Stories I Never Finished

Lone Digger

Poker machines chimed with an addictive melody of missed luck and empty wallets, singing a day-old tune like a haunting siren calling her prey to the shore; pulling them off their safety boats with the promise of fortune and love.

Beyond the isle of shipwrecked divorcees and miserable drowning wealth, the casino of five stories flourished with a Vegas sense of madness, its sophisticated shine coaxing thousands through its gold-plated doors as every surface gleamed with an offer of luxury. Tables were shrouded by desperate people, some addicted to the game, others to money and the rest to the obsession of such a twisted lifestyle.

The Lone Digger casino was where the rich came to play games of silent roulette, chasing one another in games of addictive insanity, gazing upon dressed up beauties of temptation and handsome men of promise while dealers stood like demons at the gates of Hell; ready to take each player to the afterlife with a mere flick of their hand.

Windowless and lost in time, the glistening mix of gold and red pooled together like the batter of red velvet cakes waiting to cook within a diamond bowl; shimmering with an odd sense of seduction. Money was far too powerful within the walls of obsession, and one man reaped the riches of it all; preying on those too weak to stand tall within his castle and watching them fall to his gleaming white heels with a glint in his cold blue eyes.

How he loved to see the rich fall. He thrived on it, like a vampire to virgin blood; he craved it more than anything.

Long white painted nails drummed softly against the soft cotton of a single chair among a vast room of glass walls peering beyond the sparkling city of murder and crime—painted with a diamond clad smile. Though dimly lit, the room was filled with a clash of white and black, darkness kissing the light as though prying its gentle touch from the edge of the world and forcing it to stand among the living.

A tall figure of a man stood silently beside the casino owner, dressed in a formal suit, expensive taste gifted to him by his twisted lover to fit snug against his body. Beneath thin black material lay the body of a monster the casino's owner loved to run his white nails across—turning soft brown skin red with lines of lust all the while relishing in the state of such a built man; knowing it was him who forced the brunet to be as strong as he were. An order, a demand, not a wish.

Hands clasped in front of his standing body, Calum Hood watched as the doors to the bar-like room were pushed open, heavy white blocks lined through with painted black as some form of design peeling wide while three people moved inside.

A man and a woman dressed in matching black, head to toe in formal attire and strapped with guns, dragged in the body of a young male who stumbled alongside them as though more tipsy than afraid.

Blue eyes were slow in their motion as they lifted upward, white nails dotted with gems stopping their soft drum instantly as the man was thrown to his feet; left to fumble by the long white heels of the owner dressed in white like a descendent of Marilyn Monroe.

"Calum...?" The gorgeous blond spoke with a calm yet seemingly chilling tone, eyes trained on the two guards now standing side by side in silence.

"Hm?" Calum spared his boss and glance, brown eyes meeting with the lower side profile of the pale blond. He lingered on blue painted lips, a blue like the ocean melting into a deathly black moving along with the words his estranged lover spoke.

"Did you hear them knock?" Luke Hemmings asked, speaking only to his lover while his eyes remained locked like a deathly sniper on the two before him.

Their bodies tensed, shifting on the heels of their black shoes in realisation, all the while the man by Luke's feet—though yet to rise to his own worn black dress-shoes—laughed at the guards' mistake.