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The Gentleman's Club	By : BrittGirl Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Panic! At The Disco Views: 4325 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, I do not own/or know any of the celebrities mentioned. I do not make a profit from this story, it is merely for entertainment's sake.

Chapter List
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Reviews are what make or break the story, guys! I’d love to have some feedback, be it negative or positive, so please! If you like what you read (or even if you don’t) just let me know. Some of the names in this chapter have been changed, only because I’m lazy. THANKS!

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Brendon Urie was fuming. That little bitch of an ex-girlfriend had the nerve, the absolute nerve to post shit like that about him on her blog, and then wait an entire DAY before she took it down! Stupid bitch…Brendon didn’t even know why he’d gotten involved with her in the first place. She was some cutesy little scene girl, barely legal with a voice like a fucking cat being slowly backed over with a car. But she’d been a kinky little thing, always willing to get tied up, always willing to be bent over the bed and spanked and fucked in the ass. She played into his fantasies, no matter what they involved, and then he finally kicks her to the curb and this is what she gives him? Jesus Christ, that was what he got for dating girls who called themselves Vera Valentine.

That wasn’t even a fucking name.

But he always had something to come home too, and that was what got him through his tour periods. His little Lolita, the perfect girl. She didn’t speak any English at all, Brendon had found her on a website, RussianBride4u.com, and she was exactly what he had imagined she would be. He considered her his ‘first big purchase’ with the all the money and success that the band had gained, the rest of the group had gotten cars and penthouses, but he’d gotten a girl. It really wasn’t that bad, when it came down to it all. Ten thousand in all, after the flight expenses, the fake papers, the defecting process. But she was worth it. She was beautiful and delicate, a graceful little swan in a sea of Scene Queens and groupies.

He called her Katie. Her real name was Ekaterina Jenii Petrovic, but they never discussed that. How could they? All she could say in English was ‘I’m hungry’ and ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ He had wanted it to stay that way too, Brendon knew that she would eventually end up teaching herself while he was gone on tour, but the last he had been with her, she was still struggling with things. She could say his name, that was enough.

It had been a lot of work to ensure that the girl was not going to escape him, but when it really came down to it all, there was not much he really had to fear. She had no connections in America, she had no green card, she could only speak a few words of broken English, and where would she go? But still, he had security measures taken to the extreme, an ankle bracelet that would alert him when she went off the property of the Las Vegas mansion she resided in, iron gates around the premises that were locked by a code only he knew, food deliveries for the months he would be away on tour that were pre-paid for and delivered just inside the gate by a guy who knew about as much English as Katie did, and best of all, he gave her free reign through the house. No internet, of course, the phones were shut off while he was gone, but she had food, she had TV, she had the pool and the yard, she had her bedrooms and her clothes. He always left her with projects, a room to paint and decorate how she wanted too, or a sewing project, daily chores to complete. The girl had anything she could ever want, a much better life then what she had probably used to have…

She just had to put up with Brendon, that was all.

It had been awhile since they had seen each other. Brendon had been on tour in Europe for the last month and a half, and Katie had stayed at home. But now that Vera was out of the picture (although her nasty little blog was going to be a headache for him, he was sure), Brendon was glad to be going home to his pretty little Russian captive. He needed to work out his frustrations and she cried so sweetly…

“Katie!” The gates were opened and the car was in the driveway, bags of groceries lining his arms as he headed into the big, Victorian style mansion. He had been angry on the drive over, informed of Vera’s angry Blog rant on the plane ride back to the states, but now that he was home, greeted by the sight of his second home, walking into a place that smelled of flowers and fruit and cooking, of Katie’s perfume and some sort of cookie. He closed the door behind him, re-set the alarm and dropped his bags to the ground, breathing in deep before bellowing, “KATIE!”

Almost at once, a small, delicate face peeked out from behind the kitchen door and eyes lit up at the sight of him. It was so pathetic, so sad for her. She believed they were married, she believed they were in love, despite the hell he often put her through. But he couldn’t deny that it felt nice to have a beautiful girl excited for his homecoming. That bitch Valentine had never appreciated him, not the way that Katie did. But Katie was naturally so different from Vera anyway. She was tiny, delicate, with soft blonde curls that cascaded down to the middle of her back, big blue eyes that begged so prettily, little features that were so European beautiful, so exotic and so lovely that he hardly believed she was real sometimes.

The girl ran into his arms, murmuring words she had learned in English while he’d been gone, “I was missing you,” “I am very happy you are home,” “what did you bring me?” She had picked up quite a few phrases in his absence, and he smiled happily, swinging her around and kissing her deeply before he pulled away. It was easy to pretend they were normal at moments like this, and his anger at Vera melted into a strong urge to toss her on his bed and ravage her until they couldn’t move anymore.

So that was what he did. Their fight could wait until later.
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