When I Look Up At The Stars

12 | lupus

KYRELL BLACKWOOD SAUNTERED INTO THE CLUB LIKE HE OWNED IT.

To be fair, he did own it.

The women in line outside, had their wide-eyed gazes fixed on him, lips parted in awe- ever since he tossed his keys to the valet and stepped out of his vintage car- and for a brief moment, the attention almost gave him the smug satisfaction and thrill he craved.

Almost. The boredom and irritation made their reappearance, and he nearly rolled his eyes.

Just before he stepped in, a force of habit, he looked over his shoulder and let his lips tilt upward into a wickedly seductive smirk.

All of them melted. Ugh. He wished it wasn't that easy sometimes.

For once, however, even as his leather-clad feet tapped noiselessly against the tiles, the attention didn't immediately snap to him.

He paused, with a small confused frown.

His club- Venice, was full as usual, with men and women, dancing and drinking, but as discreet as they were trying to be, almost everybody's attention kept drifting to a certain concealed corner of the room.

"He's rich," is the first thing he hears when he tunes in to the conversation of a group of girls, "like, more than a billionaire rich."

"Hot and rich?" one of them gushes, "gosh, you think I'd get a turn with him?"

"Didn't you see?" another says, sounding slightly bitter and envious, "he has a woman with him- the same who came with him yesterday, and the day before. He's got the whole possessive thing going with her too."

"Yeah, I remember," one contributes eagerly, "He walked in, took one look at all the men eyeing her up, and went all, 'Look at my woman the wrong way, and I'll blow your fuckin' brains out.' It was hot. Super deep, super sexy accent-"

"He's got guns? Like the real weapon-ones?"

"Uh-huh! He stabbed a man in front of everyone because he was looking at his woman-"

"You know what I heard?" another one suddenly says, "I heard that he killed three people on the way here because he was bored, and he's got the cleanest shot ever-"

Of course, there was no guarantee if the mysterious man they were talking about did kill three people because he was bored, or if he stabbed someone, or if owned the biggest drug cartel in Paris and Tokyo.

That didn't mean they weren't going to talk about it.

Because naturally, the girl's friend had told her, another friend had told her friend, another woman had told her friend's friend- and ultimately, all the rumors about the mysterious man came from an auburn-haired woman that everyone had conveniently forgotten about.