Erica is first acquainted with Kate through Derek. The woman fits easily in her own skin, cocky, which Erica narrows her eyes at—there is already a cocky blonde bitch in Derek's life, thank you very much—but she makes him happy, so Erica can't complain.
The next Erica hears of her, Kate has used him and abused him and tossed him out like a dirty rag.
Erica finds him in his apartment, sitting in the dark.
"Just leave it," he says into her shoulder. "It's not important."
"Sure it isn't," Erica says, stroking her hand down his back, and knows right then that there's going to be blood.
Kate's smile is as vicious as Erica remembers.
"You're going to leave Allison alone from now on, darling," she tells Erica. "She doesn't need trash like you making trouble for her, you understand?"
"Maybe trash like me would rather be out making trouble for you," Erica says, batting her eyelashes.
"Oh, is that what this is about?" Kate asks, looking Erica up and down.
Erica licks her lips.
Kate's smile shifts, though it doesn't get any less vicious.
They don't bother with much more than that—they don't even bother to go for the bed. They spin in the space like they're dancing, doing battle, steel-toed boots against stilettos. Kate uses her hips and hands like weapons until she has Erica properly pinned against the wall; luckily, that is where Erica has always been able to do the most damage.
She clings and presses forward at once, checked in by Kate's surprising firmness, and lets her nails bite where they will. Kate grins and winks before kissing her, though it's hardly a kiss. They go at it like sharks, only after the blood.
She wishes she could bite Kate's throat out. She sucks instead, makes Kate groan like she's dying. She uses her teeth, digs them in hard. It's almost good enough.
Something catches her ankle and things twist then, until Erica finds herself facefirst against the wall, wrists pressed into the paint by one of Kate's strong hands. The other is down Erica's skirt.
She squirms, hissing through her teeth. It's nothing like what she wanted; Kate's fingers are quick and clever and slick with spit.
"I don't think this is what you came for," Kate murmurs in her ear, breath hot, "but don't worry. I'm generous."
Erica hates her enough to spit, but can't stop herself from riding those fingers. Pinned between the wall and Kate's soft, hot body—all leather and jeans and skin—she growls, sobs a little, and then comes.
"She's the worst," Erica tells Derek, shaking with how much she means it.
"I don't want to know," he says, but still pulls close, resting his head on her shoulder.
This time, in the dark, they cling to each other.