Chapter 15 #3
“He’s at The Wreck. All his jock buddies are there on Thursday nights. Cheap beers,” he explains. I scoff because since when do any of those assholes need to watch their budget?
They are rich and privileged.
I assume they’re there to hunt their prey. They think it’s okay to target women they see as their lesser. Or perhaps they know these women, women like me who don’t stand a chance fighting against men such as them.
Knowing this, I quickly grab my bag and pull out what I need. If we’re heading into battle, I should dress for a war.
Sitting in this bar is torture.
I accept that I don’t fit in. I prefer solitude over fake friendships anyway.
This bar is filled with men who think they’re someone and women who are desperate to be noticed.
Is this what being “normal” entails?
If so, I haven’t missed out on anything. If anything, it makes me appreciate what I have.
And what I have I wouldn’t trade for the world.
Kit sits next to me in a red leather booth, sipping scotch—completely composed. I, on the other hand, can’t stop fidgeting.
Jack isn’t here yet.
His friends are, though.
Kit places his hand on my bouncing knee. “He’ll be here,” he whispers into my ear, sensing my nerves.
All this can’t be for nothing.
Kit is right—we need to strike now before one or more of the girls have second thoughts.
Watching Jack’s friends, I’m put off by how blatantly they ogle every woman at the bar, cartoonishly eager and obvious with their salivating tongues and wide eyes.
“People do this for fun?” I ask Kit, my tone sharp with judgment.
He chuckles and runs his fingers up my thigh.
Instantly, my body responds to him, and he knows it. “You look beautiful.”
I’m wearing a low-cut, tight-fitting black dress. I don’t own anything sexy or seductive, but I put my hair up in a messy chignon, and Dandy helped me with my makeup while I filled him in on the plan.
He wanted to join us, but Kit and I convinced him not to come because Dandy tends to attract attention, and we want the opposite.
He agreed to stay, though he was clearly upset. I don’t want him to feel excluded, but I need to focus on confronting Jack.
Seeing Jack is nearly as daunting as facing him. I’m about to down my vodka, but Kit stops me and nods toward the bar.
Time stands still.
It’s Jack Bloom, or I’m assuming so, as I don’t know what he looks like. I was blinded before I could see my monster’s face.
I pictured him to be taller. Maybe scarier. But as I look at the average-looking guy, with unremarkable features, I feel cheated.
This is the guy who ruined my life.
A laugh bubbles up.
Kit slips his fingers through mine, offering support. But now that I can finally put a face to the name, I know I’ve got this. Jack Bloom is an insignificant speck in my world, and I’ll take great pleasure in destroying him.
I push the vodka away and stand. I don’t need it.
Kit nods as we’ve gone over the plan.
It’s simple.
When I go to the bar, I behave in a shy and unassuming way, knowing Jack will likely offer to buy me a drink. Jack’s need for power and control drives his vile actions toward women.
So I’ll let him think he’s won and then strike.
Thanks to Jupiter’s guidance, I know how to seduce a man in a situation like this. With Kit, however, it was different as it’s real. But this isn’t. This is me playing a part. This is me getting what I want, and what I want is to hear Jack scream.
Just how he made me.
Knowing Kit is watching, ready to protect me if I need, fuels my fire.
I feel the eyes of men closely examining me. It’s as if I’m at an auction, parading my wares. There’s only one goal here, and I don’t intend to fail.
The moment I make my way to the bar, Jack and his friends make it obvious they like what they see. I shyly brush away a strand of hair that has slipped free behind my ear.
“What are you drinking, sweetheart?” asks one of Jack’s friends, who’s wearing way too much cologne.
“I’m not sure,” I reply as I pretend to peruse the cocktail menu.
“You look like a sweet kinda girl. Or maybe you’re looking for something a little spicy?”
I barely contain my laughter because who the hell speaks this way? Is this supposed to be sexy? Or perhaps this is his pickup line. Whatever it is, I want to gouge out his eyeballs and use them in a martini.
“Oh, Harrison, quit it,” says a voice that, although deeper than I remember, sends shivers down my spine, and that’s because that voice belongs to Jack.
Gone is the lisp I remember, and in its place is the tone of a man who reeks of arrogance and control.
Jack and I lock eyes, and it’s clear there’s no recollection of who I am. Not that he even knows what I look like, since he never saw my face that night. The fact makes me even more determined to destroy this asshole.
Harrison snickers and gets up, walking away.
“Sorry about my friend,” Jack says sweetly.
And now, I get it.
