Sick Bastard

Sick Bastard

A Sick & Twisted Love

Jaci J

Sick Bastard © 2015 Jaci J

All Rights Reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below

[email protected]

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, any place, event, occurrence, or incident is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created and thought up from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover photos;

Bigstock photos (
http://bigstockphoto.com
)

Jorgophotography 44412043 (Photo of man)

Zigi 18683591 (NYC Photo)

Cover Art; Margreet Asselbergs of Rebel Edit & Design

Authors Note: This book contains elements of stalking, which some readers might find upsetting.

This one is for my monster boy, Ty.

I hope to God you never read this & if you do you’re grounded until you’re 30.

This book is proof that dreams do come true.

Never give up on something you love.

Always do what makes you happy.

I love you monster baby!

Dana Hook
, my book bitch.

Without your encouragement and support, I wouldn’t be able to get this all out there.

Thank you for your insanity, your humor, your love, and your hard work!

Thank you for putting up with my shit and impatient ass!

My Sister
,

For always dreaming big with me.

One day we’ll be people watching out of a high rise in all those cities with our b-nocs.

One day we’ll get out of here together, it’s a promise!

Love you!

My girls,

DM, Brook, Jessica, Catherine, Freya

Thank you for the support and taking the time to read the book for me!

Margreet
Asselbergs,

Thank you for all of my amazing covers!

Thank you for helping me to fulfill my dreams with your creativity!

You’re amazing!

My Beta’s
,

Thank you for always taking the time to read my shit early!

Sam Price, Lena Gaitanou, Chris Alderson Kovacich.

Thank you for your kind words, your helpful feedback, and your support!

I appreciate all of your hard work, and even your criticism!

Thank you for everything!

I especially want to give a very special thanks to
Lena Gaitanou
for helping so much with advice and the time you spent helping me with the Italian words and phrases. You have been invaluable during this process and I thank you so much. You are a rock star with a huge heart.

And for all my readers who read my shit.

Thank you from the bottom of my badmouthed little heart!

You read it and love it, then I’ll keep writing it!

Thank you for your constant love and support!

The 1975 – “Pressure” & “ Fallingforyou”

Beyoncé – “I Care” & “Rockets”

Hozier – “Take Me to Church”

Banks – “Drowning”

Miguel – “Pussy is Mine”

Lykke Li – “No Rest For the Wicked”

Calvin Harris – “Summer”

Panic! At the Disco – “Miss Jackson”

Childish Gambino – “Do Ya Like”

Neon Trees – “Foolish Behavior”

J. Cole – “Power Trip”

The Notorious B.I.G – “Fucking You Tonight”

Vince Kidd – “Sick Love”

Kendrick Lamar – “Poetic Justice”

Table of Contents

Thank you

Play List

One

Two

Mr. White Horse or Shining Armor Guy

Three

Mr. Creepy Stare

Four

Mr. Master Of His World

Five

Mr. Super Sexy Personality

Six

Mr. Serial Killer

Seven

Mr. Expertly Tailored Suit

Eight

Mr. Too Many Personalities To Count

Nine

Mr. Devilish

Ten

Mr. Knight In Shining Stalker

Eleven

Mr. Stylist As A Personality

Twelve

Mr. Twelve Personalities

Thirteen

Mr. Car Aficionado

Fourteen

Mr. Boundaries

Fifteen

Mr. Breaking And Entering

Sixteen

Mr. Accommodating Gentleman

Seventeen

Mr. Remorseful

Eighteen

Mr. Unsure And Untrustworthy

Nineteen

Mr. Liar

Twenty

Mr. Bang Bang Shoot ‘Em Up

Twenty-One

Mr. Watchful

Twenty-Two

Mr. Tragic

About the Author.

His love is a beautiful, amazing blessing.

His love is also a hard, hurtful lesson.

I’m just not sure what’ll be more painful, the blindingly beautiful blessing or the achingly sick lesson.

Royal Prick

London

I cram my purse and coat into my tiny work locker and slam it shut, giving a good twist to the lock
I
had to buy. I didn't have time to go home and change before work so I'm stuck getting ready here. Luckily I had on a little black dress that was work appropriate because there’s no way I can change in our tiny bathroom and not drop something in the toilet. I know this from many personal experiences.

