His Heart Is Mine

Chapter 1

I swirled my drink in my hand, gazing out into the sea of sweaty bodies and swaying hips. The club was full to the bursting tonight, and my choices were varied and plentiful. Dressed to attract, I wore tight black leggings with tall boots and a white blouse, the two top buttons undone. My hair was tied in a knot above my head- it was black tonight.

Tossing back the rest of the whiskey I turned, leaning on the counter and flipping my hair. "Another," I said, the barkeep winking and nodding. I took it from him, managing a small sip before two arms snaked around my waist, pulling me against him. Beer-breath blasted against my neck as the guy leaned over my shoulder, and I snorted amusedly before turning towards him. He spoke first.                

"What's a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?" He asked, giving me a drunken grin. His breath made me feel vaguely ill.

"Getting away from stupid arseholes that flirt with every cleavage they see," I replied, rolling my eyes. "And careful about where those hands are wandering. I bite." More than you can imagine.                          

"Oh, I see I've found a fiesty one." He laughed. "My name's Brandon, call me Bran."                                    

"Natasha," I said, saying the first name that popped into my head. I extended a hand, and he shook it, still grinning like an idiot.      

"So. Do you have a girlfriend?" I asked innocently, curling a strand of hair around my finger.                      

"Not tonight I don't," Brandon guffawed, thinking himself a genius for such a "witty" remark. I smirked. One of these ones, then.                                                                                                                       

"Oh, sounds like someone's a little unfaithful," I winked, laughing girlishly.                                              

"Nah, she probably ain't either. But sometimes there are things worth being unfaithful for," he growled, his eyes travelling over me. And we have success.                                                                        

"Oh? I'm classified as a thing?" I pouted, flicking my tongue over my lower lip, wanting to smirk as his eyes followed the movement. He shifted, and a glance downwards gave me a view of what his little friend thought of me.                                                                                                                                      

"No no, definately not," he stated, chuckling. I laughed with him, and leant my elbows back on the bartop, my shirt lifting a little. "Do you wanna dance?" He asked stupidly, and I inwardly rolled my eyes. Idiot. Too easy.                                                                                                                                            

"Why not," I shrugged, dropping my drink onto the counter and moving onto the floor with him. 

We kept it clean whilst dancing, and it was clear that he was trying to get me as drunk as possible, though it was clear enough to see that my tolerance for alchohol was way beyond his own. He was smashed after we finished taking shots, and after the song we'd been grinding to finished he positively dragged me out into the chilly night air. 

We were walking through the park when he grabbed me roughly by the waist and shoved me up against a tree, crashing his lips rather painfully down on mine. I responded by giving a small moan, pulling him against me. The whole time I was almost wanting to laugh. After a few moments we were both down on the ground, and we gave the old lady walking her dog a mild heart-attack. Brandon was strong, but I was fast. I was straddling his hips, and surprisingly all our clothes were still- vaguely- on at this point. When I pushed his hand away from where it had been snaking under my top, he began to get agressive, rolling over and pressing me down into the grass. I decided to put on a show and make it look like a gave a shit.

"B-brandon, you're hurting me," I stuttered babyishly as he started biting my neck and pinning my arms to my sides.

"Too bad then," he responded, giving me a dark grin.

"You're an arsehole," I pretended to gulp, weakly attempting to push him off me, all for show.

"Watch your mouth," he slurred, starting to attempt to unbutton my blouse. This time I let him, before rolling us over  so that I was back on top. I leaned down, my warm breath fanning out across his neck as I whispered into his ear;

"I wonder what your girlfriend would say." I drew the knife quietly and quickly from my boot, slipping it smoothly between his ribs; the same place as always. I pressed my hand over his mouth as the usual spluttering, gagging noises erupted from his throat, carefully avoiding ruining my perfectly good clothes as blood fountained thinly out of the wound. When he finally stopped moving I rolled off him, kneeling beside his corpse and making a small neat square above where his heart was, tucking it into a little Starbucks bag when I had finished taking it.  I then kicked his body into a ditch, wiping all my lipstick marks and fingerprints off of him carefully whilst buttoning up my blouse. "Your heart is mine now," I whispered eerily, before turning and stalking off.

I walked back to the club in silence, clutching my little bag daintily and walking with care. I tossed the package carelessly through the window of my car, before deciding to go get another drink. As I walked through the door, a tall man with black hair and dark brown eyes swaggered up to me, extending a hand towards me in that way men do when they think you're drunk.

"Devon," he said flirtaciously, smiling at me in a way that told me he was mildly intoxicated. I smiled back prettily, pushing hair out of my eyes as I grasped his hand and decided who I was going to be this time. Succeeding.

"Rebecca."