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The bartender’s a rough-looking guy, tattoos creeping up his neck with a permanent scowl etched into his face. He’s seen it all, no doubt. I order two shots of tequila, something strong to keep the buzz going, and a couple of beers to chase it down. He grunts in acknowledgment, busy with other orders, but I’m not in a hurry.
As I wait, I keep my eyes on Tatum. She’s still moving, her body swaying to the music as the full effect of the drugs seeps in, but something’s changed. Some guy’s moved in, closing the distance between them. He’s tall, dark hair slicked back. I can see the way he’s looking at her. The way his hands find her waist, pulling her closer.
Tatum’s high, and by the way she was grinding up against me, I know she's fucking horny. Her body responds to him just like it did to me. Her eyes lift to mine as she holds my stare while they dance. His hands roam over her hips and back, and she lets him. She’s letting go, just like I wanted, but seeing it like this, from the outside, stirs something dark inside me.
I feel a flicker of anger, but I push it down. I don’t react, don’t let it show. I just watch, letting the scene play out. He doesn’t know who she belongs to, doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.
But he will. He’ll get his.
The bartender slides the drinks over to me, and I toss back the shots, not taking my eyes off Tatum. She’s laughing now, her head tilted back as the guy leans in closer, whispering something in her ear. Her smile is bright, carefree, and it pisses me off even more, but I stay where I am.
This is part of the game, part of the thrill. I know how it’ll end. He’s just a temporary distraction, something to keep her going until I take back what’s mine. And when I do, he’s going to wish he never laid a fucking hand on her.
I watch them for a while, the dim lights of the club flickering over their bodies as they move together. Tatum’s clearly enjoying herself, swaying to the music, her hands all over that guy. But even as she grinds against him, her eyes keep flicking over to me. She’s playing the game, and she loves that I’m watching. The way she bites her lip, the teasing smirk on her face—it’s all for me.
She’s craving more. I can see it in the way she’s moving, the way she’s pushing herself into him like she’s trying to provoke me. And when she finally locks eyes with me, there’s a spark of something darker, something that says she’s ready to take this to the next level.
And fuck if I’m not intrigued.
She takes his hand and leads him through the crowd, away from the dance floor, towards the back of the bar. I know where this is going, and I follow, keeping a little distance. The heavy bass of the music fades as we head down a narrow hallway and through the back door, into the grimy alley behind the club.
The air outside is thick with the smell of garbage and stale beer, the sound of distant sirens mixing with the low hum of the city. I lean against the cold brick wall, just watching as Tatum pulls him close, their bodies pressed together in the dim light of the alley. She kisses him hard and desperate like she’s trying to prove something. Her hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he’s all too eager, oblivious to the fact that this is just part of the game.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my blade, the cool metal familiar in my hand. I flick it open, the sound sharp in the quiet of the night. The guy doesn’t even notice. He’s too busy with her, too lost in the heat of the moment.
But Tatum does.
Her eyes meet mine as she pushes him down, urging him to his knees in front of her. I watch, amused, as he tries to pleasure her, his hands gripping her hips, his mouth working on her like he knows what he’s doing. But it’s all wrong. She doesn’t make those noises for anyone but me, and the way she’s biting her lip, trying to hold back her laughter—it’s pathetic.
I laugh, the sound low and cold, and it cuts through the tension like a blade. The guy freezes, looking up at me, and I can see the anger flash in his eyes. The glint of her juices on his lips as he pulls away from her. He stands up and faces me as his body tenses.
“Who the fuck are you?” he spits, his voice laced with anger, trying to assert some dominance. Tatum’s still laughing, her hand covering her mouth as she steps back, letting the tension between us build. “Can’t you see we’re busy? Do us both a favor and take yourself back inside. I’d really hate to have to-”
“You’re a joke,” I reply, cutting him off mid-sentence. My voice is calm and almost bored. I flip the blade in my hand, letting the light catch on the edge, and I can see the way his eyes narrow, his fists clenching at his sides. “You can’t even make the bitch moan.”
“I’ll show you who the real fucking joke is,” he snaps. He’s pissed now, really pissed, and that’s exactly what I wanted. He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a knife of his own, and I can’t help but grin. This is where the fun really starts.
He takes a step towards me, slashing out with the blade, and I let him. The edge catches my arm, a sharp sting cutting through the leather of my jacket, and I can feel the warmth of blood spreading beneath the fabric. But I don’t react. I just smile, watching as Tatum’s laughter turns to something more manic, more unhinged.
Before he can swing again, she’s on him, her eyes wild, the exhilaration of the moment fueling her strength. She grabs his arm, twisting it back with a force that surprises him, and the knife clatters to the ground. He tries to fight back, but I’m there too, moving in behind him, my blade pressing against his throat.
“You fucked up,” I whisper in his ear, and I can feel the fear radiating off him as he realizes just how bad.
We move together, in perfect sync, as we take him down. My blade slides across his throat, a clean, effortless cut that opens him up, and the blood rushes out, thick and dark, painting the ground beneath us. The sharp scent of iron fills the air, mixing with the damp rot of the alley. He gurgles, his eyes wide with terror, but he’s already lost, already sinking into that cold, inevitable end.
Tatum’s laughter rings out, high and manic, and she’s on him before he can even hit the ground. Her hands are slick with blood as she claws at his chest, tearing at his shirt and exposing the pale skin beneath. She digs her nails in deep, leaving jagged, angry lines across his flesh, her fingers slipping in the blood that’s pouring out faster than he can breathe. The crimson smears across her skin, staining her fingers, arms, and clothes.
“Get him!” she shouts, her voice sharp with glee, and I know exactly what she wants.
I grab his arm, twisting it behind his back, forcing him to his knees as Tatum straddles his chest, her eyes locked on his. Her lips curl into a smile, a twisted, beautiful thing that sends a shiver down my spine. She’s in control now, taking over, and I’m just here to ensure she gets what she wants.
She rakes her nails down his throat, the skin giving way under the pressure, the blood bubbling up as she carves into him with reckless abandon. The guy tries to scream, but it’s cut short, choked off by the blood flooding his mouth. His body convulses beneath her, his eyes rolling back, but she doesn’t stop. She keeps going, her hands coated in his life as she digs deeper, as if she can reach his very soul.
“Tatum,” I whisper, watching her work, her movements precise yet frantic, like she’s dancing on the edge of insanity.
She glances at me, her eyes wild and shining, and then she leans in, biting down on his shoulder, her teeth sinking into his flesh with a vicious snap. She pulls back, blood dripping from her lips, and she grins at me, a crimson-stained smile that’s pure, unbridled chaos.
“Mine,” she breathes, her voice trembling with exhilaration, and I can see it in her eyes, that hunger, that need for more.
