by Marie James
“My cock gets hard every time you walk past here.”
I can’t see her face, but there’s no change in her posture that even hints at hearing the man even though I’m yards behind her, and he didn’t bother to whisper his confession.
Clearly homeless, the man is dirty, emitting an odor that only shows up after too many missed showers. It’s chilly outside, but he seems to be wearing numerous layers of clothing, probably everything he owns. He doesn’t throw sexual innuendo at me as I pass him. I must not possess the same appeal as the green-eyed blonde a few yards ahead of me.
“Hey man, can I grab a smoke?”
My feet pause in front of him, but my eyes stay on Kaci’s back as she walks across the street, turning left down the block.
“She’s sexy as fuck, right?” My blood heats with his comment. I’m angered that he’d even chance looking at something that belonged to me, much less open his filthy mouth and speak the words aloud. “One of these days, I won’t let her get away. How about that smoke, man?”
He nudges my shoulder like we’re best buds.
I grin over at him when my prey disappears from sight. A sparkle lights his eyes as if he believes he’s just found someone either with a cigarette or the same lack of morals when it comes to persuading members of the opposite sex.
Ignoring the urgency to get Kaci back in my line of sight, I pull loose change from my pocket and show the man my hand. “Sorry man, I don’t smoke.”
Like I knew he would, his eyes narrow on the tiny packet in my palm.
“Looks like you have something better.” He literally licks his lips like the lion in a cartoon as he visualizes the zebra turning into a slab of meat.
“Not here.” Two simple words. Not one of them an invitation, but the man sticks close to me when I walk around the corner of the liquor store and let the alley swallow me in darkness. By the time I turn back in his direction, he’s so close to me the mildewed stench of his clothes burns my nose.
“What-a-what do you want for it?”
His eyes dart lower before raising up to mine. I can’t tell if it’s an offer or a refusal, but I’m not remotely interested in his lips on my cock.
“Tell me more about that girl.” I urge as I shove the change back into my pocket and hold the tiny baggie between us.
“You want a taste, too, huh?” His eyes follow the sway of the bag between my fingers as if I’m a doctor giving him a neurological exam with a pin light.
“Do you know her name?” His head shakes, eyes still entranced with the plastic baggie.
“Nope.” His jaw works again. “But it won’t stop me from tasting her one of these days.”
“You think she’d go for that?” He grunts. “She didn’t seem too interested a few minutes ago.”
“They all want it,” he confesses with an enthusiastic squeal when I lower the product into his dirty gloved hands. “They may fight a little at first, but that’s what makes it so much fun.”
Another predator mere blocks from Kaci’s front door. Protecting her will be impossible.
“You got a light?”
“Sure, buddy.” The light of the moon glints off the blade I pull from my waist rather than the flame he’s hoping for. He mustn’t register the difference because he doesn’t so much as make a peep when my hand surges upward, the metal piercing the bottom of his chin before reappearing out of the top of his head.
Unblinking eyes glaze over as his brain finally tells everything else that the game is over and it’s time to shut the factory down. Getting him off my knife and into the dumpster we’re standing beside is easier than I’d expected. The numerous layers of clothing contribute to my wrong assumption about his size. I have no clue when the trash runs around here, but it’s cold enough still that he won’t start stinking for at least a few days.
I don’t believe in God. Hell, I don’t believe in right and wrong most days. I believe in my club. Plain and simple.
But, there’s something mystical or paranormal that, if you’re paying close enough attention, you’ll notice surrounding someone who dies. The air either charges or loses all energy. It’s really hard to tell, but tonight is no different. Other than the rusty squeal of the dumpster lid when I entomb the dead guy, not another sound can be heard. The mice that scampered away when I lured him down this alley are silent, as are the natural noises of the neighborhood. Even the constant drone of the dryers at the laundromat a block over halt. It’s as if the universe is having an unscheduled moment of silence for the piece of shit predator I just cleaned from the streets.
Drawn back toward the street, I lurk in the shadows, making it to the mouth of the alley just in time to see Kaci walking back by, her face lit by the bright light of a passing car. She’s a gorgeous, pixie-like creature. She’s going to be the death of me, a siren singing her song of seduction without having to open her mouth with the effort.
“Kaci,” I pant, my lips moving without my brain engaging.
I trail her, the rest of her trip taking much longer than it actually should. She seems nervous or scared, her back tense with the emotions, but they only serve to slow her down rather than make her walk faster to the false sense of security behind her wafer-thin front door.
I smile, reveling in her new self-preservation when she doesn’t bend at the middle to retrieve her door key. The smile immediately slides away when, without pulling a key from somewhere, she turns the knob and steps inside of her apartment.
She hasn’t learned a fucking thing. I’ve killed four people in the last day to protect her, and she relentlessly continues to channel trouble, repeatedly exposes herself to threats as if she’s seeking them out. She’d be better off putting a gun to her head and pulling the trigger. At least the death would be quick and almost painless, something better than this long drawn out hobby of testing fate.
