Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
As I sit here and watch the man across the bar- sans excitement- I have an odd realization. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen his face. In fact, I’ve met with him before. His name is Rix. Yes, seriously. And he thinks it’s cool, and he thinks he’s cool and his parents were friends with the Carringtons, so I was certain he must know Alexander too. But torture him as I tried, he never gave it up.
Lesson never learned, I guess.
I really did a number on him too. I recall there being a very elaborate scene with a wig and makeup and everything. But the problem with him was he was legitimately off social media. No Facebook, no Twitter, no Insta-lookatmeandmylavishlife- accounts whatsoever. So, I had to forgo the most important step. Shaming him where he lived and breathed.
I won’t make that same mistake again this time.
I do a quick check in the compact mirror I always carry and then it’s off to the races. My rules of engagement are very simple, and my affairs with clothing, as basic as it gets. Men live for two colors. They don’t want skirts with pineapples or that houndstooth jacket from the fall catalog. They want the LBD.
Little black dress.
The only exception to that rule is the little red dress, which men associate with one thing.
Red equals sex. Red equals hell in the sack. Wild. Untamed. Red screams bad girl.
And I’m as bad as it gets.
I don’t wear disguises, and I very rarely change anything about my hair or makeup. Hair is wild, like I’ve been rolling in bed already. They eat that shit up. Eyes are smoky and black and lips are red.
This look is classic. This look never fails.
Of course, there’s always a chance one of these dopes will sprout a brain cell and that this one in particular might even remember me. If I’ve done my job right, he should well fucking remember me. But it also depends on what type of drugs I used to knock him out.
With any good scheme, there’s always a bit of a learning curve in the beginning. It took me a while to sort out what worked best. And if memory serves me right, this guy was one of my experimental guinea pigs.
Normally, if I bump into a former client, I will just walk the other way. It doesn’t happen often since I rarely visit the same locations twice.
It’s risky and reckless.
But the longer I play the game, the more the reckless side appeals to me. The adrenaline rush in need of a chaser. A need to shake things up. Which is why I’ve temporarily placed my revenge on the back burner to attend to a more urgent matter.
Like the man who left Kylie in a vegetative state. Machines breathing for her and a brain that will most likely never recover.
Kylie and I weren’t particularly close. Given that I don’t like people in general and the list of people I trust remains at zero, I don’t have many friends. Mack is the only person I’d ever consider using the term with, and that’s just because I’ve known her so long and she hasn’t screwed me over yet.
But Kylie and I saw each other every day on the street. She was a working girl too. Of course, her job wasn’t nearly as much fun as mine. She actually had to fuck her filthy clients. I just like to fuck them up.
She was a sweet girl. Typical story. Runaway. Abusive home. She’s too young for her life to be cut so short.
And I’ve taken it upon myself to do right by her.
Because who the hell else is going to?
I’d do it whether I knew her or not. Every day of the week and twice on Sundays. But when her friend told me what the john looked like, the game changed for me.
A crescent shaped scar above his lip, she’d said. I’d almost lost my shit, certain she was fucking with me somehow.
But no.
The more she described him, the more in my heart I knew it was true.
Alexander is in Boston.
I still don’t want to believe it. Even after everything that I know to be true. When you add two and two together, it always equals four. And the sky is fucking blue because it just is. And Alexander was bad, even if I never wanted to accept it. Even if I still don’t.
The stale soundtrack plays on inside my head.
He wouldn’t have been bad if it wasn’t for them.
It wasn’t his fault.
We all lie to ourselves, sometimes.
Because a lie is sweet, and the truth is often bitter. And I’ve never had a pill so bitter as Alexander fucking Carrington.
His back-story is as typical as it gets in the old world. Trust fund kid with daddy’s money. Prestigious schools and fast cars and soft hands because he never had to work a day in his life. That’s the world I grew up in. Those are the people I associated with. And now those are the people I hate more than anything.