TEMPTING THE LONER

ISOBEL'S POV

I am running. Not in the woods like a normal cliché movie, but past blocks of apartments of a poor neighborhood. My heart beats faster with each step I take forward and every step sends spikes of pain through my skull, but I refuse to let it slow me down. When every limb in my body is on the brink of collapsing, one agonising headache won't be a reason for me to stop running.

I can't stop. If I do... only God knows what will happen to me.

My lips part, releasing a sharp breath that morphs into a scream. Despite the intensity of my cry for help, it feels as though no one hears me amidst the pursuit. That can't be right. People live in these buildings. Everyone knows everyone's business. Gossip is easy to spread around in this area. I know that because I lived here once. Yet it seems like no one was calling the police. The quietness of the night proves it. This is a very small neighborhood and the cops would speed up here if a crime is reported, there was nothing those vile people enjoyed more than taking people barely surviving in the slums into custody, yet there are no sirens blaring.

Everything tonight is fucked up.

I swallow, still moving forward. My heart thumps violently against my ribcage as I speed up.

I understand no one would invite a stranger to their house at night, especially one who is running for her life, but the more I ran and the darker the night grew without help, the more I knew no one cared. They're not supposed to but it sucks.

I run past the general, local trash dump and a frown forms on my face. The pungent smell of bins fills my nostrils and I pull my hand over my face to block my respiration a bit.

Why am I here? I don't deserve this. How did I even get in this situation in the first place?

I jump past a mini fence and sight a government scooter ahead. Sneaking a gaze backwards, I search my pocket for coins.

Come on. Come on.

My fingers hunt my pocket for any cent but I can't feel anything. I dip my hand in my other pocket, without stopping to catch my breath.

Still nothing. I can't find any coins. A terrified gulp slid painfully down my throat in desperation.

I can't see him, but I know he's here. He's everywhere. Watching me, chasing me. Monitoring my every movement and waiting for the right time to pounce. That's why despite the ache I feel in my joints and all around my body, I can't stop running. I swallow.

Maybe I should take a pause to relax. My knees can't take this any further.

I stop to catch my breath.

This brief moment gives me time to raid my purse, which I did.

Thank goodness, I found a coin!

My hand shakily holds the coin and I push it into the electric scooter. It comes on immediately.

I begin to ride. My chest heaves with every hard breath, and my body is trembling on the scooter but at least, I can relax my legs. This brief comfort gives me time to reminisce.

I'm not poor. I graduated from the best highschools and an Ivy League college. Why then am I in a neighborhood meant for the lowest class of society, you may wonder? That's something I question myself about too but my life is twisted and complicated. Very complicated.

The sound of something clashing on something metallic resounds in the environment causing my heart to skip a beat. I turn to look at it. Five dogs, begging to be freed, bark at me from behind a wired mesh fence. Thank goodness for the fence, or I'd be dead even before he catches me. I scoot further.

Everywhere is dark. The only stable light source illuminating the streets is the moonlight. I never thought I'd hate it and love it at the same time but here I am, enjoying the darkness that makes my body look like a shadow and blend with the night yet gives me enough rays to light up my path.

But the streets are empty. I remind myself. This is the scary part about nighttime. There's no where to run or stay undercover because there is easy access to everywhere. So no matter where someone hides, the person will always be found.

I look over my shoulder then avert my gaze forward quickly. I can't see anyone behind me. That may be a good sign or a bad sign but I don't care. I won't stop until I reach my destination. The honks of vehicles and chatter slid in my ears. I can already tell I'm close to the city.

The ends of my lips curl as bright lights, other than the moonlight, illuminates the path before me. I'm not so far away anymore. All I have to do now is scoot for a few minutes and I'll be there!

Hope.

A glimpse of hope replaces the dreadful feeling that enveloped my heart.

I'll finally be somewhere that is crowded with people. Somewhere he won't be able to find me. At least, I'll have a few hours of freedom before the city gets quieter and I'll be able to think.

All I have to do is scoot faster. Just a few more blocks and I'll be near my freedom....

A loud noise deafens my ears for a second. I didn't need to think twice to realise what it was nor where it came from. It's a gunshot. Slowly, yet quickly, my body is falling to the ground.

My vision blurs and my chest feels heavy.

