Sick Bastard, page 2
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I hate wasting what little time I get to myself on menial tasks, but a rather important thing I need to do is meet and get to know the guys that work for the company I just acquired. I need to know them before I start firing them, or see if any of them are worth keeping. It’s something that has to be done. My second reason for coming has everything to do with the name on that piece of paper. It’s the real reason I’m even bothering with any of this tonight instead of during the work week. I’m on a mission to eliminate a possible threat, but trimming the fat from my new company is just bonus.
Mr. Williams is the current president of my newly acquired company, and he’s who I’ll be dining with this evening. He insisted that these dinner meetings are business related, where work is discussed. I knew that was a load of shit the moment the bull left his mouth. He thinks he can take me for a fool. I’ll teach him soon enough. I want to see what type of “business” is being discussed on my dime.
The Blue Lounge isn’t somewhere I'd ever frequent. The name alone leaves little to be desired. I’m just hoping that the inside proves to be better than its name, but I’m feeling doubtful.
Williams insists that the food, drinks, and women are amazing, which I’m assuming meets his standards, not mine. He’s told me about his girl who works here, about how beautiful, witty, and wonderful she is. If she’s all that then I’d hate for her to be my target. Why would I ever want to eliminate something so “wonderful,” as he puts it. What a joke.
At first sight, The Blue Lounge is exactly how I imagined it. It’s overly extravagant in decor and leans toward tacky. The women are all scantily clad with blonde hair, spray tans, fake tits, and even faker personalities. So not my type. In fact, they're all quite disgusting. So far, from what I can tell, Williams has poor taste in women and restaurants. If I didn’t know any better, I would think this place was a strip club. I’m ready to just leave. I’m not in the mood for this shit tonight.
My mood and patience is slowly declining. Okay, so declining is a loose word, really. Gone to shit would be more accurate. I'm gonna try my best to get through this dinner without losing my patience, but nothing is guaranteed.
“Good evening, Mr. Williams. Right this way.” I hear a woman say when I’m looking around at the god-awful carpet. That voice captures my full attention immediately. My head snaps in her direction because with those few simple words, she has my interest.
Her voice hints to a slight accent that curls around certain syllables, adding an edge of mystery to her. It's soft and so fucking sexy. It holds a note of confidence, and it’s a voice you’d want to hear your name screamed out in while fucking her.
When I look at her, I’m hit with beauty like I’ve never seen before, and it damn near knocks me on my ass. She's not even in the same league as all these trashy women here. I’ve seen a lot of beautiful women in my life, but I’ve never seen someone as beautiful as her.
She's small, but powerful. She has almond shaped eyes, lined with long, black lashes that bring out the bright green and dark specks in her eyes. What I wouldn’t give to have those green eyes looking up at me through her long, black lashes while on her knees as her full, fuckable lips wrap around my dick. The thought has me squeezing and adjusting myself.
Her long, dark hair falls in long waves down her back, perfect to wrap my hands up in and pull. Her skin is just a hint darker than mine, and her body is tight. She’s in amazing shape, and for such a small frame, her breasts are large and her ass is what rap songs are written about. Everything is perfectly proportioned. She’s a goddamn wet dream for any man, or woman for that matter.
I know I'm staring, but I don't give a shit. I couldn't care less if she catches me watching her like a goddamn predator. This woman begs for attention without ever saying a word.
I watch as Williams places his hand on her lower back and whispers something that I’m too far away to hear. She’s turned towards him, giving him her undivided attention. I'm sure it's because she knows him, but a pang of jealously hits me when she looks at him. I hate him already.
I look over to Vinn and tilt my head in her direction. We follow her to our table and I can't keep my eyes off her as she walks in front of me. I’m fascinated with the way her ass sways from side to side. She holds her head high, her shoulders back, and walks with purpose. Extending a hand at the table, she instructs us to sit and we do, like trained monkeys.
