Love and War: Short Story Collection

Predators - Diana Dee B.

“What can I get you, cutie pie?” The bartender leans against the bar counter, with the cotton cloth draped over his shoulder. He measures her from the top of her head to her heart-shaped chin and goes down and down until his gaze stops on the cleavage shown due to the square neckline of her black dress.

The childish name he used in the sentence makes the tiny hairs on her forearms rise as she shivers out of disgust. Suppressing the strong urge to roll her eyes at him, she gives him a cold stare instead. “Eyes are up here. Now get me a vodka martini.”

“Shaken, not stirred?” The bartender licks his lips, his attempt to seduce the lonely vulnerable woman. Unfortunately, he’s banging on the wrong door.

“Do I look like f*****g James Bond to you, asshole? Just get me your usual and hurry up.”

Unamused by her attitude and unwillingness to flirt with him, the bartender turns on his heel and mutters something under his breath. He then disappears in the back to collect all the necessary ingredients for her choice of drink.

“Well, that was a bit harsh. You may expect a spit in your glass now.” Tilting her head to the left, her eyes search for the source of a deep voice which dares interfere.

The man is very handsome, well-built, and without company. His chocolate eyes study her with the utmost curiosity. Her expectation is, just like the bartender, this guy will also end up staring at the swell of her breasts. Yet, surprisingly, he holds eye contact longer than necessary and it is her who shifts the gaze elsewhere.

“It will reflect on his tip. He asked for it when he called me some ridiculous names and then drooled over my breasts.” She points out with a tired exhale, tucking her curly brown hair behind her ear.

“Well, he no longer calls you cute names.” The man chuckles, tapping his fingers against the bar counter, mirroring the movements of her hand. A brief smile stretches her lips. The stranger is right. The words the bartender murmured were ‘uptight b***h’.

“Besides, you can’t blame a healthy man for noticing a woman’s beauty, especially in this type of dress.” Pointing at her with both his hands, the man rotates on his bar stool. It makes her eyebrows rise and she also rotates her body to face him directly. Taking a better look at him, she realizes this man does not belong to the regular pretty guy category. He’s 10/10, the top of his league. And that body of his is more than just well-built. It’s a f*****g photoshop creation which ruins a woman’s panties. Carved into perfection and with the s*x vibe radiating around him so intensively, that one wants to crawl under his feet. But she knows better than to be manipulated by some playboy. No matter how hot he might be.

“Ah, I see. Another asshole who thinks it’s okay treating women like meat whenever they decide to switch from sweatpants to a nice dress. After all, it’s my fault, right? Like what else did I expect, since my outfit cries for opposite-s*x attraction.” She frowns and turns around, facing all the fancy liquor bottles behind the bar. The bartender is back, placing a tall glass with stirred liquid and olive in front of her. This time he avoids looking at her.

“Hmm, I just got grilled for no valid reason. Strawberry daiquiri for me, please.” The stranger signals the bartender, lifting his finger high. She almost chokes on her drink, giggling silently.

“Care to share what’s so funny?” Despite raising his voice, he did not seem to be upset or annoyed, rather curious.

“A girlish drink? Seriously?”

“Now, aren’t you a hypocrite? Just seconds ago, you tried to lecture me about prejudice and the fact that all men are sexist pigs.”

“Not all men are sexist pigs. Just the majority.” She corrects him, putting her glass back on the counter. Their gazes have locked again, having an inaudible exchange. Eventually, it is he who breaks the ice and smiles, showing his perfect set of white teeth.

Damn, this man is literally every lady’s wet dream, she thinks to herself.

“And some women use their t**s to get attention. The exception proves the rule.” Shrugging his shoulders, he focuses on the bartender, who nods his head approvingly.

If this wasn’t a five-star hotel, the two morons would surely high-five, goes in her mind.

“Ugh.” Disappointed by the shallow behavior, she rather grabs her phone and scrolls through the latest news. She stops at the article with the most beautiful piece of jewelry she could ever imagine.

***

THE AUCTION OF THE YEAR IN SEMPRE HOTEL, NY.

The magnificent and rare emerald diamond necklace owned by a private collector will start at the bid of 10 million dollars. Only the wealthiest of Manhattan's elite will gather to celebrate New Year’s Eve.

***

“Hey. Would you pass me those peanuts?” The living version of Adonis approaches her again. Unexpectedly, his bar stool is moved closer to hers. Though the way he sips the strawberry daiquiri using a straw destroys the ideal macho picture one could have drawn of this man. She glances to her right at the small bowl with roasted peanuts. Her face twitches in disgust.

