Page 2 of Vicious Little Darling

“Maybe you’ll be the one,” I mutter to Melody and I kick her limp body with the toe of my combat boot, before I spin on my heels to exit the place, disdain taking hold. I should’ve kept hunting for a woman more my type—someone who would at least fight for their life. Fucking Melody wastooeasy.

I need a drink.

I leave her apartment and hurry down the steps, heading back out into the evening. No one will notice Melody’s gone for a few days. She doesn’t have another shift at the salon for three days, and that’s assuming someone gets onto the missing person’s report right out of the gate… And they never do that. The cops have enough on their plate. I’ve been hunting this city for years, and they’veneverput it together.

Idiots.

After slipping out of her apartment and moving through the quiet streets, I finally step onto the pavement in front of Hidden Books, a small indie bookstore. I remove my mask and shove it into my hoodie pocket. I glance at the window displays, admiring the dark covers of a few of the novels on display. I’ve never once set foot in there, and it’s closed right now, its charming white doors locked up tight.

Maybe tomorrow.

I shrug in response to the thought and continue a few blocks further, until I reach the Mad Hatter pub. It’s a hole-in-the-wall bar that always hosts a mixture of rich and poor, rough and clean, making it the perfect place for me to blend in for a while.I go in and take a seat at one of the small corner tables. I drum my fingers on its sticky top as I wait for someone to come by and grab my order.

Maybe I should’ve toyed with Melody more. Chased her around her apartment. Something.I rub my jaw, running my perfectly trimmed fingernails along the stubble. Everything about the chase and the game has grown boring. It doesn’t hold my attention anymore. Maybe that’s because I’m too used to picking the easy ones, the bubbly, preppy, mean-girl ones. Maybe I need a challenge. Some sort of deviation from the norm.

Someone to keep me up at night again.

“What can I get you?” a light voice breaks into my thoughts.

I glance up at the waitress. Her blonde hair is up in a high ponytail, and her blue eyes are bright and flirty. Her big tits are out on display in a white tank top. I frown at the way they’re right in my face.Yeah,thisis what I need to avoid.

“Sir?” she cocks a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “I’ll just have a coke and—”

“Let me guess, rum? Ole Captain Morgan your thing?” She cuts me off, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“No, I’ll have Jack Daniels, actually,” I correct her, my tone harsh.

She scurries back to the bar. I watch her as she goes, taking in her ass—one that she probably spends hours on at the gym. I need to find someone different this time. I always find myself going for the same women, those who are trying to be perfectionists, and that’s exactly what Betty-Lou-Who-is-taking-my-order is.

My gaze flickers across the crowd, searching for someone with a face that screams,my apartment is messy,while also being pretty. A group to my left bursts into laughter, and I whip my head around, catching sight of two women and two men. One of the women is immediately written off because of her fiery,red hair in pristine curls. She’s pretty, hiding behind a pair of dark-rimmed glasses—but she also looks like the type who would move home to mom and dad the moment something went wrong.

I chuckle to myself, straining to get a better look at the other woman, but her features are still hazy. She has blonde hair, and from what I can make out, a full sleeve of ink on one arm.

Probably means she’s a handful.The tatted ones always are feistier. I tend to avoid them for that reason. Then, she comes into view and I’m intrigued, but not in the way I usually am. She’s just…unreadable.Her hazel eyes are amused by her friends, but she’s nottryingto be in on the conversation. Her slender shoulders are hidden beneath an old black T-shirt. The T-shirt is paired with dark-wash jeans and Converses that look like they need to be thrown into the garbage.

Yeah, no thanks.

“Your drink,” the waitress interrupts my thoughts. “You really shouldn’t stare, you know.” Her words are sharp, and as I look up, I start to wonder if she’s jealous.

That’s not a cute trait, honey.

“You shouldn’t stare either,” I comment, my eyes darting between the waitress and the shabby, tatted woman at the other table. My guess is she spent her grocery money on that sleeve of ink, but of course I can’t be sure.

“Ember isn’t going to be interested in a guy like you,” the waitress quips, folding her arms across her chest. “You’re way too much of a pretty boy for her.”

“Sorry?” I shift my attention to the waitress again. “Who are you talking about?”

“Ember,” she nods her head toward the tatted woman. “She’s my friend.”

Somehow, I can’t picture these two being friends. But okay. I’ll play along, just for the hell of it. It’s not as if I plan to choose either of these women.

“She looks easy,” I comment.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The waitress bursts into laughter. “Ember isfarfrom easy. She usually doesn’t give men two seconds of her time. It takes a lot to get her to think about any man that’s not in one of her fucking books.”

I purse my lips. “Interesting.”

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