Each man in this circle of friends plays a role. One is the slimeball, while the other is the nice guy, apologizing for this friend’s crude behavior to reveal what a nice guy he is. When they’re all predators. They work in a pack. Nothing but animals.
But Jack is the worst of them all.
Was Jack’s nature innate or learned? Either way, I’m doing the world a favor by putting him down like the rabid dog that he is.
I immediately focus on Jack, letting him see I’m interested before shyly glancing away. I pause to collect myself. Memories of him raping me are so vivid, I can taste my tears and vomit as I struggle to breathe.
He’s winning. Again.
But not this time.
I take a soft, deep breath and slip into the skin of someone other than me.
“Two lemon drop martinis,” Jack orders.
I wait for him to speak.
“My friend is harmless.” He decides to carry on with his subject. And I soon see why. “He sees a pretty girl and forgoes his manners.”
Oh, he’s smooth. Playing the nice guy card and giving me a sly compliment to gauge my response in the same breath. If it’s positive, he knows he’s not wasting his time. He’s done this before.
I smile. “I’m sure there are lots of pretty girls in here.”
“Yes. There is. But you seem to have”—he ponders as if searching for the right word, before settling on—“an innocence about you. Why are you here? This doesn’t seem like your vibe. And I mean that as a compliment. You’re better than the jocks and bimbos in here.”
“Well, the same can be said about you,” I reply, keeping eye contact. “Are you inadvertently telling me that you’re a…bimbo?”
A slanted grin tugs at his thin lips as my jab amuses him. “I knew you were different.”
And he says this because I’m not falling over myself. He sees me as a challenge, one he wishes to break. And when he shifts closer, ensuring our knees touch, he makes clear his eyes are set on the prize and that he won’t take no for an answer.
“How about we get out of here?” Straight to the point, that’s how confident he is.
I attempt to act coy. “I hardly know you.”
“Well, what do you want to know, baby?” He oozes arrogance and self-importance.
“Why me? You don’t look like the type to be lacking female company.”
The bartender places our drinks on the bar. Jack slides a glass toward me.
“You’re right. I’m not, and that’s the reason I want you. You’re not attempting to impress me or want to know me because of who my family is.”
His arrogance shines through that comment, as he’s implying he’s important. This has no doubt worked in the past.
Me?
I just want to punch him in the throat.
“Well, I have no idea who your family is. But how about you tell me all about them at your house.” I shyly smile.
Jack nods and raises his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”
I don’t want to raise any suspicions, so I toss back the cocktail in one mouthful. Jack grins and does the same with his drink.
He stands, taking my hand and escorting me through the bar.
I know without looking that Kit is following, but for this to work, we need to leave and get to a private place. I suspected he would take me to his house, which is where Kit and I can strike.
So far, this is going to plan.
We step outside, and the moment I see some Euro-trash car, I know it belongs to Jack. We walk toward it, and when he opens the door for me, I get in, faking astonishment at his ugly-as-fuck sports car.
He shuts the door, and I watch as he rounds the hood and gets into the driver’s side. He starts the car and drives off with haste. He looks over at me with a smug grin. If I were impressed by this flashy crap, I would be captivated, but this merely displays what a loser Jack Bloom really is.
“Are you hot?” he asks, fiddling with the controls on the console.
“No.” But I soon realize that a heat is creeping up my neck.
I ignore it, however.
I need to confirm whether Lisp is actually Jack. Although I suspect it’s him, only a confession from Jack will prove it. The need to smash his head against the steering wheel is overwhelming, but I refrain until we get back to his house.
The drive takes about twenty-five minutes, but the moment he pulls in front of the large steel gates, I know something is very wrong.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Can’t hold your liquor?” he taunts, punching the code into the gate panel.
I turn to look at him because his voice sounds distant. Even though I’m half dazed, I make note of the code.
I push my back against the door in terror as he’s morphed into two. His laugh is amplified, and his grin is wide and sinister.
“What did you doooo?” My voice echoes, pounding against my temples. I try to cover my ears to block out the noise, but my arms feel like they're weighed down with wet concrete.
With my last coherent thought, I realize my cocktail was spiked, as no doubt, the bartender is on the Blooms’ payroll.
Rookie move on my part.
I try to fight it, but it’s no use.
Jack drives the car up the driveway and parks in the garage. “You’re going to be fun.”
“Motherfucker—” I manage to gasp before the last thing I see is Jack’s jubilant face inches from mine as he unbuckles my seat belt…
A muted scream shreds my throat raw as I jolt awake.