by Zoe Blake
She swats at me only once before her eyes roll back, and her knees buckle. Her head whacks the sink with a pleasing crack before her body crumples to the floor. Blood leaks from the gash in her forehead, finding its way to the tile. The way it creeps along the grout lines reminds me of the filet I had for dinner, and I must say, both the steak and Miss Tits untimely demise were executed to perfection.
The pros of being a nurse doctors like to fuck: they turn their head the other way when I take home a few goodies. Good pussy will silence any man.
And this scrawny brunette could have never been good pussy.
I squat, my ass hovering over the pooling blood while I check to see how visible the puncture hole is. Nearly non-existent. For all anyone would know, it’s a mosquito bite at best.
Quickly, I unfasten the silver necklace from around her neck then place it around mine. I’ll give it to him; Bradley has good taste. He may have outdone himself this year.
After admiring the way the pearl hangs along my neckline, I hide the syringe in my purse, making a mental note to place it in the sharps container first thing in the morning. A quick wash of my hands and I’m stepping over her lifeless body and through the restroom door.
A check in the hallway to make sure no one sees when I move the sign back to its rightful place, and then I’m off with a bounce in my step.
The song “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” plays in the background. I don’t intend to break Bradley’s heart—make it stop? I certainly hope it doesn’t come to that.
When I make my entrance into the dining room, Bradley’s eyes hone in on me. I swear, there’s a slight smirk playing at his perfect lips. He checks his watch. Oh, I know, Bradley. I know I’ve kept you waiting, and I promise I’ll make up for that.
“Paige?” Gwen calls for me when I pass our table.
“I’ll be right back.” Bradley is waiting, after all.
When I step behind him, my heart thrums like the wings of a hummingbird. He’s so perfect. His eyes drag over my body as I round the table, setting me on fire before I take a seat.
He blinks. I smile, wondering if he’ll fuck me right here on this table or if he’ll wait to get me home before he eats my pussy raw.
“So glad you showed up, darling.” He shoves a piece of salmon in his mouth. Our gazes lock while he chews. “It is flattering when you take the initiative to follow me.”
“Who was she, Bradley?”
“No one of importance.”
“Bullshit.”
A small grin kicks at the corners of his lips, and I swoon. What a predator he is with his magazine-spread-worthy, mega-watt smile. Not a hair out of place. Not a cufflink unpolished. Everything down to his neatly pressed shirt suggests he’s safe.
“Now, darling, you know they aren’t important until they’re dead.”
With a roll of my eyes, I gulp back Miss Tits’ wine until the glass is empty. “And how important she must have been for you to bring her to dinner on Valentine’s Day.”
“Did you enjoy playing with your present?” A rough chuckle slips through his lips and reaches between my thighs like a wet tongue. It’s borderline pathetic how easily he gets to me. He takes the bottle of wine and refills my glass. “Tell me, how did you kill this one?”
I should hate him for making me do the things he does, but the sad truth is, I enjoy it just as much as he does.
A shrill scream causes the restaurant to fall silent. Bradley’s face beams which sends my heart into a flutter. A flurry of commotion ensues while the wait staff runs about, calling the paramedics and attempting to clear the hallway of Nosey Nancies.
“Is there a lot of blood?” Anticipation gleams his eyes.
“Only from where she hit her head.”
“Ah, what a shame. Blood on Valentine’s Day is so festive.” His eyes taper when he reaches across the table to grip the pearl between his fingers. “Next year, I should get you diamonds.”
About SJ Cole
Stevie J. Cole (writing as SJ Cole), a Goodreads Choice Award Finalist 2016, lives deep in the woods of Alabama with her sexy husband and two precious daughters. She has an obsession with penguins and English chocolate and is terrified of clowns.
Her solo books offer you all the feels you've come to love in a warm, pretty romance with happily ever afters, while her SJ Cole books and her co-authored books with LP Lovell take you on a thrilling ride of suspense and danger, sometimes with a nice little kick of love.
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Also by SJ Cole
White Pawn
The game’s not over until the king is dead.
* * *
Absolution
I became his sinner and he became my sin.
* * *
Bad
True Power is never held by good men.
Fool for Love
By Julia Sykes
Stupid fucking cunt.
I take a breath and pinch my arm, like Dr. Chaucer taught me to do.
You’re not a stupid fucking cunt. I correct the negative thought pattern with the little bite of pain, struggling to rewire my brain.
No matter how many times I pinch or cut, the self-effacing thoughts won’t stop.
The pain is supposed to help me build my self-confidence by eliminating my obsessive, unbidden thoughts.
But the only respite I find in the pain is the catharsis of punishing myself for being a worthless idiot.
No wonder David is cheating on me with his secretary.
“I can totally do better than David,” I lie. “I deserve better.”
The platitude I desperately wish my friend would offer issues from my own lips, a pathetic plea for her to agree.
Paige nods absently, her emerald eyes cutting past me to stare over my shoulder as she smooths her honey brown hair needlessly. She’s been doing that all night, preening and looking for a distraction.
