The rhythmic click of heels against polished marble breaks through my thoughts. I set my glass down on the small table beside me and turn around, shrugging off my jacket and laying it carefully over the back of the couch.
The thought of Lucia has me hard as steel again. That woman, her memory, has this relentless grip on me, even from miles away. I can’t wait to finally have her. To bury myself inside her pussy and silence this incessant ache. It’s a debt I owe my cock.
I’m taken aback when Melanie strides into the living room. Her long, sculpted legs are on full display, framed by a skintight, strapless dress that barely manages to cover her ass.
But her hair.
Her damn hair is short. And black.
She’d better pray to God she hasn’t done what I think she has.
She flashes a bright, practiced smile and adds an exaggerated sway to her hips as she walks toward me. Her hand settles on my shoulder, and she rises on her toes, leaning in for a kiss, but I pull back.
Her smile falters and she searches my eyes, questioning. But my focus is solely on her hair.
“Take off the wig. Now. I don’t have much time.”
She senses the warning in my tone and steps back.
Not a wig.
Fuck.
Vein in my neck throbs. Fists clench so hard knuckles crack.
“It’s for the new movie,” she stammers. “They wanted me to change my look, but—”
I raise a finger to my lips. She gets the hint, clamping her mouth shut. At least there’s enough sense rattling around in her head to follow that much.
It took me months to find someone with the same hair, exactly the right shade, the same silken texture. I didn’t care if their faces were different. I’d pin her down, bury myself deep, and pretend it was Lucia. That it was her tight pussy I was pounding, her body swallowing me whole.
And now this stupid bitch stands here, telling me she chopped it all off for some fucking movie.
I walk over to my jacket and slip it on. My face remains a mask of indifference, but inside, I’m burning alive, and it’s all because ofher. She’s the reason I haven’t been able to kiss another woman’s fucking lips without imagining her flawless skin under my hands for the past year.
As I move past Melanie, her hand tugs at my arm. Before she can get a word out, my hand is around her throat, and I shove her back hard, slamming her into the couch.
This is on her. She lit the match. She set off the volcano.
As I press her slender neck into the cushions, I glare into her wide, panicked eyes and hiss through clenched teeth, “If you don’t want to end up as tomorrow’s headline—Famous Actress Found with Slit Throat in Dumpster—don’t come near me again until that goddamn hair of yours grows back.”
Her pupils roll back from the lack of oxygen, and I release her, letting her collapse into the couch. Without sparing a glance to see if she’s still breathing, I turn on my heel and walk out the door.
***
Rafael takes a deep drag from his cigarette, his voice louder than the pounding music of the strip club. “Grabbed a dealer yesterday. Had a Black Souls tattoo.”
I keep my eyes on the stage, watching the dancer spin around the pole like a storm.
“Make sure his death sends a message, so loud that they’ll slice that tattoo off themselves with a knife before we even get to them.”
“Consider it done, boss.”
“Any updates on Emily?” I ask.
Rafael shakes his head. “Nope. Still wandering the streets with that friend of hers, Jill.”
“Nobody’s popped her cherry yet?”
