Pushing a lock of blonde hair away from his eyes with a calculated elegance, Evan was fully aware of just how provocative the gesture was. It never failed to have precisely the effect he desired. The bassline of the music throbbed through the walls and floor of Revolver, through the collective bloodstream of the figures wrapped in heaving darkness. It sounded like wild abandon. It felt like a prayer.
Glancing nonchalantly in the direction of the beautiful boy who was pretending not to look at him but was looking anyway, Evan was pretending not to notice but was noticing anyway. He knew how this would play out, as soon as he allowed eye contact to last for more than half a heartbeat. It always played out the same way. There was no rush. This one would wait. He was both interested and interesting.
Evan had a preference for a specific kind of broken. He paid little attention to the people who purchased his wares, however well put together they may be, because what he sold was a tool for self-destruction and self-destruction was dull and unappealing to him now.
He liked the ones who needed someone else to do the destroying, the ones who would lean in to his touch as his hands slid around their neck, or melt against his body as his teeth sunk into their lip. The ones who would close their eyes and breathe an ecstatic sigh as his fist connected with their jaw.
There was no grey area, no dubiousness of consent, as far as Evan was concerned. This mattered to him a great deal and he was nothing if not up-front and honest about his intentions. He always stopped when they asked him to. Or he would have, if they ever asked. Which they didn't.
He had left plenty of them with bruises, some with split lips and blossoming contusions, even one with a couple of broken bones. Only small, comparatively unimportant bones. They probably healed fine. They always wanted it, welcomed it, occasionally begged for it—a delightful sound. And none of them had ever, ever, asked him to stop.
Tonight's potential entertainment was particularly exquisite. The most delicious thing about him was how utterly dangerous he looked, so tempting. Too tempting. Evan knew it would be difficult to hold back from a face and body so artfully sculpted, to restrain himself from doing lasting damage.
He recognised the thin ice under his feet but he couldn't stop himself from stepping out a little further and delighting in the first treacherous hint of the shattering to come.
The subject of Evan's interest had arrived with a group of people, all expensively dressed and casually wasted. Although he had spent all night standing with them, occasionally making a half-hearted attempt to engage in conversation, his attention had been directed towards Evan with a series of short glances and small but deliberate shifts in attention which said, unmistakably, I want to leave with you tonight.
The broken ones always found him. They always seemed to know how much more beautifully he could break them.
Once Evan had finished the evening's round of handshakes, where product was exchanged for cash with such expert subtlety that the transactions went completely unnoticed, even to those standing within a few feet, he wandered towards the door of the back room to give Chance his cut of the takings.
On his way, he paused momentarily in front of the boy who had spent all night watching him, leaned in close, carefully avoiding any actual physical contact, and breathed against his neck, "Wait here."
The beautiful boy said nothing. Evan smirked as he walked away, thinking, happy birthday to me.
YOU ARE READING
Car ThievesScience Fiction
In the world of the immune, survival is taken, not given. The year 2027. Edinburgh, Scotland. Disease has swept a deadly path through society. A nightlife mogul with a violent past, a sadistic drug dealer, an artist craving companionship, a privileg...