A dog barks in the distance, but my eyes never leave her apartment. My weight doesn’t shift even when my feet begin to hurt about an hour into my observations. Adding to her growing list of infractions, I notice she has only a sheer curtain hanging over her single window. Each and every time she gets off her bed to cross the room, her hazy form is easily recognizable. I both love and hate the easy view into her privacy.
Hate will be the winning emotion tonight, because it merely means that I’m not the only one who would be rewarded by simply walking down the street. Hate because she shouldn’t be giving away for free what I’m willing to work so hard for.
I don’t reach into my pocket to grab my phone until after the sixth or seventh text rings out.
Briar: We have trouble.
I huff a humorless laugh because trouble follows the Ravens Ruin MC like the fucking black plague. There isn’t a week that goes by without incident. We never get a break. Someone always fucks up. Someone is constantly needing a reminder of who is in charge. We run fucking drugs in the majority of the northeastern United States, and yet we spend most of our damn time babysitting people.
“I should’ve gone to college,” I mutter as I decide that the chances of Kaci leaving the house again tonight are slim.
Before my impulsivity gets the best of me, I pull my eyes from her window and walk back to my SUV. Shaking her and making her see the light doesn’t seem like it will be well received, so I have to figure out a way for this damn woman to take her life and her safety more seriously. I have a feeling it’s going to be an uphill battle, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.
Chapter 5
Kaci
The best thing about fear is the rush of adrenaline, that ten-foot tall and bulletproof feeling you get right before fate decides if your fear is warranted or not. It’s what makes people jump out of planes, hike mountains with little ability to breathe, and drive at break-neck speeds around a track. It’s the threat of death and injury that makes your heart pump wildly in your chest. It’s the knowledge that just one miscalculation could end it all.
It’s why it’s also an addiction, better tha
n any drug on the face of the earth, as far as I’m concerned. My body has experimented with almost everything you can imagine and nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to the rush I get when I’m afraid.
Due to the addictive nature, it’s also why it has to be fed. It’s why, instead of staying home and numbing out to the latest Netflix series, I’m coating my eyelids with color as dark as soot and painting my lips crimson. I’m not a makeup expert. I don’t have the newest Naked palette by Urban Decay. The three-dollar charcoal shadow I grabbed at the drug store works just fine.
In my experience, the guys at the parties I hit to get my rush don’t honestly give a shit what I look like. It’s the level of inebriation and pliability that concerns them more than anything else. Believe it or not, a huge percentage of college-aged men are just one bad decision away from Brock Turner status where no means maybe, and the inability to protest equals consent.
It’s a fucked-up mindset, bordering on entrapment putting these guys in situations like I do, but I figure if they were stand-up guys in the first place, I wouldn’t even be a temptation for them. The guys I go after are the ones that would hurt any other female, and it’s that level of ego and entitlement I’m looking for tonight.
My hand trembles as I dab a tissue to my lips to remove excess lipstick. Anticipation thrums through my body, forcing me to attempt picking up my cell phone twice before I have it safely in my hand. Impatience fills my blood as I wait for the Uber driver to arrive. I have a car, but I have no idea how the night will end, so I walk right past it and climb into the back seat of the hired car.
After giving him the address listed on the chat thread in a popular group online, I sit back, eyes closed, and imagine all the things that could happen tonight. Filtering out all the positive outcomes, I pick and choose the most horrific scenarios and let them play on repeat until the driver informs me we’ve arrived.
I don’t stand on the curb and analyze my choices or give myself a second to rethink. With clear focus, something that needs to be remedied immediately, I stride up to the house and push myself through the open door. Even the cool air from outside doesn’t alleviate the damp heat stifling the room from those dancing and standing in tight groups to talk.
The beat of my heart echoes in my ears as my claustrophobia kicks into full gear. I aim toward the kitchen for my first drink of the night. I usually pre-game, but my liquor supply back home is low. Being one hundred percent sober heightens my anxiety, and the buzz alone is enough to encourage me to stand in the middle of the room, close my eyes, and let it take me to my happy place, but I know myself better. The longer I wait, the more I increase my chance of running out of here.
“You look good enough to eat.”
I turn, smiling at the first guy to approach me tonight.
“That so?” I lick my bottom lip to entice him further, but his focus is on my tits. Men are so fucking easy.
He nods before lifting his beer bottle to his lips, almost as if his mouth needs something in it.
“How hungry are you?”
“Go upstairs with me and find out,” he challenges, his eyes looking past my chest for the first time. Shock fills his eyes as if he’s surprised I even have a head.
“Are you asking me or telling me?” His face is angled down again.
“Asking?”
“No thanks.” I spin around and refocus on the kitchen.
“It’s a madhouse in there. Take mine.” A red cup appears right in front of my face.
He’s cute, maybe twenty-one tops, but the cockiness of just expecting me to take his drink is exactly what I’m looking for. The other thrill I’m seeking is evident on his face.
“I’m hoping for something a little stronger.”
His grin widens as he lifts his other arm showcasing a half-empty bottle of tequila.