Did he find me? How?... I was so close.

The bullet barely dug in my skin yet my body feels like it is carrying the weight of something twice my size. I hear a thud as something hits the ground. It's the bullet.

I grunt and forcefully push my other hand up to touch the hand the bullet hit. Blood is oozing out of my arm. My skin was grazed hard enough to leave me immobile. Fuck!

Warm hands hold me before my body falls to the ground.

A hot breath cascades my neck, making it harder for me to breathe. I can hear the sound of his heavy breath hovering down my skin. This makes me realise how close my body is to his and it gives me goosebumps. "I told you I'd find you. Tag." The eerie, wicked voice of my step brother echoes in my ears.

- ISOBEL -

Something about having money makes you addicted to it.

The scent. How it feels in your fingers. The respect it can give and no matter how much you have, you just want more. Greed kills the good girl training in you and you find yourself doing what you never thought you would.

But you enjoy it, of course.

For once, you want to be a bad girl and dine with rich men. Enjoy luxury with a fake smile. Not that you hate it, but because you have to smile to get more. The lust in the eyes of men as they take your presence in, the desire pulsing through their veins, and knowing you're wanted and needed does things to one's mind. It reshapes the mind to bask in the moment.

It makes what's wrong become right, after all, it aids with escaping the painful truth of your tragic life.

That's why I'm in a fucking club, half naked, dancing in front of them. Because it fills a hole in my heart not love, care or family can give.

I pour wine on my body and swirl my head backwards, turning to face them. All eyes are on me, every man in this room is getting aroused by the sight of me and every woman is jealous.

I love it.

Mainly because this will be my last night here and I plan to make the most of it.

I sit and curve my upper body backwards on the hoop that draws down from the ceiling. My legs surround a portion of it and I trap it between my thigh and lower leg, keeping my eyes on the crowd.

The key is to look at everyone of them without staring at any of them. Men want to feel needed. They love seeing a lady needy. It feeds their egos. Boost it and pretend innocent and dumb and they shower you with money. It's so easy yet so stupid. I'll never understand men.

My brows curl and I bite my lower lip gently, swaying my torso to the side and letting my fingers caress my oily skin from my toes, to my spread open legs then up to my thighs. I move my hand lower, sliding it beneath the lingerie then stick it out. I gently place the finger in my mouth.

I didn't stick my finger in me, but I gave them the notion that I did. And it ignites their hunger. I can tell because this is not my first time entrapping a man. I know what hunger looks like.

The soothing music blaring sets my body ablaze. The cheers are a different melody in contrast in my ears. There's something about being noticed amidst a ton that's pleasant. Especially in a room full of women.

I take my hand slowly out of my mouth, eyeing every gentleman and dare I add, ladies, in the crowd with lechery eyes. Letting my fingers slink on my skin, I untie the netty veil strap wrapped around my neck and it falls down to the ground revealing my not so decent, thin, georgette, thigh length, see through, body hug dress.

Underneath that dress is the nastiest lingerie a club stripper could ever put on. And they can see it. My dress makes it almost impossible not to.

Especially with all that light directed my way.

Every gentleman will gnash their teeth just to have a taste of me. The knowledge boosts my confidence even more.

The hoop starts to move and with a last stretch of my legs apart, I clap them together and clench my fingers on both sides of the hoop keeping my head arched backwards.

Water rains down my body in gentle yet rough showers. It's warm, hence evaporates. Steam is another good way to intoxicate someone. Now my dress glues my body, making my lingerie very noticeable. The first thing I do is raise my legs, which are stuck together, up and distance them a little bit while doing the sluttiest movements with them in the air, still clutching the hoop tightly with my hands. I fold one leg down, followed by the other steadily and open them wide.

This time, I heard growls. I accept the amorous advances of the crowd with a subtle grin. The time for the audience to place a bet on the private entertainer for the night has come and I already know a lot of them are going to wager on me. This is how my money comes and I am not ashamed of it.

The number one rule in this club is never to sleep with clients and customers. We're simply meant to entertain and feed their fantasies from a distance. Maybe let them touch you, only if you want them to, but just on the external body parts. Unlike the other strippers in this club, I am the most wanted. Hence, I make my rules.

And nobody dares defy them unless they never want to see my face up close again. Which they cannot afford.

