“She broke. Her veins spilling out the truths that the lies could never heal. The sick believe the fairytales in hopes they heal cancer that feeds upon their heart. Whispered nothings from one, are the drugs that only the sick can feel. Though she says she died with the dream, she will do it all again for another hit of your lies.”
The stage set for the slaughter, but Nicolette had twenty-four hours to kill and a rage so deep inside of her she thought it would never extinguish. Promise after promise broken, the anger inside of the young brunette filled the night sky with an explosion from the heavens above. Strikes of lightning hit the ocean as rain pelted down in Los Angeles. She could have taken Spencer right there, but his time wasn’t up. Not yet, at least. Her man brought him in, turning the older male into a sniveling bitch. Funny how a man of such power can break the moment you take it all away. He would soon feel her wrath, but not yet. Right now, she needed to destroy something, and it was too early to lose Spencer.
“Watch them both. Let no one in the building. I have an errand to run,” Nicolette called out.
Her clothing now consisting of a flesh hugging red dress, heels that most would teeter upon, and stocking with a faint seam running up the back. Unseen was the garter they attached to, and the lack of panties. No one would find that golden ticket. She’s promised to another, and though the ache inside of her was devastating, she would not break the promise. If she did, he would know the moment she was touched. Their bond one for life, she would never belong to anyone but him.
The Los Angeles seaport carried a stench that forced her stomach to churn in a violent protest. It was nothing like Italy. The inhabitants did not care that they polluted their city with filth and disgust. She was a world away from home and hated the difference between the two. She sucked in a deep breath before she slid into the midnight blue 2020 Bugatti Chiron. A gift to herself when she arrived in the states, it was the one item that she could honestly say fit her personality. Pure class! Black leather seat cradled her as though they had been molded for her body, the scent of the leather still strong enough to give it that new car appeal. After pushing the ignition, the car roared to life. The sounds of music filled the car with a private concert designed just for her.
“It’s go time,” Nicolette whispered.
Gliding through the streets of Los Angeles, the car was as smooth as an eagle searching for prey. In a way, that was correct. Only the terror was not the car. It was the driver. She weaved her way through traffic. The anticipation had every fiber of her being charged and ready to ignite—a club in Hollywood, her final destination. The attendant ran to the car the moment she pulled into the lot. Racing her engine a few times, the smirk on her face says it all. She would be parking her own car tonight. That baby would never see another driver other than her. Well, not one that would live to see another day.
“Bitch! That was fucked up,” the lot attendant called out.
Stopping dead in her tracks, looking back over her shoulder, he would be a perfect choice, but not tonight. She would spare the poor bastard his life. His job had to be torture enough. For Nicolette, the need to destroy was strong, and what she wanted tonight was to make a name for herself. This place was crawling with those that could afford to wipe their asses with hundred dollar bills and dumb bitches who thought they would be the next ex-wife of most of them. God, if there was a type of woman she hated, it was those who didn’t understand the value of self-respect. At nineteen, she had already lived more lives than any of these urchins would ever be privileged to experience.
A line wrapped around the building, but the young brunette walked past each one to them with a confidence that came from being a pure seductress. The bouncer at the door took one look at the girl, and the red velvet rope retracted, and she was allowed entrance. Of course, the peasants who had waited for hours in line gave protest. All that did was elevate her desire to destroy.
“Why the fuck did she get in?
The protests brought a smirk to her lips and heightened the arrogance that she wore like perfume. Tonight was a first for Nicolette. Usually, reserved, tonight would see the first step in the wrath that was coming quicker than most realized.
She slithered her way through the crowd, calling the bartender over for her first drink—a bottle of Chateau Ponete Canet 2009. Even at four hundred dollars a bottle, the bartender didn’t bat an eye. He pulled the dust-covered bottle from the shelf, pouring her the smallest amount to taste. Once approved, the tall, handsome male poured a full glass, sitting the bottle down for her to consume. Not once did he ask for identification or even her age. If you can afford to drink it, by all means, he wasn’t going to bother with something as trivial as her age.