For such a fancy place, they sure skimp on luxuries for their employees. A terrible one stall ladies room, ripped couches in the employee lounge, and tiny unlockable lockers for our shit. The owner is a cheap sleaze ball who doesn’t give a shit about the ones who make him his money.

I'll be out of here in two weeks, I remind myself.
Two fucking weeks
. My two weeks’ notice has been given so I’d be done with this place, giving me two weeks to concentrate on studying and finals so I can graduate in the next four weeks. But until then, I have two weeks of hell left to get through.

I need to stop thinking about what this place is lacking and my ass of a boss. It'll just irritate me, thus ruining my night and I can't afford to be annoyed at work. I don’t want anything to mess with my tips. I take a few deep, calming breaths, fluff my hair, and dab on a little lipstick. Last, but not least, I put on my game face and walk out onto the main floor. The lights are muted but I can see that the dining room is full tonight as I scan the floor. It's Friday night so it’ll be busier once seven o'clock hits, so I make my way into the bar to get started.

“Hey, girl. Mr. Williams and his party will be here in ten minutes and he requested you, of course.” My co-worker Lena calls from behind the bar, wearing a huge smile on her pretty face. She's a petite thing with wild blonde curls and a lovely doll like face. Her eyes are big and blue and always smiling.

“Thanks, love,” I call back, returning her smile. Lena’s one of the few girls I enjoy working with.

I work at an upscale restaurant/bar called The Blue Lounge on the upper east side of New York City. I'm a waitress, but I can do just about everything here, except the cooking.

Being a waitress isn’t my ideal job, but it helps to pay for utilities, groceries, and half of my tuition for business school, so it’s worked out. I may not
need
to work or pay for any of these things, but I prefer to do it and earn my own money. My grandfather haggled with me over it for a while, but he eventually came to understand my reasoning and accepted my decision.

Many of the girls who work here have regular customers. Most of them are men from the many financial companies that overrun this city, such as Wall Street, bankers, CEO’s. All the billionaires, elite, and big wigs of New York mingle here after a long, stressful day of sitting in their plush offices, harassing their hard working employees.

I will say I do well around this joint. Men come here for the eye candy, expecting to flirt and get attention, so I give them what they want. It’s something I learned from spending a great deal of time with my grandfather and his business partners. It’s a distasteful profession, but it’ almost over.

I take a quick glance at the clock from behind the bar. Mr. Williams should be here any minute now, giving me just enough time to prep his table. With a quick hustle, I set up my tables for the evening. As soon as I grab a handful of menus, my first group shows up, just like clockwork.

Mr. Clark Williams is one of my regular customers. He’s here every Monday and Friday at exactly five forty-five. He works in finance on Wall Street, or some shit like that. It’s not my job to keep up on these things. He comes in with different business associates twice a week for what I assume are business meetings. Although, I don't think I’ve ever heard them discuss anything business related. They usually talk about money, sports, and what I’d look like naked.

I'm too busy and uninterested to pay much attention to his group tonight. I’ll be dealing with them all soon enough. Just as I’m ready to escort Mr. Williams and company to their table, I see my next group walking in, so now it’s time for me to bust ass. “Good evening, Mr. Williams. Right this way.” I usher him and his party to their usual table, but he’s already starting his shit. Just because I know it’s coming, doesn’t mean I’m ready for it.

He leans into me, placing his hand on my lower back. I fight the urge to step away but I dredge up my polite and proper attitude, going for a friendly smile. “London, darling, you look even more beautiful than you did last week,” he compliments me in what he must consider a seductive voice, but I find it silly and needing work.

Mr. Williams is, if I can remember correctly, in his late forties. He's a decent, but average looking man for his age with dark brown hair, sporting a little peppering of gray throughout. But believe me, he’s nothing to lose your panties over. His expensive tailored suits make him seem distinguished and powerful, yet none of it makes me find him attractive, and I’m a sucker for a well-tailored suit, so that says something.

I walk him and his party to their table with no further incident, but I feel their eyes on me as I walk ahead of them. It always makes my skin crawl. For anyone who thinks otherwise, of course it bothers me, but I’ve learned to shut it out because I know at the end of the night, I’ll be going home with a lot of cash, all from the tips I make. This job consists of getting eye fucked by lots of men and I knew it when I got the job, but tonight there’s a little extra creepiness running up my spine. I work to ignore it and get them seated, handing out their menus and giving them a moment while I move to seat my next table.