The hoop whirls, giving the audience a good view of my body three-sixty. I stick my tongue out and twist it to the side, imitating a felatio. My tongue is one of my best assets. It's quite long and flexible. Just like my body. I stretch my hand to the side and grab a glass of champagne from a waitress not too far from my left and curl my tongue around the brim of the champagne flute before sticking it in then drowning the contents down my throat. This isn't part of the show but no one's complaining. I drop the glass back on another waiter's tray and straighten my posture on the hoop.

Now the hoop is at the center again. From what I witnessed in the little maneuvering amidst the stage and crowd, the betting seems to be going well. Very well in fact. Familiar faces are noticeable amongst the crowd tonight.

A shroud feeling runs down my spine. I hope I don't end up with any of them. Not tonight. I'd be bored out of my wits having to perform and feign that I'm actually enjoying being with them.

I drop my weight on the floor and roll to my side. My show's about to end. After this one, I have one more performance before I'm requested to be a private entertainer. I may give my audience quite the peak before my last performance tonight. Or I may save the stripping for my last performance before getting in a private room with one of them. The choice is totally on me.

I kneel and widen my legs on the floor, assuming a submissive pose. My hand runs down my face to my collar bones then down my breasts. I grope one tit gently before sliding my hands down. My fingers are wide on the floor and I hump my hips up and down then fall my torso to the ground. My head plasters forward. A half grin forms on my face as I hump my behind up and down on the ground.

My eyes wander around the guests once more and I sight the door. That's when I notice someone walk in. My throat clenches. I'm still performing but my eyes are on him.

The man made his way to the bar and sits. From his stance, I can tell it's not his first time visiting the bar. But his build...

Fuck.

He has a very sexy build. Putting on a navy blue shirt that hugs his muscular torso finely is the hottest man that caught my attention tonight. From his hair to as much as my eyes can see, he's gorgeous.

I spin around. My night just got more interesting. Who is this man? I've never seen him here before, yet, while on this stage, he's all I can look at.

He's the only one worth looking at. And he's not looking at me. The thought alone stings down to the bone. I'm not even sure he's aware of this part of the club. He seems so into his liquor.

The man throws another glass of whatever he ordered up to his mouth and swallows. His adjusts to the side and turns.

He's handsome.

I can feel my heart beat faster against my chest already. If only there was a way to catch his attention. My show will be over soon and a man I've never seen before waltzes into the club.

The worst part about it is I don't know how long he'll stay.

Come on universe, favour me this time and let him gaze my way. Let this man notice me. Do this as a goodbye present to me.

He turns my way.

My body burns. It's kind of hard to breathe. How can the gaze of one man cause so much heat to brew in my body?

I avert my gaze to the side and look down as I stretch my hand forward while letting the other hand caress my body.

My face returns to the bar and my throat tightens. He's still watching me. Is he intrigued? I can't tell.

I'm nervous.

Never in the few weeks I've worked here have I ever felt cautious about my moves before. But he makes me cautious.

I swallow.

Well, if he's watching, I might as well give him one hell of a show before he leaves. I raise my hand high and let the other one fold to meet it without colliding. Then raise one leg up.

I can feel his eyes linger around my body carefully.

Fuck. That makes my pussy pool. How is this possible? How can one stranger's stare do this to me?

I fake fall to the side and churn my body in the opposite direction while swaying my hips. It's all about the gentle movement of my legs this time. There's something about the movement of nearly bare, sexy, straight legs of a woman in heels that does something to a man.

Hopefully, it does something to him. Or I'll make it spicy enough to.

I squat down, keeping my knees far apart and fold my torso forward. Now my tits are resting on the ground and my hips are raised. I collapse my hips on the ground and swirl around, keeping my back on the floor then arch my legs up.

My hand makes its way between my legs then up my body. I turn to the side. He's not there anymore.

My heart sinks for a moment till I look forward and catch him behind the crowd, staring at me. He made his presence known.

My lips curls to the side. I bite my lips. If I got him watching me till now, then I'm doing something right and I'll keep doing it.

Foot steps resonate in my ears, causing my attention to waver. At the back of the stage are the staff in charge of stripper's performance. It's time for another stripper to have the stage.

