#inkedpxges

The Diamond's Cut. Rafe Cameron liked the exclusiveness of the club. It wasn’t just some bar with exotic dancers who were really just hookers. This was high-class entertainment. – Or so he told his business partners whenever he wanted to show them what this beautiful town had to offer.

Today he wasn't at the club with one of his associates and he wasn't even waiting for Barry to show up. Today he sat at his usual table on his own, watching the show, drowning his thoughts with the drink in his hand.

One of the dancers caught his eye. They were all beautiful, and talented – if you considered the way they moved a talent and not some kind of learned skill to manipulate men (he for sure wasn’t one to be manipulated). But this one was something else. The redhead was stunning. Long legs, great tits, graceful posture. Striking eyes. And those lips. Damn those lips. He could very well imagine them part and moan his name.

When prying eyes were obstructed from taking any more glances, he stepped back while taking one last lengthy drag of the Marlboro and flicked it down on to the concrete carelessly, snuffing it out with his boots while smoke protruded from his nostrils. Vince let out a sigh of exasperation, sounding almost disappointed as if he hadn’t spoken to her in months even though it’d only been a couple of weeks. The brawls gave a much-needed adrenaline rush per usual, but he had longed for the presence of a specific scarlet haired beauty who tended to the injured and watched the fights with a glint in her eye. This was something completely different. How? He wasn’t certain, but he sure as hell wanted to find out. Intriguing him in more ways than one.

He smacked his palm against his chest while his jaw fell slack, feigning hurt at the words she spat at him meant for malicious intent. “Ouch. I just…uh, haven’t seen you these past few weekends, Bärchen.” Little bear. A nickname he'd given to her around the time they first met, specifically during an instance where another man struck a nerve and ended up walking off with his tail between his legs. The animal considered cute by appearance yet packed a ferocious bite when need be, looks certainly deceiving; he felt it fit perfectly. Vince awkwardly scratched the back of his head at the mention of finding out her precise location, absolutely no excuse could be mustered for that. The wall he held up started to crumble, confidence slowly diminishing the longer he stood there. Both knowing well of how that went down without the need to disclose any vivid details. Paul was unable to resist saying no to his star pupil, without a price of course.

“I’m surprised you didn’t show up in a wig.. or.. some other disguise,” Roman amuses, the slight grin he wears reaching his eyes as he admires and approaches the red head in a setting other than her workplace.

Retrieving a long strip of tear-away carnival tickets from his coat pocket, Roman lifts his hand and extends the tickets to her. “They take that.. ‘don’t mingle with the clients’ shit seriously--hmph,” his expression becomes stony as he furrows his brow and scoffs in critique of such a rule.

It was a sunny afternoon and, unusually, it was Alexander's turn to pick Luke up from school. Normally, the little boy's mother's picked him up, but that day Bonneville decided to surprise his son. Upon arriving at the well-known establishment, the man greeted a few familiar faces, making his way to his son's classroom. As he entered, his blue orbs scanned the place; as soon as he saw the little one, a broad smile overtook his typically serious features. He started to make his way toward his son, but as soon as he took a few steps, his body collided with another. "Oh, I'm sorry, I was completely distracted. Is everything…?" He excused himself, pausing his speech when he looked at the woman he had bumped into and recognized that face. He frowned, trying to figure out how the hell she was standing right there. It wasn't the first time he had come to pick Luke up, and he always took the little one to school in the mornings anyway; it was to be expected that he had already encountered her there. "Clare…?"

Rafe Cameron was made for events like this. No, he was actually born for these kind of events. Being a Cameron, he had always been at the center of Kildare’s elite. A born kook prince who had earned his place in society through hard work and ruthlessness – probably mainly through ruthlessness and being his father’s son. He had taken up the reins of the company his father had built from nothing and turned it into something even bigger, something he liked to believe his father would have been proud of.

