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Charm in a Bottle

Derek moved like a wolf through the crowd pressing in around the dance floor, eyes roving, searching for possible future prey.

Yeah, he thought. Like a wolf. I like that.

He paused, feeling a weird dejavu, like he’d had that exact thought before, but he shook it off.

Got to get my head in the game!

He swung by the bar and ordered white russians. He traded a twenty for the two drinks, and the bartender gave him the most knowing smile he’d ever seen. Derek started away but paused, turning to look back at the bartender. The big man wasn’t even looking in his direction any more, was facing away in fact, the muscles in his broad back and thick arms flexing beneath his skintight shirt as he moved bottles on the bar-back with machinelike rapidity.

Funny, he thought, that look he gave me… I’d swear I’ve seen him give that look before, but that can’t be. I’ve never been in this club before…

He shook his head and turned toward his prey, slithering through the packed club with an ease that bespoke of hours spent in places like this. He peered around a column, standing on tiptoe to see over the crowd, his sharp eyes piercing the gloom that shrouded everything outside the bright confines of the dance floor.

There she was, right where he’d left her. His lucky girl.

Even luckier than she knows, he thought, shifting both drinks into one hand, dipping his freed hand into a jacket pocket with a practiced motion. A small bottle came out, the top was flicked open with a thumbnail and its contents dumped into one of the glasses. All this, plus dropping the now empty bottle back in the pocket, accomplished with the speed and dexterity of a stage magician.

Pick a card, any card.

He was chuckling as he reached the table, placing the drinks precisely, making certain she was getting the right one. She smiled nervously and nodded, conversation all but impossible in the noise. Her expression tugged something deep within him. She looked so innocent, so uncertain of herself and nervous on a first date. He loved that. These were his favorites, the innocent ones. He pictured that beautiful nervous face, her eyes blurred by drugs, mouth either hanging slack or open wide in pain or fear as she shook beneath him, aware of what was happening but unable to focus her rohypnol-addled mind enough to do anything about it as he pounded into her, able to do anything he wanted, secure in the knowledge that once it was all over she’d forget all about it. He’d be in the clear.

Sometimes — and this was the best part — sometimes they even cried.

“Bottoms up!”

He shouted as he raised his glass, motioning for her to lift hers as well in case she hadn’t heard. She lifted her glass as if in toast, and they each took a swallow.

Yes! …I just love being me! Now all I have to do is wait.

One song ended and another began as Derek kept a close watch on what’s-her-name’s face for those little tell-tale signs that the drug was taking effect. He didn’t notice the lights and people dropping away to be replaced by darkness, or the music and noise fading away. His tunnel vision drew tighter around her face, and he was just wondering if he could actually remember her name when that tunnel finally collapsed and he spun down into blackness.

Dreamlike visions swirled out of the blackness. Images. Memories.

Discovering rohypnol, going through girl after girl, getting away with terrible things simply because he was good looking and suave and knew how to pick the weak ones. Choosing that last one, the one with a look so innocent he had to have her, drilling into her every which way, so violently that even through the drugged haze she screamed and cried into the sheets.

Cried for her mommy.

Driving home drunk with the power he’d had over her, but even more drunk on Grey Goose and Kaluha.

The loss of control.

The huge roadside tree.

The fatal impact.

Awakening here… down here.

He opened his eyes blearily, the room coming into sharper focus as the fog lifted slowly from his mind. He was face down, his cheek pressed to something cool and smooth. Silk? Cool air washed across his back and buttocks, raising goose pimples; he realized he was naked, and bound.

“Let’s get this show on the road, sweetheart!”

A hand slapped his backside, hard. He jumped in surprise, craning his neck to catch sight of the huge bartender’s leering face.

“Help me…” he managed, but the huge man laughed.

“Oh, I’ll help you all right! Sure I will!”

Derek saw that the man was also naked, and sporting an erection the size of a baseball bat. The sight of him in that condition blew the fog from Derek’s mind like a light mist in a hurricane, and he gasped as he recalled the last time he was in this room.

And the time before that.

And the time before that…

“Don’t worry, Lover,” said the bartender, kneeling close behind Derek. “When it’s all over, you won’t remember a thing. Until the next time.”

Derek screamed in pain as the man thrust forward, then again, faster and faster as if spurred into a frenzy of lust as Derek bled and cried into the sheets…

 

* * * * *

 

Derek moved like a wolf through the crowd pressing in around the dance floor, eyes roving, searching for possible future prey.

Yeah, he thought. Like a wolf. I like that.

He paused, feeling a weird dejavu, like he’d had that exact thought before, but he shook it off.

Got to get my head in the game!

He swung by the bar and ordered two white russians. He traded a twenty for the two drinks, and the bartender gave him the most knowing smile he’d ever seen…

  

 

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