Wild Cards of Desire

Chapter 2 Bitter Liquor

Chapter 2 Bitter Liquor

The club’s bass pounded, a relentless heartbeat against my chest. "The Den" reeked of cheap perfume, stale beer, and desperation. I was a phantom here, usually content to observe. But tonight, she’d drawn me in.

I watched her go, a flicker of admiration, then annoyance. She was a whirlwind of motion, a vibrant blur in the flashing lights. I saw the hungry glances, the predatory smiles of men. It wasn’t my concern, I told myself, but a sliver of disquiet remained. Her friends, lost in their own fun, were oblivious.

Then he appeared. A hulking shadow, moving with unsettling confidence, made a beeline for her. His hands were on her, too familiar, too possessive. A cold tendril of something I couldn't name slithered through me. She wasn’t the type, I decided, noting the subtle shift in her posture, her head tilted to avoid his gaze. Not like this.

A decision solidified. I pushed off the sticky bar, navigating the throng. The music roared as I closed the distance, slipping between her and the encroaching shadow. His hand, moments ago on her hip, dropped. He looked at me, a flicker of recognition, then a shrug of defeat, melting back into the crowd.

"Oh hey, you’re here," her voice was surprisingly clear, laced with the music's sway. She was still dancing.

"Yeah, I wanted to have some fun as well," I lied smoothly, falling into her rhythm. The scent of her – floral and sweet beneath the alcohol – filled my senses.

She kept dancing, a delicate balance of grace and imminent collapse, until her movements grew wobbly. I instinctively reached out, my hand finding the small of her back, a gentle anchor.

"What are you doing?" She leaned into me, her gaze unfocused.

"You’re obviously tipsy. I’m just trying to help you out."

She squinted, a charming crinkle at her eyes. "I can dance alone. I’m totally fine." She was anything but. I ignored her protest, keeping her steady.

"Are you interested in me?" she blurted, her eyes wide with a playful challenge. I raised a brow. This woman, even inebriated, had guts. "Well, too bad I don’t want a boyfriend. You’re my type, though."

I truly looked at her then. Mesmerizing. Dark waves framed a striking, intelligent face. No wonder men gravitated to her. I'd heard the office whispers – hard worker, talented, sharp. Her appeal went beyond beauty; a quiet confidence resonated even now, cloaked in intoxication.

This wasn't my first time seeing her. She was a fixture in my peripheral vision, a familiar presence in the hushed corridors. She moved with purpose, a focused energy that made her seem oblivious to me. She walked past as if I didn't exist, a phantom in her busy world. But I knew her name, snippets of her reputation. I hadn't expected to see her here, in this smoky cavern of anonymity.

"I want more drink." She extricated herself, moving with surprising determination towards our forgotten table. Before I could stop her, she was pouring, amber liquid glinting.

"Let me." I reached for the bottle, her fingers fumbling. I took it, glass cool against my palm. She snatched the shot glass, downing it, then another, then another, as if water.

"That’s enough." I took the bottle, draining the last few drops, leaving it conspicuously empty.

"You alright, girl? Where’s Yara?" A long-haired girl, breathless, appeared with her friends.

"Yeah, yeah, I’mma wait for her. I have to drop her off at her place later." Her reply was calm, a disconcerting composure.

"Okay, our boyfriends will bring us home. We’ll go ahead. Take care, okay?"

She just nodded, already typing on her phone, presumably updating Yara.

"Hey you. You better not do anything to our friend or you’re dead." The short-haired girl’s voice was sharp, glaring at me.

"Hey, hey ladies, chill. I can handle myself, okay? Even if this guy tries to do something to me." Her friend sighed.

"Okay, we trust you, girl. We have to go now." They hugged her, a quick huddle of concern, before melting back into the crowd.

"Your friends are really concerned with you."

She chuckled, a dry, slightly bitter sound. "Yeah, of course. They just had enough of all the dramas in my life." It was a joke, but the underlying current of something darker was unmistakable.

"You think you can really handle me if I did something to you?" I raised a brow, a challenge in my voice.

"Why, do you actually have plans in doing so?" Her eyes, though unfocused, were surprisingly keen. She looked tough, a fragile warrior in an elegant dress.

"What if I do? What would you do about it?" I leaned closer, bringing her scent even stronger.

"I might cut off your manhood or dissect you." She leaned closer still, her eyes narrowing playfully, or perhaps, not so playfully. We were locked in a silent staring contest when her phone rang, a shrill interruption.

"Hey, you done with your session already?" Her voice was laced with exasperation. The phone was on speaker; I could hear the tinny voice.

"I’m at Renz’s place and I’ll be staying here for the night. We won’t be able to go back to the bar anymore."

"Seriously, Yara? You left me alone while I was waiting for you?" Her eyes rolled dramatically.

"Sorry, girl, I’ll make it up to you."

"Whatever, just be safe." She sighed, a deep, weary sound.

"Don’t worry, I am. Keep safe too, love you, bye." The line went dead.

"So, are you going home now?" I checked my watch. It was well past midnight.

"I want to drink more. I have nothing to do for tomorrow, anyways." She looked at me, her eyes pleading. "Will you drink with me?"

I hesitated. "Can you still handle it?" I had a feeling she was drinking not for fun, but to drown something.

"I can manage. Just one bottle."

I nodded, the unspoken reason for her thirst hanging heavy. She tried to stand, but I waved her back down. "I’ll get it." I returned with another bottle, pouring us both a shot. She was quiet for a few moments, the liquid burning, before she spoke.

"The liquor is hitting me." Her voice slurred.

"Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’re drunk. We should stop." I was about to drink my next shot when she snatched it.

"No, let’s finish the whole bottle, then I’ll go home. You see, I’m fine, okay. There’s just a few more."

We finished the bottle, conversation dwindling to a comfortable silence. She excused herself to the bathroom. I waited, ready to offer her a ride. The thought of her navigating the city alone, in this state, was unsettling.

But then, a figure materialized from the shadows, pushing past me with surprising force. "Kenzo?" Her voice, surprised and relieved, drifted from the bathroom entrance.

"Woman, you went drinking again." The man’s voice was laced with undeniable frustration, a familiar possessiveness that belied her earlier claim of not having a boyfriend. He sighed, a long, drawn-out sound of exasperation.

They turned to leave, but then her eyes landed on me, faint recognition flickering. She probably just remembered I was there.

"Thank you for your company, Mr. I’ll be going now." She offered a weak smile, a ghost of her earlier defiance.

They walked past, his hand on her arm, guiding her. But before they disappeared, he paused, his gaze meeting mine. A cold, assessing glare, devoid of warmth or welcome. Then he was gone, taking her with him.

Who was that guy? The question lingered, quickly dismissed. It wasn't my business. Not really. But as I watched the empty doorway, a strange, persistent curiosity remained.