Vicious Little Darling (Love So Cruel #3)

8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

EMBER

I step out of the shower and reach for my towel. I drape the turquoise microfiber material around myself, before starting the routine of getting ready to go out for the evening. I glance toward the closed—and locked—black bathroom door. Something feels off, and I blame the paranoia that has set in after that odd experience this afternoon.

It’s just a weird coincidence, I tell myself as I begin the process of blow drying my hair. I spend the next thirty minutes focusing solely on getting ready, doing my hair and makeup. I go for a dark smoky eye and red lipstick, and then add waves to my blonde hair. It looks... decent, I suppose.

Leaving the towel wrapped around my body, I step out into the tiny hallway, my eyes scanning around me. Why the hell does everything feel off in here? I can’t put my finger on it, and it’s almost as if there’s another scent in the air… But I can’t be sure.

I try to brush it off, rushing to my bedroom to get dressed. My heart hammers in my chest for unknown reasons as I go for the closet, pulling the door open to reveal my clothes. I sift through them until I find the black halter-top bodycon dress, and then toss it onto the bed. I grab my red heels from the shoe rack and then I close the door. A chill runs down my spine.

I force another deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut.

“Everything is fine.”

I reach into my underwear drawer and pull out a red thong, and then pause at its dampness. What the actual fuck? I rip it out of the drawer, my nose scrunched in disgust.

Turning the material over in my hand, I stare at the creamy white liquid, my stomach jolting at the sight. Is that…?

“No, there’s no way,” I tell myself, my stomach roiling. I toss them to the hamper and try not to think about it any further. It has to be something else. Maybe I accidentally threw my underwear from today into the drawer? But… as I try to shake it off, my phone vibrates on the bed.

I scoop it up and stare at the message.

Unknown: Hey, it’s Dylan. Would you like me to pick you up for tonight?

I hesitate, mulling it over. I don’t like the idea of a stranger picking me up. I also don’t like the idea of having to walk anywhere right now—not late at night. I quickly text him back, accepting the offer. I mean, Rich knows him, so it must be fine, right?

Right. Better than chancing another encounter with the skull-faced weirdo.

For the next ten minutes, I focus on finishing getting ready and trying not to think twice about the underwear I found in my drawer. I’m not an idiot, and I know I’m really playing into my denial… But who the fuck would break in just to jack off on my underwear?

Skull-faced weirdo.

I ignore the shiver of disgusting excitement and adrenaline that rushes through my veins. As if I like that idea. I shrug it off and Dylan hits me with another text that he’s waiting outside in his car.

Grabbing my crossbody black purse, I shove my phone into it, and race through my apartment, ensuring that I lock both locks. Both were locked when I got here, too. For some reason, that serves to make me feel a little better and I take the stairs to the ground floor. There’s no way someone got past the keycode and both locks. Besides, it would require a key to unlock or lock it back up again.

Everything is fine. I keep repeating that phrase to myself as I step out onto the sidewalk and spot a black Cadillac Escalade. A window in the backseat rolls down, and a handsome, brown-haired stranger with gray eyes flashes me a smile.

“You must be Ember,” he says, his deep gravelly voice tugging at my core. “This place really is a bit of a shithole.”

“I know,” I answer, not having even thought about how it might come across. “I’m working on getting out of here.”

“Maybe Rich should pay you more,” he chuckles, lighting up a cigarette as I walk toward the car. He opens the door, and climbs out. He’s wearing a white dress shirt and pants. He looks phenomenal.

But way too pretty for me.

“I’ll let you take that up with him,” I joke, sliding past him and into the leather seat. The driver nods to me and Dylan climbs in beside me. His eyes rake over my figure, taking in the ink that runs down both of my arms.

“Where else do you have tattoos?” he chuckles, taking a drag and blowing a cloud of smoke out the window.

I curl my lip up, trying to smile instead of showing my disgust. “No telling.”

He continues to chuckle, amusement dancing across his face as the car pulls away. “I like your fire.”

“You’re very forthcoming,” I say dryly. It’s not interesting to me. If anything, it’s borderline creepy, but I guess it’s better than skull-faced weirdo creeping around me. I turn my eyes toward the window as the car makes its way to a club on the other side of the city. It takes nearly forty-five minutes, and I spend most of that time avoiding conversation with Dylan.

And it shows.

When the car pulls up beside the curb of the VIP club, he slides out and opens the door for me.

“Well, let’s try to survive this night, I guess.”