A smug smile on his lips – he was certainly proud of himself – he leaned against one of the marble pillars of the large patio of the giant old colonial house, overlooking the garden in which the outdoor party took place. Wearing a custom-tailored suit, gold watch (unique family heirloom, not some fashionable accessory anyone with enough money could buy) on his wrist, holding up a drink to his lips, his eyes wandered over the crowd in front of him. Elegantly dressed people standing around, chatting about, sipping from their drinks, eating tiny snacks. He knew a lot of them. And all of them knew him. Soft classical music playing in the background. The musicians were probably members of some highly prestigious symphony orchestra from Europe, and here they played dinner music. The rich were celebrating themselves tonight and they didn’t care about the outside world. They didn’t care that only a couple of miles down south people still were out of power, unable to cool their food in fridges, while here there were ridiculous ice sculptures made by some popular artist standing about, having their own outdoor air-conditioning. For the people at this decadent garden party, the world beyond those hedges didn’t exist. For him that world did exist, but only as a nuisance.

Rafe drowned his drink, placed the empty glass on the tray of a waiter passing by, when he made his way to the decorated tables. The official part of the event – the big celebration – was about to begin. And, being one of the valued members of this community, he was to be honored for his achievements for the less fortunate – or some bullshit.

He found the place card with his name written on it: Rafe Cameron – CEO of Cameron Development.

Taking his seat, he looked at who was high-ranking enough in this community to be placed at the same table as him. The usual suspects. Except –

A frown appeared on Rafe’s forehead and his mouth slightly opened when he saw the red-haired woman sitting across from him. She stood out with her fiery red hair, her even redder lips. But she mostly stood out because she – though looking as expensive and elegant as any of them – wasn’t one of them. He knew that for a fact.

Flaming red hair entangled with his fingers, wrapped around his fist. Intense dark eyes gazing at him. Pupils dilating. Plump lips opening. Soft little moans. Restrained gasps. And the feel of heated skin under his touch…

***

The first time he was at the club with some business associates from Korea. He returned after that with other business partners. Maybe once a month or twice. Sometimes he was there with a business partner that looked very unlike the usual businessmen in their expensive suits. That man was quite the opposite of him, thuggish looking, with greasy black hair, rather short – well, almost anyone appeared short compared to him – wearing baggy clothes, gold chains and even a gold tooth with his ready smile. The two of them seemed way more familiar with each other than Rafe was with the other men. Sometimes Rafe came alone. He would order a drink, sit at his usual table and silently watch the show. Sometimes a smirk on his lips. Sometimes a brooding frown on his brow. He never asked for a private dance. Never, but once. And he hadn’t returned to the club after that one night, several weeks ago.

***

       Experience taught him to avoid humans when the efforts of healing sapped him of his strength. He was weak but still held strength to stand his own against others of the world ‘beneath’ the one that humans cultivated. Lincoln was a wolf that would not falter even if hunters stripped his flesh from his form. He would have rather be slaughtered than be perceived as less than the sum of his parts. Humans had worked effortlessly to romanticize his kindred. Movies and media that told stories of dual-natured beings who are close with nature. They humanized them to metaphors and ideology of creatures that lived in the darkness that simply needed the love of a human to be complete. Lincoln would have minded it, if it hadn’t made it easier for him to eat when he was hungry. A wolf was a wolf. And that was why he was angry. The years of torture and caused so much damage to his body that most of his abilities were focused on stitching together every wound no matter the severity of it. 

The diner wasn’t crowded. That had been fortunate -- - for them. Lincoln would have possibly snapped if a lunch rush had come in and weighed down the little staff that had shown to work that day. Only a few patrons and majority had come in to escape the heat. It was a quaint diner -- - if not tacky with its ‘authentic’ cajun theme. The wolf ran hotter than humans so being back in the kitchen would have been too much to handle. Instead, he had given the teenage waitress a break and stood at the counter, wiping it down to a near shine. He had smelled them before they had walked through the door. Another customer. He suppressed the urge to snarl while he cleaned off his hands and looked up at the one who approached. “I ‘an I be ‘elpin’ ya today, sha?”

Lincoln’s accent was the only thing in the diner that could be considered real cajun.