And why shouldn’t she? I can hear how inane I am with every chattered sentence, but I can’t stop myself from trying to fill the conversational void. I need Paige to like me, to laugh at my jokes about David being a jerk. I need her to think I’m fun to hang out with, even if I am dealing with a cheating boyfriend on Valentine’s Day.
I need her to believe I’m everything I’m not. I need her to think I deserve attention. Empathy. Love.
I crave her approval. Even the crumbs of affection David offers me would be preferable to Paige’s obvious boredom.
“Isn’t David just the worst?” I giggle, as though my pitiful life is hilarious.
Paige is still staring over my shoulder. She doesn’t respond for a full three seconds.
Three seconds is all it takes to have my fingers twisting in my napkin, anxiety clawing at my gut.
Stupid fucking cunt.
Before I can pinch myself and correct the compulsive thought pattern, Paige shoots to her feet, the movement jarring enough that the dinner plates rattle against the table. I gawk at her, horrified that she’s drawing negative attention to us in this sophisticated restaurant. I’m barely able to afford my dinner, but I’d quickly agreed to join Paige when she invited me, eager to please her.
“Where’s the restroom?” she asks, loud enough for the neighboring table to hear.
Inwardly, I cringe at her crass behavior. It will reflect poorly on me. I can feel strangers’ eyes pricking at my skin, judging us.
Judging me.
My cheeks burn, and I jerk my thumb over my shoulder, gesturing in the direction of the bathroom.
She grabs her purse and rushes off, impatient to escape my whining about my cheating boyfriend.
She’s gone for what feels like hours. Nervously, I pick at my pasta.
I’m sitting alone on Valentine’s Day, eating the cheapest dish on the menu. The prickling on my skin escalates to a hundred bee stings, making my flesh itch and burn. Everyone can see how pathetic I am, how worthless.
My fists curl in my lap to prevent myself from raking my nails down my
arms. There’s no point. Nothing will ease the physical manifestation of the strangers’ judgmental stares. Their disapproval presses against my chest, making it difficult to draw breath in a normal rhythm.
Paige finally returns. I sigh my relief.
She walks straight past our table.
“Paige?” I call after her, struggling to keep the desperate rasp from my tone.
“I’ll be right back.” She waves at me in dismissal, not even sparing a glance in my direction.
I turn in my chair, watching her walk away. She slides into an empty seat across from a handsome man with blond hair and a chiseled jaw. He grins at her, and my heart stutters.
He was expecting her.
She had arranged a date with this gorgeous man.
She’d always planned to abandon me here.
And why shouldn’t she?
I’m boring. Tedious. Plain.
Stupid fucking cunt.
“Gwen?” I jolt at the sound of my name in that familiar baritone.
Dread pools in my gut, and I tear my attention from Paige, my gaze lifting to find David’s soft, blue jean eyes. His full lips tilt at one corner, twitching in a smirk. He quickly smothers it, arranging his angular features into something sympathetic.
“Are you here by yourself?” David asks.
“No!” I declare, a bit too vehement.
Those soft, sweet blue eyes scan the room, making a full circuit before coming to rest on my face. I feel myself shrink beneath the weight of his pitying stare.
“You don’t have to lie, Gwen,” he says, his rich voice smooth and soothing.
His lips twitch at the corner again. He glances down at my cheap pasta dish.
“Let me buy you dinner, at least,” he offers.
My jaw drops. Did he come here to surprise me? Does he still want me?
I’m suddenly grateful that Paige abandoned me. It leaves me free to spend the evening with David.
“You know you can’t afford this place,” he tells me. The insult comes out like the gentlest rebuke. Like he actually gives a shit about my financial situation and wants to help me.
Warmth suffuses my chest. This is how he treated me in the beginning. He doted on me. He bought me expensive gifts and promised he’d always take care of me. He even invited me to live with him in his fancy house, rescuing me from my crappy apartment.
Now, he’s here to woo me again. He’s here to apologize for his mistakes and win me back.
He loves me. He wants me.
I’m worthy.
Relief rips through my system with visceral force, my heart expanding against my ribcage. I’m so full of love, I think I’ll explode.
I beam up at him, sure my gratitude is glowing on my cheeks and shining from my eyes. I can’t contain it within my own skin. “Thanks. I’d love that.”
“David. There you are,” a new, feminine voice purrs. A beautiful, willowy blonde appears at David’s side. She clasps his hand in hers, perfect red-manicured nails curling around his fingers. Her dark chocolate eyes turn on me, and she doesn’t bother to hide her smirk. “Gwen. It’s so nice to see you.”
My mouth opens and closes, my stare fixed on their intertwined hands. David caresses hers, running his thumb over the backs of her knuckles.
The same way he used to hold my hand. That sweet little gesture conveyed so much affection that it validated my existence.
Sarah Jennings’ golden skin practically glows under the restaurant’s romantic lighting, exuding glamourous perfection I’ll never attain.
It’s no wonder David has chosen his gorgeous secretary over me. How could I compete? My brown hair is mousy, my lips too thin to appear sultry. I don’t wear makeup to work, and long, tiring hours at the asylum don’t help my appearance by the time I return home every day. I’m lucky David deigns to fuck me. Lucky he lets me live in his house. Lucky he chooses to acknowledge me at all.