As she sat and searched the crowd, the male in the corner caught her attention. If you’ve ever seen TMZ or Prez Hilton, you knew his name. The teenager in her followed both of those social media Queens. The member of a band, he has been linked to more pussy than the current President. She would admit, he was what most women would call a “beautiful man.” Crossing her legs, she spread them just enough to give the man the perfect view of what was under her dress. Not a damn thing. Nicolette made sure to leave the panties home for this reason. She knew that would be the icing on the cake for a man with a sweet tooth. In less than two minutes, she received a tap to the shoulder by the bartender. He gave her directions on how to get a seat next to the male. Only this time, he skipped the formalities and suggested she take the bottle to the private rooms and make herself comfortable. Who the fuck did this man think he was?
Thanking him, he looked at the hundred she dropped on the bar as though the amount offended him. With the bottle in one hand and the glass in the other, she made her way through the crowd, not stopping until she reached her destination, smirking to find the male inside with his dick in hand. Did he think he was dealing with some whore? Some common groupie? Up until this point, he might have lived. With that kind of arrogance, he sealed his fate just as Frank and Spencer had.
“Well, look at you. I guess you started the party without me?” Nicolette said.
He looked up, smirking, and snapped his fingers for her to come forward, “You don’t think I invited you in to speak, do you?”
Without a word, she set the bottle down, moving closer to him—that English accent of his works with those other girls. For Nicolette, he sounded like a little faggot with too much time on his hands.
“Now be a good whore and handle this for me,” he said. Releasing his dick, he sat back with confidence thinking he was about to get off by this beautiful girl. Little did he know, he was living on borrowed time.
Instead of dropping to his knees as he expected, she straddled his lap, her pussy only inches away from his dick. He would never take that ride, but she allowed him to feel the heat from within her core. “You might think I am some common street rodent who welcomes this abuse, but you would be dead wrong,” her words purred from her lips like pure sex. “You see, I do not need faggot cock. I prefer a real man,” she said.
His face a scarlet red, he moved to push her off, but he was unmatched for her strength. For a tiny woman, she had the power of a grown man. “Get the fuck off me. Bloody hell, you need to leave,” he screamed. His voice no longer filled with the confidence he held when she entered the room. She could even note a bit of fear.
“No, not yet. You see, I’m starving, and a real man feeds a woman before asking for sex,” she said. Nicolette leaned in. Her mouth opened, she licked over his carotid artery before aggressively taking a bite. Her teeth broke the skin, not stopping until she pulled a chunk of flesh from his neck, spitting it on the floor. A warm spray of the pulsating artery sprayed from his neck, her mouth drinking as though he was a water fountain. His screams were only forcing the shower of blood out quicker and fueling the fire inside of her soul. With the same motion, she moved to the other side of his neck, ripping at the flesh until once again. Her mouth held a chunk of meat, and the blood poured from his body. It only took 30 seconds for him to bleed out, but the experience was one she would never forget.
A soft knock on the door alerted her that they weren’t alone. Not that she didn’t know that, but in the heat of the moment, time got away from her. “Almost done. Give us 10 minutes,” she called out. As the footsteps moved away from the door, she slipped from the body, looking around the room for somewhere to wash up. The private bar thankfully had a sink, and after searching the cabinets, she acquired a white shirt with the bar logo on the front. That would cover the bloodstains on her dress and allow her to leave without calling attention to herself.
“Oh, wait—one more thing,” she whispered. Grabbing the bottle of wine, she set it down in a puddle of blood, and she removed the singer’s pants, rolling his body to the side to expose his ass. Turning the bottleneck around in the blood, she forced it into his ass, knowing that wouldn’t be the first thing he had in there. “You should thank me for that. I made sure to lube for your pleasure,” she said. With a cackle of laughter, she slipped from the room, exiting through the back door to avoid the eyes of the bartender. He was the only one who knew she went in, and she would later take care of that loose end.
Los Angeles stunk of filth. The moment she left the building, her nose burned from the pungent odors that littered the city with filth, and yet, she inhaled deeply, smiling in satisfaction.
“One last thing,” she said as she reached her car. Stripping her clothing off, tossing them in a pile in the lot, she slipped into her half-million-dollar car. Rubbing her hand over the steering wheel, “Don’t worry, baby. I won’t get you dirty with that filth.”