After a long day of filming at his adult film studio, Bane Entertainment, trying to get his new leading man and leading lady to stop acting like pussies, and toughen up to make his latest BDSM movie a success, Victor Bane needed a night of fun, but his idea of fun wasn't the same as any other 42-year old man. His idea of fun was picking up some random girl at a club, taking her back to his place and fucking the shit out of her, until she screamed for mercy. Of course, she would scream for mercy, if he decided to do more than just screw her, if he decided to...kill her. Sometimes, the aggression inside him needed to be released in another outlet. If the random little slut he chose to take home with him was a lousy lay, well, he would no other choice, but to get rid of her, in his own sick and sadistic way. While some murderers might be quick to kill their victims right after a lousy sex romp, he liked to prolong his fun and amusement, by taking her down to his basement, tying her up and torturing her...slowly. His best friend and fellow business partner, James Cunnigham, referred to that basement as his "torture chamber," and it was. That basement had seen so much blood, pain, agony, and heard so many screams, so much so that if those concrete walls could talk, they would never shut up. They could write a book on his criminal life.
Seated at the back bar of The Key Club along Sunset Boulevard, Victor held a half empty glass of scotch in one of his very, large hands, Macallan 18, his regular. Sometimes he would order Absolute Neat, but it was almost always Macallan 18. He was clad in his best suit, a black Gucci suit with a red dress shirt beneath. Whenever he entered a club, he gave the room a quick once over, looking for the right woman, or perhaps, the right victim to turn his night around. Sometimes he found her and sometimes he didn't, and unfortunately, tonight, the club was running low on prime choice beauties, and if they were to his liking, they were attached to some punk kid. While he wouldn't have any trouble taking the little pricks out, especially being a man of his size, he wasn't in the mood to get into a fight and get thrown out on his ass. He needed a stiff drink, and he wasn't going to waste gas trying to find another club to select his next conquest. He was already here. Lifting the glass up to his lips, he tossed his head back and downed the last of his scotch, setting it down on the bar with an audible 'clink' and waving the bartender over, ordering himself a double. The bartender grabbed the scotch bottle and obliged, filling his glass once more.
Victor nodded in regard, picking up the glass and bringing it up to his lips. He was about to take another sip, but froze when he noticed a brunette slide up onto the stool to his right out of the corner of his eye. He cast his steely green gaze in her direction, giving her a quick once over, his tongue sliding across his lips as he took a gander at the plum dress she was wearing, and her delictable cleavage peeking out of it. He was about to flash her a smile and introduce himself, when her words stopped him, catching him by surprise. He blinked, his brows arching expectantly, a grin slowly curling his lips. She'd heard of him. This prime choice little slut had heard of him. "Oh really." He chuckled softly in delight, setting his glass down on the bar and turning slightly on his stool to face her, leaning a little closer to her. "And just how much have you heard about me, sweetheart? You've obviously seen my films. Tell me...which one got you wet the most? Hmm?"