Chapter 92: Serial Philanderer

Evan continues to stroke Avery's skin beneath the jacket and Avery fights him without moving her hands or drawing attention to himself. She moves her hands subtly, pushing against him. She feels a part of him hardening and she brushes her hands over his groin.

"Get hard so fast?" she whispers with a sneer, "For me or Lisa?"

"You have to ask it yourself," Evan says, pushing himself against Avery's hand.

Evan stifles a gasp upon feeling the warmth of her hand. She's the only woman who can turn him on like this.

"It says it needs to figure that out for itself," Avery whispers.

Suddenly she pushes Evan away, zips up her dress, grabs her purse and takes out the key card for the presidential suite. Upon hearing the sound of the zip, Robert opens his eyes and surveys the scene in the room.

"Is Avery inviting Evan to come back to the room with her?" Robert wonders, "Evan will be thrilled."

Robert can't help but blush when he thinks about what may happen in the suite. To everyone's surprise, Avery throws the card on the table in front of Lisa.

"Have fun, Mr. Howel," she says, "I'll leave you two to enjoy the rest of the evening."

"Is Evan's wife surrendering to his mistress?" everyone wonders.

Evan clenches his fists and stares at Avery with a burning look.

"Mrs. Howel, where are you going?" Robert says, trying to block Avery's exit from the room "The grand finale Mr. Howel invited you to watch hasn't started yet."

Avery sneers.

"They must be insane to think I'd care about some ridiculous show," the thinks, "It's obvious that they're more interested in making a private show for me than in what's going on on the stage."

Avery takes a deep breath, "I have to go to the restroom."

She wants to escape from the smothering environment of the private room. Surprisingly no one tries to stop her. As she shuts the door to the private room she hears the sound of glass shattering, but the sound-proofing in the club is exceptional; as soon as the door shuts behind her she can't hear a single sound from the private room. 

Avery leaves the room and enters the hot public space of the club. Though it's warm and smells like alcohol, she feels like she's walking on air. She knows that Evan is intentionally being difficult and that she shouldn't let it bother her, but she still feels annoyed.

"Why am I letting him get to me?" she wonders, "Is it because Evan saved my life and got injured for me?"

Then she shakes her head as if the thought is absurd. No one knows better than her just how she's suffered over the last three years. She'd despise herself if she made the same mistake and allowed herself to care for Evan again.

As Avery wanders the dim halls of the club she sees oil paintings of men and women intertwined in sexually explicit positions. The paintings are different but they are similarly erotic.

Some young waiters rush through the hall to serve VIPs as quickly as they can. They cast impressed looks at Avery and press themselves into the wall as they pass her. Avery bends over slightly to lift her dress so she doesn't accidentally step on it. Suddenly there are hurried footsteps behind her and men in black suits rush her way.

"That way, come on," orders the man in the lead.

He pauses to give Avery a swift but admiring look and then keeps moving.

Avery notices that the men have guns. A club is a place for all sorts of people—as long as a guest has money to spend, they're allowed into the club. Patrons include the men who steer the economy and politics of the world and crime lords and mafia dons.

The young waiters are used to seeing guns in the club and they make way for the men to pass. Avery doesn't give it much thought and walks in the restroom which smells of a faint but pleasant fragrance. There is not a soul in the restroom, but Avery feels uneasy. She tells herself it's all in her head and opens the door to the stall. Suddenly she's pulled into the stall by a strong force. A forceful hand covers her mouth and presses her against a strong chest.

"Hush," a man's lowered voice warns her.

Avery's right hand is twisted behind her back and her body is pressed against the stall door. The man covers her mouth with his hand so that she doesn't have a chance to yell. His hand smells nice as if he's put expensive lotion on it. Avery curses her luck—she's just managed to escape one disaster and has found herself caught in a worse one.

Hurried footsteps approach and she hears the rough voice of a man shouts, "Inside."

Avery can feel the man exerting more force on her arm. The footsteps get closer and closer. The men must be looking for this man. Suddenly a gun presses into Avery's waist.

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"Shout something," her captor hisses.

He releases her arm but Avery doesn't dare to act rashly because of the gun. Her body is still pressed against the door.

She takes a deep breath and tries to keep her voice calm, "What?"

"Make sex noises," he whispers.

His voice was low and his breath skims over her earlobe, sending a strange numbness to her body. Avery unconsciously bites her lower lip.

"Is this how he plans to save himself?" she wonders.

"You don't know how?" he asks with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"He sounds calm as if he's used to dangerous moments like these," Avery thinks, "Either that or he's totally unhinged."

He moves the gun upwards from her waist and holds it at her temple.

"Need some incentive?" he threatens.

Avery knows that he can't really kill her—if he fires the gun the other men will find him immediately, but she also knows that there are other ways he can hurt her.

"Aren't you afraid it will draw their attention?" Avery asks.

Avery's face is against the door so she can't see his expression.

"So what?" he whispers, "At least I won't die alone. If I have to die I'd rather do it with a beauty like you."

His tone and his easy charm make him sound like a serial philanderer or a playboy. Avery knows he'll let her be killed too. She can feel her heartbeat pounding in her temple, and shudders away from the coldness of the gun's muzzle. She knows she doesn't have any choice.

"Ahhh," she moans.

The sound lacks sincerity.

"Do you lack experience?" the man whispers, "I'm more than happy to help you for real if your imagination fails you."

The man suppresses laughter as he teases her. In spite of the urgency of the situation, Avery feels completely embarrassed.

"Who can fake the sounds of pleasure with a stranger? Especially when he has a gun to your temple?" Avery thinks.

"Put your gun away," Avery hisses, "Let me do this free if you don't want to get caught."

The stall door is locked, and there's nowhere for her to run. He lowers the gun without a moment of hesitation and releases his grasp on her harm. She suddenly turns around, pushes him against the wall and grabs the gun. With a steady hand, she points it at his heart.

She is surprised to see that the front of his shirt has been slit open with a knife. The torn fabric reveals a square of gauze, taped hastily near his heart. The gauze is stained red with fresh blood, and it looks like the wound is quite recent.

"Moan," Avery orders him.

"What?" he asks with an interested gaze.

"Make sex noises," Avery says.

She looks at him ferociously and moves the gun closer to his heart.

"Sweetie, don't you know that men moan too?" she teases.

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