“Ew. Can you imagine how many dirty fingers dipped into that bowl? It’s literally a pool party of germs and bacteria. And you wish to stuff it into your mouth.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“Am I? Tell me. Do all men wash their hands properly after shaking their d***s in the public restroom?”

“Damn, why would you ruin it for me like that? I’m never going to eat nuts again and that’s a shame because I truly love nuts.”

“Sorry not to be sorry?” She shrugs, locking the screen of her phone and putting it back in her purse. Maybe, just maybe, she could have a nice conversation with a handsome stranger without being bothered. She was quite a catch as well, but her busy schedule barely left any free time slot for adventure, and certainly, there was none for a serious relationship.

“The bartender was right. You are a b***h. Sort of. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Well, you have your agent 007 drink, I have my pinkish delight. How about a toast?” Lifting the half-empty glass with strawberry puree, rum, and cane sugar, he watches her carefully. There are two possible outcomes. She will either brush him off and he will finally stop trying to expand their little chat, or she will submit to his charm and let him entertain her a bit longer.

“To what exactly?” She asks, lifting her glass.

“That even a sexist pig can drink strawberry daiquiri while an attention w***e prefers a badass drink.”

“I’m not a w***e. If you’re looking for one, she’s sitting on the opposite side of this bar.” Her curls move wildly around her face as she points with her chin at the other woman. The woman in a tight red dress checks her lipstick in the pocket mirror every 5 minutes, playing with her long red hair nervously and straightening the fabric covering her chest so that her huge breasts don’t jump out completely.

The mysterious man narrows his eyes after he takes a proper look at the redhead.

“Nah, she’s not a hooker.” Is his conclusion.

“Why so certain? She’s alone, wearing a size smaller dress which does not compliment her figure but, on the contrary, makes her look vulgar and cheap. She’s been sipping from the same glass of wine for the past hour, waiting for the first loser to buy her the next one. Because yes, this is a five-star hotel and everything on the menu is insanely expensive.”

“You’re wrong.” He disagrees and shares his own theory. “She’s a divorcee. Got dumped by a husband for his 15 years younger secretary while she worked her ass off to be the perfect wife, raised his two kids, cooked his favorite meals five times a week, and managed to have the house cleaned. In parallel, she neglected herself for years just to pamper his ungrateful ass.”

“Hmm, interesting. How did she end up here then? In a fancy hotel all by herself, one day before New Year’s Eve?” Slowly, she switches her legs, crossing one over another, noticing how he peeks at her thighs briefly. He clears his throat before speaking again.

“First, she cried every night on her pillow, eating tons of ice cream and killing the sorrow at the bottom of the wine bottle. But then, like a phoenix, she rose from the ashes, renewed her gym membership, dyed her grey hair, and pulled out the only slutty dress she had in her wardrobe just to prove to herself and the cheating-ass ex-husband that she still has the spark. Therefore, while the kids are celebrating New Year’s Eve with daddy and his new trophy, she’s here hoping to get spoiled by some rich fucker.”

“Sounds too much of a cliché.”

“Wanna bet?”

“What will you do? Rush to her table and ask directly?”

Without further ado, he stands up and walks to the lonely redhead. Even from a distance, it is obvious that the woman is impressed by the tall muscular God in his human form who appears next to her. Instantly, her cheeks blush, the color almost matching the fire shades of her hair. They chat for a moment and whatever nonsense he’s telling her, it makes her giggle like a little girl.

“Like a retard.” The woman with curly hair and a vodka martini scoffs, although there is no one to listen to her right now. However, she must admit it annoys her to see him flirt with that pathetic cheap hooker.

“So? What’s her price?” She asks him when he returns to his original seat next to her.

“150 per night. Holy s**t, you were right.”

“What an amateur you are.” She shames him. “It’s not that expensive and she looks solid. Appropriate for you. You should have taken the deal.”

A bit of a shock may be spotted in his eyes, and she starts to regret her words. This guy is actually nice, and she shouldn’t be insulting him. Though her suggestion does not seem to harm his pride.

“Ew. Can you imagine how many dirty fingers dipped into that? It’s literally a pool party of germs and bacteria, not speaking of all those d***s which have never seen toilet paper.” The sarcasm and audacity with which he imitates the tone of her voice throw her head back. A peal of genuine laughter escapes her, and she even hugs herself around her belly. Her companion watches her in awe.