“You’re…” I fumble over my words. “You’re here together? On Valentine’s Day?” I ask on a squeak.
Of course they are. He’s holding her hand. Right in front of me.
We haven’t even officially broken up. Just because I caught him fucking Sarah in our bed doesn’t mean I’m going to leave him, no matter what I’d said to Paige.
I don’t deserve better than David. I never will.
“Don’t be dramatic, Gwen,” David admonishes in exasperated tones.
“I’m not,” I insist like a petulant child. I’m defensive, as though I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t. My face is hot with shame.
“There’s no need to be immature,” he says, pinning me in place with a paternal, disapproving stare. “We’re all adults here.”
“We should go to our table.” Sarah tugs at his hand. She’s not looking at me anymore. Her eyes cut to the side, color showing on her cheeks even through her thickly-applied bronzer.
I’m embarrassing her.
I’m embarrassing David. I can see it in the darkness of his gaze, the downward twist of those perfect lips.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice small. “I’ll just leave.”
I get to my feet, preparing to flee from the awful situation.
“You’re going to leave without paying for your meal?” David asks, the words dripping with disdain.
“I thought you said you’d…” I trail off and swallow against the lump in my throat. Mortification burns through my veins.
Stupid fucking cunt.
I can’t expect David to pay for my meal when he’s here on a date with another woman.
He lets out a heavy sigh. “I’ll cover your bill,” he offers, resigned. “You should probably go home. You look tired.”
My eyes sting. I put on makeup and a pretty dress and everything, and I still look like shit.
No wonder he’s chosen to fuck Sarah. I can’t blame him. Even now, he’s only trying to take care of me. He’s paying for my dinner and telling me to get some rest at home.
Our home.
He still wants me, I reason. He wouldn’t be telling me to go back to the house if he didn’t want me.
“Thank you,” I choke out before turning on my high heels and rushing away.
The stinging in my eyes intensifies, and I feel wetness pooling against my lashes. I hastily blink it away.
Lock your shit up, I order myself.
I’ve already made enough of a scene. I’ve embarrassed David and myself.
I manage to get out of the restaurant and into my cherry red sedan.
Well, it’s not really mine. David bought it for me. I’m lucky he lets me drive his fancy, new car. I’m lucky he lets me live in his huge house in a pretty, safe neighborhood.
I’m so fortunate that he does all these kind things to protect me and take care of me.
I wish I could be worthy of his generosity. I wish I could be worthy of him. If I were, I’d be the one having dinner with him on Valentine’s Day, not Sarah.
I drive to his house, berating myself with each breath.
Stupid fucking cunt. Stupid fucking cunt.
By the time I step through the front door and lock it behind me, I’m completely wound up, yet exhausted deep in my bones.
You look tired. David’s concerned words ring through my mind.
Yes, I need rest. My body feels heavy, but my brain is buzzing. I’ll make some chamomile tea to calm my nerves so I can sleep.
I trudge across the foyer, making my way through the enormous, open-plan dining room to get to the kitchen. I pause beside the dining table. I haven’t bothered to turn on the lights, but I can see a shiny red package glinting in the moonlight that filters through the huge picture window.
My heart lifts, and a silly grin splits my lips as a sob rips its way up my throat.
David didn’t forget about me. He got me a present for Valentine’s Day.
My hands shake as I pick up the small package. It fits in the palm of my hand, so pretty in its romantic red paper. I tear away the wrapping, my fing
ernails scrabbling at the tape. I lift the lid on the little green box. A gorgeous, pear shaped diamond pendant glitters against black velvet.
I brush my fingers over the breathtaking gemstone, which is set in gold.
“Oh, David,” I sigh into the darkness. “I love you, too.”
My fingers are still trembling, but I handle the delicate necklace carefully as I remove it from the box. It takes a few tries to get the clasp to fix at my nape, but I’m determined.
A wicked thought blooms in my mind. I should greet David when he comes home, wearing this necklace. And nothing else.
As I strip off my clothes, I fantasize about getting on my knees and sucking his big, perfect cock.
How long will he be at dinner?
I shake off the thought of him sharing a candlelit meal with Sarah.
He’s coming home to me. I can wait as long as I have to for the man I love.
When I’m fully naked, I glance around the room, trying to decide where is best to position myself. I want to look beautiful when he arrives, enticing. I’ve been regulating my diet for him, so I won’t have to worry about any fat rolls if I sit in one of the chairs. I’m so grateful he chooses my food for me. He only wants me to be healthy.
He cares about me, and I love him so much. I couldn’t live without him.
The dining room won’t do for the scene I want to create for him. I’ll light a romantic fire and settle down in his favorite armchair beside the fireplace.
My decision made, I take a step in the direction of the living room. Something gold catches in the moonlight out of the corner of my eye. I blink and look back at the dining table. A metallic envelope gleams against the polished hardwood.
David got me a card and a necklace.
Idly, I pet the pendant at my throat, stroking it with reverence. With my free hand, I reach for the envelope. I open this with more care than when I tore at the package. I’m calmer now, my nerves soothed by the pretty gift David bought for me.