She sat at the bar, looking like a disappointed princess. Pensive, she toyed with her drink. Stirring a gin and tonic with a swizzle stick, the rest of her was still except for the distinct deep breathing that made her cleavage strain against the thin little nothing of a turquoise silk dress she was wearing. Just watching her sit there alone was too much for some, and one by one through the evening they had approached. Men came to sit beside her and by the persistence of her cold, disappointed indifference, had left one by one.
Another man made an attempt at her, drawn by a quality of slink and unreachability that was almost like the challenge of a sword thrust in a stone, begging for someone to come pull her out of her mood, make her smile, take her home.
This one was different from the rest of the daunted from the earlier evening. There were no attempts to flatter, charm or amuse.
"How much?" He said.
Her brows drew together in a storm and she said "Excuse me?"
The guy turned to face her and she got a good look at him. Tall, handsome, wide shoulders, very nice body. Formidable, really. Cold. His face was twisted into a hard mask of cynicism. His voice and attitude were high-tensile arrogance. "I've seen at least four men come up here to try to jolly you out of your adorable PMS. So I'm asking you straight, bitch. How much? I've got money, I wouldn't mind fucking you."
Her hand in one smooth motion swept the gin and tonic from the bar and into his face. She stood up to walk away and he grabbed her arm. "Fuck you, bitch. I offered to pay. Now I'll just make sure you can't walk. This leather jacket you just ruined is worth more than anything that fine piece of ass you have could perform anyway."
She tried to wrench her arm away, but another man stepped up behind them and put his hand over a different angle on her arm, wrenching it a little further and releasing a short gasp from her. She flushed crimson as her husband's voice cut its way into her awareness. "Is my whore of a wife bothering you? I sure hope not. She trolls for more ass here. I'm sure she didn't think I'd be home tonight. But I do happen to be. Isn't that right. Honey." His voice began soft, ramped up to contempt, and then softened to conversational again. "My name's Tom by the way. This bitch is named Mina. What's your name?"
Enjoying her discomfort and tightening his grip on her arm, the man at the bar drawled out a short laugh and then let go. "Well, my name would be Stuart. I don't think you have a woman that's worth much of a good God damn. Maybe you should do something about that."
Tom looked thoughtful and cruelty spliced his voice. "You know, I think you might be right. I think this gal needs a sending-off party. One last hurrah for her to remember me by. You up for it, Stuart?"
Mina started to struggle, but Tom held her arm at such an angle that there wasn't much she could do without breaking it. Seeing her look thoroughly humiliated and helpless appealed to Stuart, so he just drawled "Sure. Think you can keep her from scratching your eyes out or screaming before we get out of this shithole?"
Tom smiled. "She'll do anything I say. Won't you?" He dropped a kiss on the back of her neck, where her skin was prickling. "Honey." He prompted her with another twist and Mina nodded helplessly.
Tom meets Stuart's eyes and an accord is reached. Stuart rises and says "I like what you've done with her, I really do."
Tom escorts Mina out behind Stuart, speaking conversationally as if he were discussing the family dog. "All she really needs is a firm hand."
The bar wasn't in a particularly high-class neighborhood and a cheap hotel was within walking distance. "What do you say, Mina? Cheap sound good to you?" Tom mocked her and she didn't speak. Head down, shoulders slumped, she was shaking.
Tom got the key from the front office, while Stuart stayed out front with an anticipatory smirk. She was escorted into a dark room that smelled vaguely of mold and disinfectant. She made it two steps inside before Tom's voice made her freeze in place. Her terrified expression made Stuart's fascinated gaze focus on her face, savoring her fear.
Tom's voice was rueful. "I'm really going to miss her. She's a nice piece of ass. A nice piece of everything. But she's a whore who can't be trusted for five minutes alone. I'll hate to see her go."
Stuart stripped his jacket off, chuckling. "Yeah, sure. Whatever, man. One bitch is as good as any other. Get one and they just start to go off, you know. The shelf life for a whore is less than a carton of milk. Good fucking riddance."