I can’t shake that something seems off tonight. The air in the room feels stifling and heavy, which is
not
normal, at least not for me, so I shake it off and return to Mr. Williams’ table to give them the specials. Acting as if I’m the best goddamn waitress in the world, I smile and flirt. This is what they want.

“Would you all like the usual?” I ask.

I already know what their order will be; a bottle of bourbon and enough glasses to equal the men at the table.

“Yes, thank you.” Mr. Williams answers right away. Easy.

Turning to leave, I’m stopped by a voice that sounds demanding and a little annoyed, “Lady, you didn’t ask me what I wanted to drink. I don’t want the usual. What
I
want is a Jack and Coke. Do you think you can handle that?”

The cockiness in his voice sets my teeth on edge since I can hear the smirk in his deep voice. Who does this cocky asshole think he is, trying to humiliate me like this? I don’t recognize the voice so he’s not a regular as far as I can tell. My need to see the face that has such a demanding tone has me holding my breath as I turn around.

The sight connected to the voice is just that…a sight. He’s devastatingly handsome in a very uncharacteristic way. Harsh angles and dark features make him some sort of beautiful nightmare. He’s attractive, but most of all, he’s sexy in a brutal, scary way. I’m completely mesmerized by him. How did I miss him to begin with?

His eyes are intense. His jaw is strong and defined and his nose has a slight crook, like someone had the balls to punch his cocky ass in the nose. Good for whoever did that.

His dark, unreasonable hair is a mess. It looks like he either spent the time to style it that way or ran a towel through it and called it good.

As he sits in his chair like he’s some fucking god, he stares back at me with his arms crossed over his chest and an annoyed pout to his pursed lips. A man stands stoically behind him, melting into the shadows with his eyes straight ahead. Who does this guy think he is, the fucking President? Or is he some sort of aristocratic Royal Prick? Jesus, whoever the fuck he thinks he is, he really needs to relax.

Putting up my defensive pose, I hold my head high, square my shoulders and glare right back at him. He's gotten under my skin with only a few words, but those words were said intentionally to be rude and condescending. I may be his waitress, but I’m not his bitch.

I'm snapped back to the present when a hand touches my arm. “London?”

Shit, I've been caught staring by the whole table. “I
um
… yeah, I'm sorry,” I stutter out hopelessly. Way to be professional, London. Mr. Dark and Dangerously Sexy throws me off balance and I’m pissed about it.

“It's alright, beautiful. That was rude of me. Let me introduce you to the new guy.” Mr. Williams says with a smile, “This is Mr. Marx. He's the new owner of the company we work for. Mr. Marx, this is
my
London, the one I mentioned to you.” Mr. Williams says as he introduces us, but I barely register what he says. I can't stop gawking at Mr. Marx, who most certainly has my attention in more ways than one.

He gives me a small, cruel smile on those delicious lips of his. Everything about him is strong and menacing, and so fucking arrogant. It’s sexy.

My mind snaps back to Mr. Williams’ comment;
his
? I involuntarily roll my eyes. It’s a reaction to all dumb assholes. I just can’t help it. I wanna tell him that all the men who come in here think I'm theirs, but it's pointless. He believes what he wants. “I've been trying to convince her to let me take her out for a long time, and I think she’s finally coming around. It won’t be long now, ain’t that right, London?” No, you fucking dimwit. He’s so damn dumb.

“Maybe someday, Mr. Williams.” I say, giving him a sweet, placating smile and pat him on the shoulder. Now that I’ve done my own eye fucking on Mr. Marx, it's time to work.

I can’t help taking one last look at Mr. Marx, whose face has changed and looks even more irritated, if that’s possible. What a moody, sexy asshole. “Let me go get those drinks.” I sing at Mr. Williams, patting his arm again.

I turn to leave, but not before Mr. Williams smacks my ass. God I hate when he does that. ‘
Remember that five hundred dollar tip
,’ I remind myself.

I straighten my shoulders and walk off, knowing Mr. Marx’s eyes are on me as I go. I'm not able to resist the urge to look back. Call it a sick fascination, but sure enough, he’s staring at me, just like I thought he’d be. A thrill crashes through me but’s dashed just as quickly. He doesn’t look happy. In fact, he looks downright murderous.

Putting on a happy face, I pretend not to care but sadly, I know it fails me. It's hard when his hateful eyes are boring into me from across the room. It’s hard to act happy when he looks like he hates me.