I cringe at the sharpness in his tone. “Yeah, it’ll be fun.” I force a smile, looking past him and spotting Rich with a blonde. Relief pours through my body, and I add a bounce to my step as we make our way toward the two of them.

“You look nice,” Rich tells me, giving me a friendly side hug. “This is Sarah.”

I exchange greetings with the blonde bombshell, who has long tan legs running from the hem of her scanty white dress. I don’t know how she’s not freezing as there’s a cool breeze blowing tonight.

“This is one of the nicest places in the city,” Sarah says, eyeing me up. I can tell she’s judging my Shein dress and Payless shoes, but I ignore it.

“You should’ve seen the shithole she lives in,” Dylan jokes, threading his arm around my waist without warning. “It looks like something straight out of a gangster film. God knows who’s getting shot.”

“Her neighbor got stabbed a few months ago,” Rich chimes in, frowning. “Maybe you should move, Em.”

“I would have to be able to afford that,” I say defensively. “It’s not that bad. Not everyone can afford a penthouse.”

“Not even me,” Dylan chirps. “But I can give you something better than that.”

“Hmm,” I mutter, scanning the crowd. I don’t see any familiar faces, and I’m tempted to text Josh and see what he’s up to, desperate for someone, who actually gets me, to be around.

We all engage in small talk as we make our way inside. Dylan is on some sort of list that gets up to the top floor. It’s what you would expect from some fancy fucking club, but it doesn’t impress me as I sip on my Shirley Temple.

I find a corner safe from the crowd as Rich and Sarah’s bodies grind against each other somewhere, and Dylan starts up a conversation with someone he apparently knows. I pull out my phone and go to Josh’s message thread.

Me: This was the WORST idea ever. OMFG.

Three dots immediately pop up on the screen, and I wait for his reply, trying not to look up and make any other eye contact. I just want to get out of this place ASAP. I thought it might be exactly what I need, but apparently, I’m wrong.

Josh: Need me to save you when I get off work?

Me: YES. PLEASE SAVE ME.

He sends a laughing emoji, and I lean back against the wall, desperately wishing that the time would pass faster. Dylan looks over at me and his face contorts with some sort of emotion—I don’t think it’s a good one.

I look away, peering down through my glass at the dancing crowd below. It’s less cozy down there and, for some reason, there’s an appeal to that. I glance back at Dylan, who’s no longer looking at me, before I slip down the stairs, after downing the rest of my drink. The bass thuds over the speakers, even louder than upstairs, and I weave my way onto the dance floor, letting my body rock in rhythm. I’m not a dancer, but I can keep time.

Tipping my head back, I let my hips rock, and as I do, I feel a presence behind me. A shiver rolls down my spine as a hand grazes my waist.

“I never pegged you as a club kind of girl,” a voice says from behind me, deep and distorted. I freeze, but the grip only tightens, dragging my ass into a rock-hard length.

My breaths pick up, shallowly gasping for oxygen as I tip my head around and am met with the sight of the skull-faced masked man.

“What the actual fuck?! ” I nearly scream.

My heart throbs in my temple, and I try to pull away, but he hangs onto me.

“It’s just a dance,” he growls in my ear. “It’s not as if I’m going to fuck you here.”

My pussy reacts instantly, aching at his still distorted voice.

“Who are you?” I pant.

“Your date tonight,” he chuckles back. “That guy you’re with is a tool, and you know it.”

“And you’re a pervert,” I snap back at him, glaring into a pair of eyes that I don’t recognize. They’re cold, demeaning. And disturbingly exotic.

“But I guarantee, your pussy is already dripping,” he says, forcing my hips to move against his. “This is the boldest I’ve ever been; you know.” He brushes my hair away from my ear. “But I can’t stand to see you with anybody else.”

“You don’t even fucking know me, weirdo,” I shoot back, trying to spin in his grasp. He lets me, and then pins me to his chest. The bodies of the other dancers bump and grind against us, but his hands remain around my waist, not exploring but not budging either. His hard length is massive, and I can barely think about anything else as I peer up at the masked stranger. I can’t even make out his hair color with the hood up over his head. Somehow, he blends right in with all these people in the club, gyrating under the dark lights.

He grabs my chin, his grip tightening. “Dance with me, and I won’t take you to the dark corner and wear that little pussy of yours out. I’ll let you make it home safely.”

Fear, excitement, and disgust all mix together in the pit of my stomach. But as he grinds into me, I grind back, falling into the heat of the bass.

“Good girl,” he groans, spinning me around. Ass against his cock, I let myself slip right into his trap.