I kneel. I have one more thing to do before I exit. My hands fondle my skin from my thighs upwards till my fingers touch the hem of the dress fabric and I rip it in two while letting it glue my skin. The spot light is on me and my eyes are on him while doing that.

I don't know if I was mistaken but I notice his eyes widen and his lower lip drops. This fills me with content. I stand and flaunt my hips before exiting the stage.

Let's see what happens next.

- CAMERON -

Mourning.

It drives someone to a lot of possibilities life can't seem to give. Gives us the need to be what we aren't and wonder what it would be like if positions were reversed. If I had the chance to go back in time to change things, I would.

Unfortunately, mourning is something I'm well accustomed with.

The disgusted look I had on my face as my eyes bore the smelly, rotting, bloody head of my father in the sack delivered to me that day replays in my head as I drown another glass of alcohol painfully down my throat.

Anchester, my very close acquaintance and enemy of my father, had no remorse with dismembering my father's body and delivering it to me via my request. Now I have to suffer and live with the guilt of not being there when it happened. Even after months, father's death plagues my soul.

The fall of the mighty, most feared San Su Li.

I hit my hand on the counter and it makes a loud thud as the tumbler entangled between my fingers came in contact with the pebble counter. "More." I growl to the bartender.

He obeys.

One thing about losing a mighty man whom one grew up knowing while witnessing his escapades is, it changes one's perspective. Even the mighty fall. How soon it will be depends on the man holding the power. He decides how long he'll thrive till it's his turn to crumble. In the end, it's all vanity. How I wish I'm not alive to suffer this unbearable pain in my heart due to his departure. His permanent departure.

It hurts. Saying it out loud makes it hurt even more, thinking about his death is agonising and accepting it is another kind of suffering I resist to let myself dive into but no matter how much I try to avoid the truth, it's cold, hard evidence was delivered to me.

The worst part about his death is. . . we never had a good father-son bond. It was never there and now, I never will have the chance to build one.

My father, San Su Li, creeps on this earth no more and the only thing left to show he ever existed are his ash remains and barely managing businesses.

Dwelling on this fact won't do me good in the long run tonight.

My whole life is crumbling and I'm allowing it because I can't take it anymore. That mighty man is my father! Was my father.

I swig another glass down my throat.

I don't think I want to follow in father's footsteps. The influence so many men seem to worship and gnash their teeth trying to acquire is something I'd love to avoid. Especially now.

But my mind is torn. Growing up, I never wanted to be like my father, now I want to be like him and relive his legacy. While doing things right.

If I actually can.

I drown another half full tumbler and groan. A sharp pain taints my pharynx as the alcohol runs down my throat, pinching my insides. I enjoy the twinge that comes with every swallow. It helps me forget everything bothering me. These days, my drunken state is my best state so I occupy myself with alcohol while visiting different kinds of pubs and clubs.

I love being wasted. I love not being able to think even for a minute. Of course I feel shitty immediately after the alcohol wears off and drinking this much has a toll on my health and body but I won't stop. Not till I'm completely numb to this pain creeping into my head.

"Keep it coming." I say to the bartender. He eyes me carefully for a second before walking back behind the display wall behind the counter to take a tumbler from the rack of glasses. I'm spent but haven't hit the point where I'm not so sober to think.

A buzz in my pocket catches my attention. I dip my hand in my pocket to pick up my phone. Normally, I would ignore the interruption but the caller is Emily. The one woman my heart desired for a long time but couldn't have.

I stare at my screen long enough to notice my reflection. I look like shit. My dull eyes are swollen and red with eye bags. My hair is still perfectly styled in sharp, thin, blade-like strands shooting out like a mix of curls and wavy spikes. The tip of my nose has the typical feverish pink hue. Funnily, I still look pleasant to behold. More reason why I need to drink more.

The call ends. Before I can dip my phone in my pocket, another call drops, lighting up my screen.

"Halt with the drinks and keep the seat. I'll be back." I say to the bartender. I don't know if keeping seats is allowed but I wasn't requesting. My tone said do not defy me, plus, if this place treats me well, I might become a regular.

I stand and walk to the door. The music is too loud for me to hear anything properly in here so I'm stepping outside.

The moment the cold night's breeze brush my skin, I inhale and stroll to the side then pick the call.