The beauty hands out our menus and leaves to seat another table. Just a few moments later, she’s back, giving the specials for tonight, then prepares to take our drink orders. Her voice is soft and sure when she speaks to the table full of powerful men.
“Would you all like the usual?” She asks the table, but looks at Williams for an answer.
“Yes, thank you. He says. She doesn’t look at anyone else at the table, her eyes firmly on the asshole. I don’t even get a second glance. Well that shit never happens to me. I’m quietly begging her, even willing her to look my way, but she doesn't. She turns to leave but I can't let her go yet. There's no way I can watch her walk away without some type of acknowledgement. I want her to see me. I want her to notice me.
“Lady, you didn’t ask me what I wanted to drink. I don’t want the usual. What I want is a Jack and Coke. Do you think you can handle that?” I call after her. My words come out harsher than I intend. I said the first thing that popped into my mind. I would say anything to get her to talk to me, anything to bring her right back to me. I don't give a fuck about the drink. She could bring me water for all I care, I just don’t want her to go ‘til I have her attention.
She turns back around and her face is priceless. She looks a little baffled and a lot of pissed off. Princess has fire in those veins. I don't know if it's from me barking orders or pulling her back here, but either way, I have her full and undivided attention now. She only has eyes for me while she digests my callous way of speaking to her.
Fuck. I can’t tell if she’s plotting my death in her head or if she’s gonna come across the table for me. Usually I wouldn't care, but that look on her beautiful face makes me feel bad for barking out orders.
“London?” Williams speaks.
So this is London. Well fuck me. I wasn’t expecting this little thing. She certainly doesn’t look like anything I couldn’t handle, so for the time being, I won’t consider her a threat to my plans. Although, I do think I should keep a very close eye on her, just in case that changes. Better to be safe than fucked. I’ve lived a certain way my entire life. Her face is void of any harsh realities. She may live the lifestyle, but she doesn’t participate. That’s good.
Before I get a chance to say anything, she finds her voice. “I um… yeah, I'm sorry.” she mutters.
Good. I fucked her head up just like she did mine, throwing her off just like she threw me. You’re welcome, darlin’.
She shifts her gaze back to me and then to Williams. “It's alright, beautiful. That was rude of me. Let me introduce you to the new guy.” He says to her with a smile. The word beautiful drips from his lips while his eyes devour her. He’s playing the game, but it’s too bad for him that it’s a game I play better, and a game I’ll win.
“This is Mr. Marx. He's the new owner of the company we work for. Mr. Marx, this is my London, the one I mentioned to you .” He points toward me dismissively; as if I’m just some average asshole and not the man who can take his livelihood away in a second. She hasn’t taken her eyes off of me, which is exactly what I was hoping for and I smile, like I won a prize. Clearly she knows there’s some sort of power play going on here. Williams is starting a pissing contest with me. He said, “My” London. All I can concentrate on is that one single word. That’s never fuckin’ happening.
Her silence is killing me. It’s literally taking years off my life waiting for that sexy voice to tell me differently until finally, she subtly rolls her eyes and I can see her irritation toward him.
“I've been trying to convince her to let me take her out for a long time, and I think she’s finally coming around. It won’t be long now, ain’t that right, London?” He says with a smug smile on his face, like he owns her. Clearly he’s not nearly as smart as he thinks he is.
He really needs to learn when to shut the fuck up. I'm having a hard time holding my tongue with the shit he’s talking, but she seems to let this comment roll off her back. “Maybe someday, Mr. Williams.” she says, giving him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes as she gives him a pat on his shoulder. It makes me physically ill to watch her do this and I have to look away. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to get myself under control and calm down before I do some shit I shouldn’t do.
“Let me go get those drinks,” she says sweetly and hustles her ass away, but not before Williams, the motherfucker, slaps her ass. That will not happen again, but the sick part of me gets a fucking kick out of it. She’s so goddamn appealing that he can’t keep his hands off her, so he’ll take every chance he can get to touch her, but I’m not a fan.
