Here is chapter 3, my lovelies

DFTBA xx

Moriarty's POV

It was only 2:00.

He had become bored again. After calling Emily he had locked his phone away in a timed safe, so even if he was tempted to call her he couldn't. His fingers were drumming across his dark rosewood desk.

"Fuck me!" He yelled.

He stood up and stalked across the expansive office. He opened his liquor cabinet and pulled out a crystal decanter. He filled a small glass with scotch, and proceeded to walk to his bedroom. He eased himself down on the navy comforter, huffed out a sigh, and let his thoughts run wild.

When he first saw her she seemed so exquisite, set apart from all the others. He knew he would be able to use her somehow. The smile that played on her lips as a man told jokes to his mates, the look of pity when a couple passed by yelling at each other, and the look of slight fear when the blond man walked up to her. It would've gone different if he had stopped her before she left the bar. But the again, it probably wouldn't of been much fun. The scotch he had been drinking started to warm his body. He thought about holding her shaking body in his arms. Her hair was soft as he stroked it, trying to calm her down. He had given her a drink, which he had laced. She soon fell asleep against his chest, and began to purr with each breath she took. She was like a small kitten, all curled up in a ball. That was why he had bought the Charlotte Olympias. The thought of his kitten wearing kittens on her feet made him laugh.

His kitten.

She was his.

Although she smelt of fear while she was in his arms, he could smell the faint aroma of vanilla. It was sweet and he breathed it in large quantities as he had rested his head against her neck. Moriarty dropped the glass that was still half full onto the floor. The shattering sound of the crystal sounded like a far off noise to him. He rushed down to the kitchen and opened the fridge. He riffled through the disarray of milk, and varied takeaway leftovers. Finally he found what he was looking for. He unscrewed the cap of the brown bottle poured a small amount of its contents onto a clean hand towel and hurried back to his room. He layed down in the middle of his bed and put the towel to his face.

He breathed in

He breathed out

The thoughts of her from the previous night began to float back into his mind. If he were to take her, he would take her slowly. Some girls were only worth a quick, hard, emotionless fuck. Emily was different. With the way her body moved and felt, he knew she would be fragile; she would have to be handled with care. If he wanted her to trust him, to stick around, he would have to make her feel like he cared.

He would start by peeling of her clothes, slowly. Undoing each button with deliberate fingers, and conscious care. Her wide green eyes would gaze up at him in awe, and he would pull her in so he could feel her soft brown locks against his nose. He would kiss down her temple, then kiss her cheekbones. The mouth would be skipped, and he would go directly to her neck. She would gasp at the sudden contact, and moan softly as he bit gently into her skin. She would be weak in the knees, so he would have to lift her up and lay her down on the bed. Hair draped around her shoulders, softly purring as his hands explored her body unhurriedly. Paying close attention to her small chest. Her breasts would fit his hands perfectly, and she would moan as he cherished the quickening beat of her heart he could feel drumming out of her chest. The steady inhale and exhale of breath would quicken as his lips made their way down her body. He would stay at her navel, breathing warm air onto it causing her to squirm with anticipated pleasure. He would hook his finger around her panties and pull them down, keeping his eyes locked with hers. He would blow warm air on her centre, her back would arch and her purring will get louder and louder until he-

BeepBeepBeep

Moriarty was pulled out of his trance as he heard the timer of the safe go off. How long had it been? He checked his watch.

7:00

"Time well spent." He thought. He couldn't get the sound of her purring out of his head. He had to find her. Even if she didn't know he was watching, he had to see her.

Emily's POV

*4 hours earlier than the time at which Moriarty decided to find her. It is now 3:00*

I pulled up outside Macabre. I suddenly regretted the decision to come in tonight. I was shaking, and my breath had become ragged. Every time someone passed by the car all I could see was my attacker's face. Someone tapped on the car door, and I jumped out of my skin. I turned and noticed it was just Char.

"Whoa! Sorry darling, I hadn't realized you would be so jumpy. Another late night reading those books of yours?" Asked Char, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. The sight of her calmed me down. Char was familiar, she was like family, and I felt safe around her.

"Yeah, that's it." I reply half-heartedly, "So, where's the band."

Ross tapped out a rhythm on his guitar. His friend Sean was throwing his drum sticks in the air, and Sean's boyfriend Nick played with the various sound synthesizers programmed into his laptop. If I was feeling up to par, this would've been a great rehearsal, but every time we breaked for a couple bars I zoned out and missed my cues. My voice was also rougher than usual, I guess almost having the life squeezed out of you doesn't really help your vocals. The guys were keeping it together pretty well, and so was Char, but it was I that was really disappointed.