"Hello?" A soft voice resonates in my ears. It's Emily's. I never knew how much I missed hearing her voice till now.

"Emily," I murmur under my breath, trying to sound sane. "I've missed you." What a surprise.

"Me too. As much as I'd love the small talk, I have a hungry man to satisfy and insanely starving hormones while enjoying my honeymoon but someone decides to go rogue as he has been for two months." She blurts. This puts a smile on my face.

"You're keeping tabs on me now? What happened to enjoying your husband?" I chuckle, obviously enjoying the tease. Did I forget to add that she's married? And to Anchester, the killer of my father. Our history runs deep yet it's so fucked up but as shocking as any eye would find it, there is no bad blood between either of us.

"Keeping tabs? No." Her voice is cheery. Loud slurps slips into my ears after each word she utters. I'm glad she's having a great time. "However, having random calls and texts from a psycho step sister who's worried about her brother whom she has a crush on during my honeymoon? Yes. And I'd like that to stop."

Anastasia. That's my half sister.

I thought she lost feelings for me long ago, I guess Emily doesn't know that yet.

"Mm, if I didn't know better, I'd say you sound concerned." I murmur, trying to divert the conversation from Ana.

There's a short pause at her end. Her exhale is audible through the speakers. "I am. Very much." Emily finally says. "I can't help but be, Cameron. Especially when I can't be there."

My throat tightens. Being far from me is the best thing she can do for me because deep down, I know I still have lingering feelings for her and I'd hate her seeing me like this. Maybe I won't even be drunk if she's here. That's a maybe I'd never know.

"I'm fine. I know it doesn't seem that way but it's just a phase." I sniff.

"Lasting for two months?"

That ticked my nerves. "I lost my father, Emily!" I blurt out angrily. "We might not have had the best relationship and he was shitty to you but that doesn't change the fact that I was related to him and he raised me all my life!" She was quiet. I hate that she's quiet. I should take time to breathe before I lash out on her more than I already have. "And I'm sure we both know it took you years to get over yours." That was unnecessary, I shouldn't have said that. Emily's dad died when she was a child. Due to the trauma that caused her, she relocated out of the country till she was an adult and her relocation was only due to deception her mother made her believe. Now she's built a life here and healed from his death and every secret intertwined with it. I sigh, remembering this makes it even clearer why I should've shut up instead.

I'm fucked up. This is why I don't want to associate with anybody I know right now. I just need some air and my space. No matter how long that may be, I deserve it.

"Cameron," She starts. My throat creases, dryness panging at the depth of it. "I'm not mad at you. I never will be. I know what it's like to lose someone. I just don't want you to handle it the wrong way. I care about you, Cameron and being in your shoes once, I know that trying to meet your father down there won't bring the peace or bond you wish you two had."

Don't you think I know that?! I'm tempted to ask but I don't. I won't make her my assertive anger punch bag.

"I need you to know I'm here for you whenever you need me. Anytime. Anyday." Her voice is soft. Those words are surely comforting. I fancy her effort.

"I'll handle it my way."

"I know. And I'm not saying that you shouldn't. But when you're done doing it your way, I'm just a phone call away."

Fuck this. Why did she have to call me when my emotions are a mess? I can feel my eyes get watery. "Thank you, Emily. I needed that."

I hear a chuckle. "Now, enjoy getting drunk."

I will. "Bye. Have a lovely honeymoon." I say calmly.

I hang up before she could say a word but my mind already guessed her response to that. Probably a 'you bet I will' or 'don't have to tell me twice'. Or not, I can't tell.

I turn off my phone and dip my hand in my pocket. I don't need any more distractions tonight, like I said, I'll handle my grieving my way.

I waltz back into the club. A grin forms on my face when I sight the empty seat I left. It was reserved. I guess this bartender will be tipped well tonight.

"Five glasses of the same thing." I say to him and sit.

"Five shots coming right up." The bartender mutters and leaves to get my order. He returns not long after and serves the tumblers in front of me and fills them all in front of me. I wrap my hand around one and gush it to my mouth.

I wince after swallowing. It's strong. Very strong, just the way I want it. It won't take me long till my head can't distinguish a person from two. For the mean time, I might as well look for something entertaining.