Don’t misunderstand me, I get it. Fuck, do I understand. He’s only a man, and she has a body made for fucking. I see why he wants a piece of her and I can sympathize, but it doesn’t mean I don’t fucking hate it. I hate it enough to let it take over my emotions. I hate it enough to make me fucking crazy. I hate it enough to end him.
Tomorrow he's gone; out on his ass and a box of his shit on the sidewalk right next to him. He'll never touch her again, and if that means I have to rip his fucking arms off, then so be it. I'll remove appendages one piece at a time, slowly. I hold my tongue long enough for her to walk away, but when she’s out of earshot, I make no promises. Halfway to the bar, she looks back over her shoulder at me with a small smile in her eyes. She’s gotta know.
“Mr. Williams…” I growl out his name like some fucking wild animal. Stopping his conversation, he looks over at me, surprised. “You like to touch things that don’t belong to you?” I ask him. I can feel Vinn at my back immediately, familiar with my tone. I'm close to snapping, but on the outside you’d never know it―I wouldn’t let you. I’m the master of calm; the king of composure and the God of self-fucking control.
He stares at me with a dumbfound expression on his face. The asshole has the audacity to look offended at my words. “Well yes, I always do. She’s my girl. She likes it.” He mutters stupidly. This man has a death wish, and I’m extremely close to granting it.
“Wrong and wrong again. Keep your fucking hands to yourself unless you’d like me to remove them, digit by fucking digit.”
He doesn't say anything to me. He knows I’m serious. I don’t kid around and I don’t fucking joke. There’s no rebuttal or argument on his part. He only stares at me stupidly. Keeping his fucking mouth shut would be smart in this situation, especially considering how quickly I can ruin him. “You need to remember that you're a married man, Mr. Williams… a family man.” I remind him. His face pales at my words. Did he not think that I wouldn’t look into the lives of my employees? I know everything there is to know about Williams. Nothing escapes my attention, especially when it comes to my businesses.
“Oh,” is all he has to say. There’s nothing else to say.
I’m not in the business of ruining families, but I will if need be. It wouldn’t be the first or the last time, so he might do well to remember his fucking manners. I could so easily tear apart his whole world.
I’m not entirely certain why I’m sitting here like an angry sixteen-year-old over a woman with striking green eyes, a beautiful body, and more complications than I need, but I’m not fucking sorry about it.
Leaning tensely back in his seat, he makes no further remarks. Keeping his eyes, hands, and remarks to himself, he knows he’s lost. Smart man. I’d hate to make trouble for him, but if he tries to fuck around again with London, I can’t make promises to his welfare.
Two
Mr. White Horse or Shining Armor Guy
London
I put in the order for their drinks with Lena. Leaning my hip against the bar, I prop a tray on my other hip. “Holy shit, London, who’s Mr. Sexy Pants?” She says as soon as I touch the bar. She works on my drink order, staring longingly over the bar at the scary man at Mr. Williams’ table. Mr. Sexy Pants would be one way to describe him, but I think something like ‘Mr. Scary Fuck,’ or ‘Mr. Rude Motherfucker’ are more befitting names. She’s right though, he’s hot as hell.
“Don’t get too hung up, Lena. I'm sure he's just like the rest of those ass hats.”
She thinks on my observation and asks, “How do you know?”
How do I know? Well let’s see. He's here with a group of self-entitled fucks, wearing an expensive designer suit that’s made and designed with the finest materials that are hand stitched and tailored to perfection. He's humiliated me in front of my customers with his condescending tone, like I’m no more than an irritant that he has to deal with, getting what he needs as he basks in his own glow of absolute entitlement. Yeah, just like all the other ass hats, but with a little more attitude.
“I’ve been around enough to know the type,” I answer, and she seems to believe me without further explanation.
“Yeah, you're probably right. I'd bang him though,” she laughs. She would too. She loves herself a hot, rich guy.
“You go right ahead.” I tell her as she giggles like a schoolgirl.
