so very tempting. Did that get results from some scared teenager? Cuz it’s really not working with me.”
“You’re going to be sorry,” he snapped, furious that nothing he said seemed to get the reaction he wanted. She talked down to him like a princess to a peasant and made him feel like slime under her shoe.
“Don’t think it’s over, hotshot,” she warned, still hanging on to her smile. “This will make a great little story on my radio show. I’ll build an entire program around the theme: worst jerk you ever dated.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“You’re not dealing with a sixteen-year-old, Larry,” she informed him coldly, too angry to laugh at the situation. He had no idea who—or what—he was dealing with. The idiot. He thought he could force her into sleeping with him by threatening to dump her in a bad part of town? She wondered if his plan had actually worked for him before. The idea made her fingers itch to get at him. She held on to her cool and stared him down.
Swearing furiously, Larry revved the motor and, laying a trail of rubber, screeched away, leaving her standing in the middle of an empty street.
Saber stamped her foot as she glared at the disappearing tail lights. “Darn it, Saber,” she muttered, kicking at the curb in frustration. “If you insist on going out with jerks, what do you expect?” She was tired of trying to be normal. Weary to death of pretending. She was never going to fit in, not in a million years.
Raking a hand through the mass of thick, blue-black curls spilling in unruly confusion around her face, she took a long, slow look around. Larry hadn’t been kidding—it was an appalling part of town.
Drawing a deep breath, she muttered, “Just wonderful. There are probably rats down here. Starving rats. This is not good, Saber, not good at all. You should have kicked the hell out of him and stolen his car.”
Sighing heavily, she headed down the cracked, dirty sidewalk toward the only streetlight, which illuminated a telephone booth. “It will be my luck the stupid thing is broken. If it is, Larry,” she vowed aloud, “you will definitely pay for your sins.”
Because, of course, she couldn’t have a cell phone like everyone else. She didn’t leave paper trails for anyone to follow. Next time, if there ever was a next time that she was stupid enough to go on a date, she would take her own car and she would do the dumping.
A forty-five-minute wait for a cab. Bravado would only carry so far. She was not going to wait forty-five minutes in the dark surrounded by rats. No way. How incompetent of the taxi service not to have planned their resources better.
In a fit of temper she slammed the phone in its cradle, giving only a fleeting thought to the dispatcher’s ear. Saber kicked the side of the booth and nearly broke her toes. Howling, jumping around like an idiot, she vowed eternal revenge on Larry.
She should have stayed in the car and faced him down instead of letting him drive off. He was a worm crawling his way across the earth, but he was no monster. She knew monsters intimately. They dogged her every step, and soon—far too soon if she didn’t leave—they would find her again. A slimebag like Larry was a prince in comparison. Larry certainly hadn’t recognized the monster in her. If he had touched her…She pushed the thought away and made herself think normal. She should have decked him though, just once, for all the other women who would be put in the same situation because he liked power. She was fairly certain most women would have had the desire to at least punch the bastard.