Page 79 of Filthy Savage

OPHELIA: I take it you aren’t upset anymore? (Double red exclamation points).

Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I send her a quick response but don’t go into detail because the woman she warned me about is indeed here. And she’s walking straight for me.

I’m still upset. I’m trying to be trusting. He ended it completely with her and asked me to move in with him. He basically told me he loved me. But I gtg. She’s here.

Jasmine moves toward me. She’s wearing much of the same as she was the other day. A short skirt that almost shows her vagina lips. This time, on top, a crop top that shows off the fact that she’s not wearing a bra by exposing her underboob.

Her hair is teased and styled out to there. Her makeup is thick and dark, and her lips match her nails. They are both cherry red. On her feet are heels so high that she almost looks like a baby giraffe when she walks.

I hear one of the clubwhores behind me snicker, and I bite the inside of my cheek because I’m about to burst out laughing at this woman. I don’t even look behind me to see which clubwhore it is. They’re all pretty nice girls, as far as I know, unlike this bitch standing in front of me, looking like she’s about to rip my hair out.

She can try, and I know it’s been a while since I had to defend myself against bitches like her, but I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again if I have to.

Although, I’m not one to fight over any man, so she’s going to have to attack me personally before I show her what I’m made of. And believe me, I will show her every inch of what I’m made of.

“You cunt,” she barks a little too loudly for as close to me as she’s standing.

I smirk, refusing to show her an ounce of my true emotions. “Usually, they call me Spencer or Clink’s sister. Not many people call me a cunt, at least not to my face,” I say coolly. I hear the same clubwhore who is sitting close behind me snort at my words.

“He’s not yours to have,” she grinds out.

Placing my hand flat on the bar, I push myself from my seat and slide off it to stand up tall. I’m not as tall as she is in her hooker heels, but I can still take her. Heels or no heels.

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are,” I begin, “but Brew is a grown man who can choose who and what he wants,” I state. “And he isn’t choosing you.”

Jasmine’s gaze is cold, and if I felt as intimidated by her as I did the other day, the way she’s looking at me could makeme feel some kind of way. But now that I know more about the situation, now that I’m seeing her, I can’t help but feel sorry for her.

It’s not just the baby thing, either. That part is sad, and I do have empathy for her. But it’s the fact she’s trying to hold on to this man and has been for ten years, and he isn’t sticking, no matter her tactics, no matter how much guilt she tries to use, or how tightly her fingers grip him.

He wants no part of her. At least that’s what he’s telling me. If he was lying to me about what he feels and the way he acts, he wouldn’t be the first man to do such a thing. But I don’t think he’s giving her false hope.

I think they’ve just been in a comfortable rut. One that she was hoping would eventually change, and it has, just not the way she wanted it to.

“He’s not yours. He’s mine. Get your skank ass out of here,” she growls.

I open my mouth to say something, although, to be honest, I’m not sure what I’m going to say. Someone else’s voice comes through from behind me, so I don’t have to say anything.

“Why don’t you get the fuck out of here, Jasmine? Nobody fucking wants you here anyway, especially not Brew,” Vixen calls out.

“Fuck you, whore,” Jasmine growls.

Vixen snorts. “I might be a clubwhore, but at least I’m not desperate. You need to leave town, start over somewhere not fucking here.”

Jasmine growls and takes a step toward me. She missteps, and her ankle rolls a little before she straightens herself. I almost laugh but decide not to make the situation worse. So, instead, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from busting out in laughter.

“I’m not the desperate one. This little cunt needs to go the fuck away,” Jasmine says, lifting her hand and pointing her finger at me.

And I’ve had enough. I really don’t care that she called me a cunt. It’s the desperate part that I take offense to. Because I was more than ready to run away and be alone for the rest of my life, but it was Evan who talked me into staying.

Leaning forward, I look directly into her eyes. “Listen, you little cunt. It’s time for you to go. I’m Brew’s old lady, you ain’t shit, and you need to turn tail and run.”

Vixen laughs behind me, but Jasmine doesn’t find me funny. Instead, she lunges for me, and we both end up on the floor. The disgusting, sticky clubhouse bar floor. This fucking bitch.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-ONE

SPENCER