“Look at you, Mrs stone-cold vodka martini. That sound you just produced must be very uncommon. So rare that it should be labeled as endangered.”

“Back to prejudice? Just because I don’t like to have a conversation with each male who splashes some cheesy pickup lines, that does not make me stone-cold.”

“Cheesy pickup lines?” His brows arch high with interest.

“Like the one: Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” She presses her palm at her heart's side, fanning herself with the other palm theatrically.

“Oh, I know a good one too.” He grins, enthusiasm radiating from his gorgeous face. And then he tenses as he announces with all his seriousness. “Aren’t you tired? From running through my mind all day?”

They both burst out laughing, tears pushing through their eyelashes. Other curious eyes turn to them as they are becoming too loud.

“Ha-ha, that was a good one. Or: Do you have a name, or should I just call you ‘mine’?”

“Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?” He adds.

“Okay. You won. That’s the cheesiest one of all.” Raising her hands in the air, she lowers her head in defeat.

“But seriously, do you?” The question takes her off guard. She finds herself scanning him up to down, fascinated by the shape of his jawline, the size of chest muscles puffing out without any effort. And he notices her hungry observing, grazing his bottom lip while picturing her stripping for him.

“No. I’m a lone wolf.” She shakes her head, refocusing on her glass. She has barely drunk from it, so why does she feel dizzy?

“Nope. You are a tigress on a hunt.” He leans closer to her, seductively whispering the words.

“I am?”

“Yes. And you have already picked your prey. You can’t wait to dig your claws into my naked butt.” The huskiness of his voice tickles her. Instinctively, she squeezes her thighs more firmly together, hoping he would not recognize how that affected her.

“A single daiquiri and you’re already drunk.” She snorts, waving her hand in the air.

“I’m not drunk. Just intoxicated by you.” There is a moment of silence that feels like an eternity though it lasts for a few seconds only. They keep staring at each other, the temperature between them rising.

Tempting, she tells herself internally.

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” He pulls a keycard from his pocket and slides it across the counter in her direction. “A key to my room. Number 504. For you. And once you are done with your vodka martini, Mrs. Bond, you will join me there.”

“I like that confidence of yours. But what makes you think I’m such an easy target?”

He moves even closer, his warm hand landing on her knee, gently stroking her bare skin up, up, up until it reaches the hem of her black dress.

“Oh, I never considered you easy. But don’t play hard to get. You revealed all your cards the moment you uncrossed your legs to show me you’re not wearing any underwear. Don’t try to deny that it wasn’t done on purpose.” His hand creeps under the fabric of her dress, carefully exploring the new territory. And just when it’s getting interesting and her heart beats like a drum, he pulls his hand away.

“I’ll tell you something. I don’t believe in love at first sight either. But I believe in an electrifying, undeniable, and disarming chemistry between two individuals who just want to f**k each other’s brains out and then move on with their lives. So, if you agree, you know where to find me, cutie pie.”

He does not have to wait very long. She follows him to his room in less than five minutes and what happens next is mind-blowing. For both of them. She is very sore the morning after, yet the memory of the passionate adventure forces her to crave more.

“I guess it’s time for you to tell me your name.” He whispers into her ear, spooning her from behind. The way his lips travel across her neck sends a treacherous moan out of her throat. She shouldn’t massage his ego further by demonstrating how addicted her body became to his touch. After all, she came to this hotel for a job and not to get distracted.

“Patricia.” But that is not her real name.

“Huh, what a coincidence. I’m Patrick.” But that is not his real name either.

“Do people call you Pat?”

“Gee, I hope not. Pat gives me a grandpa vibe.”

He leaves the bed and walks past the bed to the bathroom. Patricia can’t resist grinning when spotting the marks her nails have left on his back after she scratched him during her climax.

“Would you like to join me?” He shouts from the bathroom.

“Later.” And as soon as she hears the door close behind him, she immediately jumps off the bed. This is not her first rodeo, and she works fast. A luxurious watch he had on his wrist, a thousand dollars in cash in his wallet. She takes it all and disappears before Patrick returns to the main bedroom.

Patricia does not feel sorry or bad for her actions. Nevertheless, there is a minor pang in her heart for leaving him without saying goodbye. They could have been perfect together.

Quickly, she shakes the thought off. She came here for a job. The main goal is to steal the diamond necklace and sell it on the black market. The list of potential buyers is growing with every minute.

