A/N: Just a short one-shot. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.
Summary: Cato watched her with fascination, knowing he would kill her. Dark. Modern. AU.
Cato sat in District Two, a gentleman's club on Upper East Side, watching the dark-haired girl stomp her heels against the stage and gyrate around the metal pole. He watched her with fascination, knowing he would kill her.
Her body was too thin, not usually his type, but the steely look in her eyes forced his eyes to stay on her. He could not make them stray to one of the curvier girls. He knew then that he would take her home that night, even if it was against her will. Hell, most of the girls he took home didn't come willingly. That was part of the game to him. She would be tonight's prey, another name to add to his list of victims.
She was not conventionally pretty by any means. Her severe features and intense, dark brown eyes gave her a perpetually angry look, and perhaps, the anger inside of her shone through, too. Sometimes, she stared at herself in the mirror and wished she didn't look angry all the time, but she suspected that her features kept less trustworthy clients hesitant and away from her. For that, she was grateful.
He beckoned her over with a finger, and she took her time walking over to him. Her outfit was so immodest it should have been illegal, but he thanked God that it wasn't.
"Let's go somewhere private," he said as she danced for him.
"Private room costs, handsome," she said, shaking her breasts over him. Her voice was deep and throaty. He felt himself growing hard at her smeared lipstick, thinking about how he planned to destroy her.
"I want to take you home," he said.
Her eyes grew hard. "I don't do that. I'm a stripper, not a hooker."
She began to walk away when he grabbed her hand.
"I didn't mean to offend you."
"Uh huh," she said. "It takes more than some pretty boy trying to buy me to offend me."
"Say you'll think about it," Cato said.
"But I won't," she said.
"When do you get off?" Cato asked. "What's your name?"
"Clove, and I get off whenever I want."
Cato's lips turned up wolfishly. "I meant, when are you done with work?"
"Two."
Stupid girl, Cato thought as he took a sip of his scotch. Stupid, stupid girl. I'm going to fuck you up against an alley wall and then wrap my hands around that pale neck of yours and squeeze until you stop breathing.
Clove knew what the look in his eyes meant, but her heart remained steady. She was fearless. She knew how to take care of a guy who wanted more than he was going to get. She had lured him out by giving him the time she was done for the night, and he had pretended like he wouldn't follow her out.
She changed into a pair of sweats and checked her purse for her knife. Satisfied by what she found, she left the club through the front entrance. It didn't take long for footsteps to patter behind her. She was right. He had followed her.
She led him into an alley and turned around. "You're following me. I don't like when men try to take advantage of me."
He rushed her, but she was quicker and pulled out the knife from her purse. She dragged it across his throat and pressed a kiss to the hollow of his bloody throat. She left him there, choking on his own blood, her bloody lips glinting in the moonlight as she snuck into the night.