Pull it together! Just forget about what happened, you need to pull through and give a kick ass performance. Char is counting on you, the guys are counting on you. I readjusted my scarf, making sure if covered the bruises that covered my neck.

My supportive inner voice wasn't doing too much to up my spirit. About halfway through Florence and the Machine's 'Bedroom Hymns' I was swaying on my feet, and before I knew it the ground came rushing up at my face.

When I came to, four concerned faces were peering down at me.

"Alright, give her some room. She needs to breathe." I heard Char say. Her voice was oddly muffled. It felt as if my head was filled with cotton

"Em, are you alright?" Asked Char.

"Umm, yeah, I think so." My voice was amplified in my head, and I winced at the intrusive sound. "I'm just feeling a bit tired that's all. My voice will be fine by show time."

"No Em, I'm not worried about your voice," She handed my an object. I looked down and saw it was my scarf.
"Who was it this time?" She continued, "You always get involved with the wrong guys. I know you say it's because you feel safe with them, and they care about you, and they're just overprotective, but sometimes they can get dangerous. You told me you were done with that stuff."
Char has had her fair share of abusive boyfriends, and she knew everything about mine.
"It wasn't like that.
"That what was it like doll face?"
"Its a long story, and a definite mood dampener."
"Well— you know what helped me when all that shit was going down. You can't let him get the better of you. You can't let any man tell you what you can or cannot do. You have control over you body. You are a strong independent woman and—"
"CHAR! I get the idea okay!" I said, slightly giggling. "I'm sorry, I know your trying to be serious but you sound like fucking Jaymie-Lee from Freaky Friday."
"Hey you know I love that movie! Lindsay Lohan is my idol." She says, grabbing me by the shoulders and hoisting me to my feet. "You sure you're ok for tonight?"
"I honestly don't know."

"Let's get you changed into something more comfortable, and grab a bite."
"Thanks Char." I said. I was saying it for everything she had done for me. She was an amazing person, and friend.

*5 hours later. It is now 8:00*

Our first performance was about to start. Tonight our set list had been split into three sections. One comprised solely of Florence and The Machine, one of Lana Del Rey, and one of Serena Ryder. Each set had 10 songs, so I could already tell it was going to be a bloody long night.

"Hey Em," called Ross, " You want to start with some Serena to get the crowd warmed up a bit?"

"You read my mind." I replied.

Getting up on the cramped performance space had calmed me down. I could breath easy, and sway on my feet without worrying about falling down. Char said I sounded edgy, the guys thought I was way more badass than usual. Which is saying something.
Tonight's crowd was full of regulars, everyone loved a good show and I was going to make sure they got what they cam for. The air was full of a flurry of different aromas. With each breath I took a different scent materialized in my nostrils.

Old spice from a group of lads in front of the stage.

Marc Jacobs' Daisy from the girl a purple hair, who was draped over the back of a rustic armchair.

Foreign drugs, and foreign liquor.

The atmosphere was intoxicating. I had a perfect view of the entrance. People would be ushered in by their friends, then meet new ones, and old ones. Smiles played across their faces as jokes were told, and drinks were passed around. Then, one by one, they were absorbed into the aura of the pulsing room, listening to each other's heartbeats. Hands against chest, lips against neck. They were in their own world, not worrying about the past, not distressed about the future. Just living now.

How I envy them.

I helped Ross hook all the cords to amps, and get everyone their instruments. By 8:15 we were ready to start. I turned to the band,

"Little Bit of Red?" I asked. They nodded in return, anxious to get the show started. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, and I felt at ease, at home even, on the stage.

Ross played out the first couple chords, then the rest of us joined in.

We had been playing for just under an hour, the crowd was loving it. Stompa was a hit, For You had them swaying their hips to the alluring jazzy sound, and What I Wanna Know had them dancing around and knocking into each other. Ross made the decision to finish with a slow one. Weak In The Knees is one of my personal favourites, and I was happy we were closing our first set with it.

As Ross switched guitars, and started hooking cords into his new one, I lent down to untangled a mass of cords connected to his amp. All of a sudden a wave of smell washed over me. Mint and scotch. I turned around and eyed the crowd.
Drinking
Talking
Laughing
Nothing was out of place, no one had been disrupted.
The smell intensified, but I couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from. My eyes searched the crowd frantically, then finally rested on a lone man leaning against the back wall.
He wasn't a usual. His suit was expensive, his hair was short and styled, and he was old. He seemed early 30s. Older than most that frequented Macabre. I had never seen him before, and his presence in the room changed the atmosphere. He seemed sinister, mysterious. It was him.

I was pulled out of my train of thought as Ross started strumming. A new rush of adrenaline filled me as I began to sing the opening lyrics.