I adjust in my seat to look around. The tired expression on my face didn't leave. I'm surrounded by women yet I feel nothing.

Another glass makes its way to my mouth and I swallow with one shot, examining the place.

My eyes widen.

I can feel my heart stop for a second, monitoring the woman dancing on stage. I don't have to look at my face to know how captivated I am. I can tell I'm amused.

Dancing erotically on a stage is the sexiest woman I've set my eyes upon tonight. I let my eyes soak her presence in that netty dress hugging her skin so tightly that it reveals what she's wearing underneath.

Even from far away, I can tell the material is flimsy. I so desperately want to rip it off her. Her movements are glorious and I can tell by the confidence in her steps that she knows what she's doing. She intends to dance this way. But she seems bored.

That's a look I've had before so I know. Like right now, I know what it's like to fake it. This distant, shared boredom creates a bond that draws me to her more than her body does.

The seductress on stage locks eyes with mine then quickly looks away. I find myself grinning with amusement before I could even notice how my body responded.

I can feel my hardness throb against my zipper.

Has this lady been dancing there the whole night? How the fuck did I not notice?

Her face...., my eyes lower to her neck, then to her tits. They're barely hidden in the thin strap securing only her nipples. My cock hardens even more.

Who is she? I stand and walk closer to get a better view without taking my eyes off her promiscuous body. I want to get a better view. I need to. She dances to capture not only the attention but the heart of her viewers with only one intention in mind. To woo. Entrap their minds into desiring her.

It's working.

I can feel my body intertwine with the movement of her fingers. My attention is drawn to her slutty waist and hips. I want my hands all over her skin. Her legs widens and the woman collapses her upper body on the floor then humps her hips on the ground, grinding into the floor.

I was in this club to clear my head and enjoy the bitter taste of alcohol as it whiles my sorrows away now my tongue wants to linger on something else.

Rather, on someone else. And I'd be damned if I leave here tonight without having to.

I think I've already found my ticket to distraction. All through the time I spent watching her, my head blacked out every other part of the world.

She locks eyes with me again. Unlike the previous time, I can tell this was intentional. Because I caught her searching for me.

Her eyes wandered to the spot I was at in desperation till it landed here and she did not look anywhere else. The smirk she tries to hide didn't pass me by. From the sync of her hips and every part of her body to the music's rhythm while her eyes are on me, I can tell she's curious about me too.

I don't let my eyes off her and she kept hers on mine. Someone walks to my side. "Are you ready to bet, sir?" The man asks.

My brow raises with interest. Without looking at my side, I question. "Bet? For what?"

"The dancer you'd have privately tonight."

Oh? My night keeps getting better.

"Is that lady included?" My fingers cup on my chin and I point a finger at the stage without taking it off.

"Yes, sir."

A grin slowly forms on my face. "What's her name?"

"Her stage name is Cleopatra."

Cleopatra. I can see why.

"How do we claim our prize?"

"By participating in the betting."

You don't say. This man is too dumb for my liking.

"We use chip tags." He quickly adds after my silence. It's hard to keep my attention on two things at once although my focus is solely on her. "Whatever amount you wager will be added to it after it's registered."

"What do I need to be registered?" I'm deprived. A starving man is a dangerous man. In the sea of men, I'd be a fool to assume no one wants her for himself.

"Hold on, sir." I wait, keeping myself entertained by her. The way her silky long hair falls on her wet, oily skin to the way her plum lips and tongue curls strips me of every thing tagging me as a gentleman. Because my dirty thoughts concerning her are anything but gentle. "Name?" The man finally asks.

"C." I say.

"ID number?" It's a number given to every person who walks in the club. It's easier to administer payment that way.

"Forty five."

"Start price you'd like to wager?"

I pause to think. Cleopatra just ripped her dress in front of me. I won't let any man be with her now. Not after I've gotten a graphic glimpse of how she looks nearly naked.

"Whatever the highest bidder wagers on her. Quadruple it."

Cleopatra walks off the stage. The movement of her hips makes my body cave. I won't let there be a chance where someone who's not me spend a night alone with her tonight.

"What are the limitations of going private?"

"Everything will be revisited with you before and once she enters your room."

We're given rooms? Perfect. I just found my early ticket to get high.

We'll be meeting again soon, Cleopatra.