The Winemaker's Dinner: Dessert (The Winemaker's Feast) by Dr. Ivan Rusilko Page A

person he’d loved so dearly had been taken advantage of by this evil, empty creature standing behind him. Inebriation was no excuse for unfaithfulness, whether consummated or not, but the malicious intent that had instigated the situation was intolerable.
    Damian had ruined what he had with Jaden for no real reason at all—just a drunken haze of frat boy antics and perverse mind games. How fucking dare he?
    Anger, confusion, and pity ripped through Ivan like an emotional tornado, leaving nothing solid in their path except for a voice. Above the noise came the voice that had counseled him on the beach the morning after his heart was broken, the voice that had urged him to numb his mental anguish with hard work and even harder fucking, and the voice that now demanded he should have retribution for all that had been lost—for himself and for Jaden. The freak had returned. And he was pissed.
    Without hesitation Ivan stood, feeling the frenzy of hormones and emotions that energized his body, readying him for confrontation. He turned to look at the man who had wronged his right, who had deliberately, and without care, ruined his life and his one true chance at happiness: Damian Gris. The little faux French fucker deserved at the very least to have his teeth kicked in, the freak advised as Ivan’s muscles swelled. Sounds and sights appeared brighter and louder than they had in months, and finally his desire and the freak’s were the same: retribution.
    “So did you ever figure out what flipped her out?” Damian’s friend inquired, still absorbed by the story.
    “Damned if I know. One minute we’re standing there kissing, and the next minute she’s in hysterics. All I did was called her something stupid like girly, or baby, or—”
    “Baby girl?” Ivan offered, abruptly entering their conversation. He offered a wide, menacing grin as the pathetic excuse for a human turned to identify who had spoken.
    “Can I help you with something?” Damian’s friend inquired.
    Not even sparing the guy a glance, Ivan raised his hand to silence him. His eyes, which felt as if they were beaming fire, locked on Damian’s icy blues. In an instant he had mirrored Ivan’s aggressive stance.
    “Dude, why don’t you just piss off and leave us the fuck alone?” his friend suggested.
    Not letting his focus falter for one second, Ivan refused to acknowledge the guy. Toe to toe, he faced the demon.
    “This is the cocksucker I was telling you about,” Damian said with a laugh, his eyes widening in recognition. “Jaden’s ex boyfriend.”
    As if the two men exuded some sort of testosterone-driven beacon, a small group began to form around them, the crowd sensing something was escalating.
    “You know, you should thank me,” Damian sneered. “I saved you from getting screwed over later on. Little bitches like that always fuck us over in the end.”
    Was that Damian’s problem? Had he fallen in love only to get his heart crushed? Was this what happened when the freak took full control of the man? He became a womanizing, egotistical bastard like Damian Gris?
    Ivan just shook his head. Pathetic . Damian didn’t deserve a verbal response, nor did he deserve a fist, but he certainly didn’t deserve to walk out of this place without learning a life lesson.
    The freak screamed again, and Ivan lunged forward, a jolt of excitement surging through him as he prepared to unleash upon Damian exactly what a creature of his magnitude deserved: the back of his hand.
    Every muscle in Ivan’s shoulder flexed as the back of his hand extended toward the side of Damian’s pretty-boy face. As flesh met flesh, Ivan returned a little of the embarrassment, pain, sorrow, and loathing he’d endured courtesy of Damian. The adrenaline rush and sting in his hand were more gratifying than every sexual encounter he’d had in the last six months added up and multiplied by ten. The freak’s demand for retribution matched his thirst for climax, and they