The auction is taking place 30 minutes after midnight, hence she has precisely 20 minutes to do the job and leave the hotel undetected. She knows the blueprints by heart and has her whole route through vents designed. In addition, she knows how to hack the camera system and crack the combination to the safe. The whole mission is a piece of cake and soon she will be bathing in a pool of money.

When she opens the vent cover and jumps down from the ceiling, her watch beeps gently, announcing midnight. While the snobs are getting drunk, celebrating the arrival of New Year, she swiftly opens the safe and sighs in amusement. The precious green gem hypnotizes her with its remarkable glory as it shines even in the darkness of the room.

“Come to mamma.” She purrs with satisfaction and secures her posh future in her bag.

“Not that fast.” A male figure jumps down from the same hole in the ceiling, blocking her way. He is masked from head to toe just like her, and even though her competitor has a physical advantage, she will not back off.

“I was here first. Get lost.” Patricia threatens the intruder with her fist raised high.

“We’ll see about that.” The man huffs and stretches his arm toward her.

Rage nearly consumes her when he tries to grab her bag in an attempt to steal what she has successfully stolen. And despite him being bigger and stronger, she is driven by blind fury. Without warning, her fist slays through the air and meets the jaw of this rude thief. Grunting, he moves a step backward. Patricia does not waste time and charges again, catching him with two long swings on the torso. Both hands go with every ounce of power she can muster. But the moment of surprise is gone and her opponent flinches, making her miss her next hit. Using the momentum, he bumps into her with all his weight, and they both land on the floor. Patricia hisses out of pain when he elbows her into her abdomen.

“Stop this. I don’t want to fight with a woman.”

“Coward!” She bends her knee and, with a swift stretch, it transforms into a powerful kick, aiming for his shaft. He anticipates that move and quickly rolls to the side before she can succeed. They both stand up, jerking sharp breaths.

Patricia’s watch beeps again. She now has less than five minutes to get away. Enraged, she pulls a huntsman's knife from behind her belt.

“Last warning. Get the f**k lost or I’ll sheath my knife in your blood!” Circling him like a predator circles its prey, she barks more threats.

“Vicious.” is his response as his gaze follows the trajectory of a shining blade. His mind turns into a busy bee, summarizing the options quickly.

Despite having the upper hand, Patricia’s motion is slowly timed, and it gives the masked man the margin to twist away, backing and turning to the right. He catches and twists her wrist, and the weapon falls on the carpeted floor quietly.

“Ha!” Pushing her arm behind her back and imprisoning her in a tight grip, he laughs triumphally.

Immediately, she pales when recognizing that specific laughter. Stomping on his foot gives her a chance to free herself from his arms and spin around. Grasping the black bandit mask, she pulls it off his face.

“Patrick?”

“Hello Patricia.” He greets her with nonchalance. Before the initial shock falls off and she can react further, a metal clicks around her right wrist. Patrick hits her forehead with his own and she loses vision for a couple of seconds. Her skull roars with pain and dizziness. She doesn’t even realize it when he drags her across the room to the safe and cuffs her against the iron handle.

“What the hell, Patrick?!”

“Don’t take it personally. I have a customer for this pricy thingy.” Seeing him shaking her bag before her eyes, her temper sparks. Her hand smacks madly as she wishes to punch the bastard again. But there stands no chance against the thick metal. The handcuffs pierce through her skin, leaving a stinging pain.

“Hey! You can’t leave me here like this.” She groans when he climbs up to the vent.

“That’s for robbing me earlier. So uncool, Patty. UN cool.”

“I’ll find you, Pat. And I’ll cut your d**k off.”

His head hangs from above, and she hates herself for thinking he looks hot even in this ridiculous position.

“That magical d**k that made you come twice last night? Hmm, I doubt that. Tigress, you’re not the only predator here. Bye.” He blows a kiss and vanishes in the vent for good.

“Aaargh, son of a b***h!” Frustration and pure wrath morph into screams. And she makes a promise to herself to find the man who dared steal her diamond ticket to better life, as well as her heart.

Author Pen name: Diana Dee B.

Author’s works: fantasy romance stories available @ Dreame,

3 completed stories:

The Blind Bond,

Alpha King & his Trophy,

The Return of the Prodigal Alpha

2 ongoing stories:

His H(a)unted Mate,

Tempted by the Demoness

2 upcoming stories:

The Werewolf Slayer,

The Chronicles of one Fallen Witch

Author’s groups, sss: Diana Dee B. – author