Finishing up with the drinks, she puts them on my tray and sends me on my way. “Thanks, babe. I'll see you at break.” I tell her with a smile. Picking up my tray, I head back over to Mr. Williams’ table, working to keep my composure in check.
I ignore the annoying, yet pleasurable tingle my body gets under his stare. Yapping on his phone when I return, he gives me the most seductive look, but doesn’t say a word to me. I place the remaining bottle of bourbon on the table and begin walking around the table, setting full glasses in front of each person.
I’ve made my way around the table and now have one single glass left on my tray. Setting his glass on the table in front of him, I try to make a hasty retreat, only to be stopped by a hand wrapped around my wrist. Oh shit.
He leans in close to me, too damn close for my body to handle. I try to calm myself but it’s pointless. He smells so damn good. He needs to get the fuck out of my personal space before I self-combust and lose all control. Talk about being humiliated.
“Are you alright?” he asks in a strong whisper. Am I alright? Aside from having to deal with him and how he’s making my body react, I think I’m hanging in there, just barely.
“Why wouldn't I be?” I fire back.
He sighs tiredly, “I’m asking because of Mr. Williams’ tasteless fucking behavior towards you.” His voice is harsh as he says this.
I get it. He's one of those types that thinks he needs to rescue me. I almost laugh out loud. He hasn’t got a clue. I don’t need to be rescued and I sure as hell don’t need him to ride in on his white horse and shiny armor, flinging around his sword to protect little ol’ me. I’ve got my shit handled, which includes handling Mr. Williams. In fact, he's one of my easier costumers.
“I'm great, so don’t worry. I can deal with him.” I assure him, “But you’re a problem,” I mutter to myself. I'm a little annoyed at his assumption, but it’s also kind of sweet he cares, I guess. I keep my voice sweet and polite, “He's nothing I can't handle.” He lets go of my arm and doesn't say anything more. That was easy …maybe a little too easy.
Walking back over to the end of their table, I look at Mr. Marx. His body is radiating anger and he doesn’t even try to hide it. Man, what’s his deal? He's wound up tighter than a cheap ass watch.
“So, are you all ready to order?” I ask with my pen and pad ready.
“Yes. Bring out a few of the sample appetizer dishes, please.” Something’s going on here, and I’m getting a bad feeling that I won’t be receiving my usual tip. It’s as if Mr. Marx has changed the whole dynamic of the group, which may cause me to suffer financially.
Nevertheless, I go to close my pad when I hear, “Excuse me, again. London, is it? Mr. Williams doesn’t speak for me,” Mr. Marx says as he gives Mr. Williams a look, “and I would like to place my order, if you don’t mind.”
There’s that fucking patronizing voice again. It must be in the rich asshole’s handbook to strive and achieve to be the best asshole you can be; Chapter One: Being the Perfect Asshole in a Public Setting. The writer would be so proud of Mr. Marx because he has to be exceeding his expectations. “Yes, of course. What would you like?”
He looks surprised that I’m ready to take his order. Is he fucking serious? What did he think I would do, give him attitude for being hungry? I swear, people never cease to amaze me with their stupidity.
“Surprise me,” he says in return. I’m over his shit. Now I’m just ready to see him get the fuck out of here.
“I can do that. I'll be back shortly with your orders.”
I scurry over to my other table and get their orders too. I hand one slip over to the kitchen, but I don't know what to write for Mr. Marx yet. I’m thinking something mixed with a little spit. I give it some thought and don't come up with anything exciting, so I order him a French Dip. It's one of my favorites so he’ll either love it or hate it. I don’t give a shit at this point.
As I put in his order, I see another one of my tables waiting to be seated so I go to greet them, seat them, and take their drink orders while I wait for my food orders to come up.
As I’m exchanging pleasantries with the group of regulars, I look up to find Kim, another waitress, making rounds at my table, shoving her big plastic tits in Mr. Marx’s face. I almost laugh, except the look on his face keeps me from doing so. He’s not looking or even paying any attention to her. His eyes are only on me.
