The Devil's Match

Chapter 6: Damien

I dressed up to the nines, donning my naughty-and-never-nice little red dress and a three-inch Louboutin pumps. Red had always been my color, but tonight I surpassed even my own expectations. Tailored to perfection, the dress clung snug to my breasts and showed the flare of my hips. The fiery cloth provided a nice complement to my complexion that was a delicious light mocha. I looked splendid. Better than that, I looked glorious. For sure, a gorgeous woman like me could land herself a guy like my date, Damien. Damien, the unit of a man who was now looking at me from across the bar. Hungry eyes trailed my body up and down.

Inferno.

There goes another place named to mock me. Come to think of it, there were a lot of these establishments in my town. There was a casino named Hell's Gates on 51st Street and a rundown motel just across it, with a flashing neon sign forming its name, The 7th Commandment. There was also a strip club called Lucifer's Girls, not a block away from the two. Of course, who could forget the kicker? The Blue Ball Church with a signage that said: Be Pure and Fill Your Cracks with Christ. Comedy gold.

How come I haven't noticed these before? I freaking love this town.

My feet carried me across the room and took with it ten lustful gazes, which further fueled the foxy little grin I sported. I admit, it was nice to turn heads wherever I went.

"Fancy seeing you here," I said in almost a whisper, leaning in close to Damien's ear as I placed a teasing palm on his bulging biceps. I put his signature leather jacket on the counter, folded next to his beer. The guy grinned and his smoky gray eyes glittered at the attention.

"You look stunning," he replied, not taking his eyes off me.

I smelled his sandalwood perfume, and our eyes met in a dangerous dance. There wasn't loud music. Inferno was more of a pub than a regular dive bar or club. The bar area was full and busy; tables filled with patrons. The whole pace was dim enough to give me plenty of cover to make me work my charm.

"Buy me a drink?" I asked, raising a playful brow. My innocence was not an illusion, nor was it implied. I took time to put on my makeup, but from the looks of where the things are going tonight, my lipstick was going to be smudged and licked off beyond recognition. How exciting.

"What are you having?"

"Gin martini. Lemon peel."

"You heard the lady," Damien said to the bartender. The bartender, whom I'd noticed was looking at us—or me, to be more specific. I gave the guy a wink. It sent him to fix my drink while I talked to my date.

"You come here often?" I asked, tracing a playful finger on his forearm.

"No, not at all," Damien rasped, focusing in on the gesture. "It seems like a good place, though."

"It is. Pleasant atmosphere."

I took my drink from the bartender and thanked him before taking a sip. I was told that I had the drinking preferences of a rich, middle-aged Floridian divorcee in the 70s with a couple of boyfriends on the side. Oddly specific, but I didn't mind it. The night was crescendoing to its peak, so I allowed myself to two more drinks before I felt the slight buzz in my system. Perfect timing as they turned the lights down low. The music hummed; beat after beat echoed. Before long, bodies began crowding on the dance floor. The atmosphere changed, and people started pairing up.

"So, what do your parents do for a living?" my date asked me, playing with a wavy lock of my hair as I ran my hand all over his chiseled chest. Closer, I pushed my body into his. He hummed, appreciative.