“Even stronger than that.” I brush my fingers under my nose, and it’s all it takes for him to understand.
“I got just what you need, baby.” Isn’t he adorable with the pet names? “Follow me.”
Anticipating going to a quieter part of the house, I’m shocked when he tells a few guys to move before plopping down on the sofa in the middle of the living room. The cup of beer and bottle of tequila drop down on the table, and he’s pulling out a vile of coke before I can plant my ass down beside him.
My mouth is watering by the time he dumps the contents out on a magazine and scrapes it into three lines. He produces a rolled-up dollar bill from thin air, much the same way he did with the cup of beer earlier.
“Ladies first.” Taking it from his hand, I give him a coquettish smile.
“Such a gentleman.” His wicked ‘just you wait’ smile betrays his chivalrous actions.
“Let me help you,” he says as I lean down and swipe the bill across two lines. His hand sweeps my hair from my face.
His anger in me taking liberties with more than one line is evident in the punishing grip of his fingers tangled in my hair. He doesn’t relent as I lift my head and bring the back of my fingers to my nose.
“You’re a greedy little girl, aren’t you?” I want to huff at his little girl comment, but the glorious burn from the coke is subsiding and numbing my throat.
His tongue licks at his lips, and I’m cognizant enough to notice he’s a handsome guy. One I’m certain many girls around here would willingly let him do anything he pleases to them, but that kind of thrill isn’t his game. He’s made a mistake if he thinks I’m going to say no or tell him to stop. I never do. Playing victim isn’t part of my adventures. I don’t imagine he’d pump the brakes anyway. As far he’s concerned, he just paid for my time and bought himself a little extra considering I snorted a line he’d intended for himself.
“You want the last one?”
His tongue licks up the side of my neck, and an uncontrollable shiver runs down my spine. This is the best part, knowing, even though he’s good-looking, I’m not attracted to him in any way.
“A drink first,” I whisper loud enough for him to hear and hope I can use the tequila to choke down the bile quickly rising in my throat. The thrill of the fear, of the unknown, of the possibility that this asshole could finally be the one to cause lasting damage is putting my fight or flight through its paces.
“There’s my girl,” he praises, raising the bottle to my lips and pouring the warm liquid down my throat. Releasing my hair for the first time, he nudges my shoulder when my eyes drift closed and angles his head toward the table. “Last line.”
He smiles with the reminder, not even bothering this time to hide the sinister glint in his eyes.
“Who do we have here?” a new voice asks.
The sofa shifts next to me as I lift and tilt my face to the ceiling to enjoy those first few seconds of the blow hitting the back of my throat. The bass pounding through the amateur sound system rattles and pops, leaving the beat and words of the song undecipherable, but I’m high enough to imagine my own music in my ears. My swaying is interrupted when a hand falls on each of my knees. I’d laugh at them for starting so far away, but I’m more concerned that I misjudged the red solo cup guy.
“So frisky,” I giggle and bat the first guy’s hand away to test him. Guy number two is circling my inner thigh with the tip of one single finger, but at least he’s made it under the hem of my skirt.
“No stopping me now,” red solo cup mutters as he clasps my wrist and forces my hand down between us. His hand lands on my knee again but moves quickly up my thigh.
The fear of him being too nice is replaced by the uneasiness his aggression has caused. I close my eyes and revel in the pounding of blood in my ears. Combined with the coke, my heart is on overload.
“Drink.”
A bottle is once again lifted to my lips, and I take a long swig without even opening my eyes. There could be a third guy involved by now for all I know. I don’t sputter when my mouth fills faster than I can swallow. I just let the liquid run down my cheeks and neck.
“Fuck yeah,�
� someone grunts.
Rough fingers tug on my thighs, and I fight him a little. Not because I’m saying no but angering red solo cup a little will ensure marks are left on my skin. Waking up with injuries increases the thrill the next time I want to go out. I live for it.
“Keep ‘em open,” red solo cup warns in my ear with another harsh tug to my leg. “You’re about to get fucked in front of all these people.”
His menacing chuckle pales in comparison to others I’ve encountered. The threat of assault in front of an audience isn’t new to me, and his puppy threat is nothing compared to the rabid bulldogs I’ve been introduced to.
“Take another drink.” A cup is tilted to my lips, and the beer does little to hide that metallic taste I’m all too familiar with. I drain the drink before I can second guess myself, and my heart somehow manages to beat even faster. My eyes open and meet red solo cups’. “Hey, baby. Ready to have some fun?”
“Shouldn’t she be awake for that?” I hear from across the room before the laced beer forces my eyelids to drop.
Chapter 6
TJ
“Where the fuck are you?” Briar’s agitated voice fills my ear as I stand across the street from yet another fucking house party.
Kaci is inside according to the tracker I put on her phone. Grateful she’s actually carrying it with her tonight, I breathe a sigh of relief, forcing me to realize I’m still on the phone when my breath ricochets in my ear.
“TJ?”
“I’m around,” I mutter. “You aren’t my fucking father. Quit checking up on me.”