Beautiful Things Evil People Do

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  No authorities will be involved. All reward, no risk situation for the right suitor appreciating violent sexual encounters.

  I agree to struggle, play the role of victim, and provide you with a challenge. You agree to use protection, not bruise any flesh above the neck or below the wrists, and incite fear in me. If I do not entertain your advances, I will cause a commotion, using any means to show non-consent, and do anything in my power to flee. Again, no authorities will be contacted.

  Obviously, due to the nature of the request, no references are available.

  If interested, please do not contact me.

  Just surprise me.

  Jynx

  Under the lights of the casino, I smugly grin at the ad she updated hours ago. I’ve managed to rack up quite the stack of chips at the blackjack table. “Are you out, Sir?”

  I snicker and shake my head at her ending hook—Just surprise me. I check my watch. “I’ve been here for the last eight hours. I should grab some food.”

  She whispers, “I’m off in an hour if you’re interested.”

  “Thanks, Millie.” She is cute, but her type speaks of missionary and not much more. “I appreciate it, but I may meander The Strip for a bit.”

  “You’re welcome, Jynx.”

  I’ve been quite the naughty boy since attending the Dower wedding. I went back to Phoenix, packed up all my shit, and prepared for the contract to end. We had a grand time Friday and Saturday celebrating, even though all I could think about was attending her graduation—her in nothing but the cap, gown, a sexy pair of heels, and riding me for hours.

  Congratulations, sweetheart.

  Here is a present of my cum.

  Nah, I’m not that much of a douche. If I was her suitor—not that I do such ever—there would’ve been jewelry with amethyst—her birthstone—and loads of cum. Diamonds and amethysts if I planned on hitting all three holes.

  But I wasn’t that guy.

  Boyfriend material.

  Gag. Kill me now.

  Wang already took his flight back to Chicago this morning, but I decided to stay for a couple of extra days to indulge—trip to the spa, a few bottles of bourbon, countless chips. She graduated with her Master’s in Psych, and I’m celebrating—for a girl I don’t know.

  Life was good as I attempted to drown the thoughts of a girl I could do nothing about.

  I was trading problems again, but I was good at it. Empty glasses and stacks of money offered up a pleasant reprieve. I had hacked into her—Abigail Renata Maines, who they call Echo—but what could I do?

  I found out from the friendly wine shop manager, Morgan, that the source of my stumble and subsequent remission from all logic would be visiting Vegas for a few days with her friend. I wasn’t sure what I was hoping for, but the rush of adrenaline was intoxicatingly delicious. I hadn’t felt this alive since I was twenty-five, spying in a window at a naked teenage girl in the middle of the night.

  I was losing my shit fast.

  But fuck if I was about to stop now.

  After all, I had come this far. I was damn steadfast in my downward spiral. If I was circling the drain, I was determined to hit rock bottom at supersonic speed and end this with a fabulous assault.

  What can I say?

  I was born bad.

  But was I that bad?

  What I didn’t know is if I could get away with it. Her ad said no authorities would be informed, but what were the odds?

  I had to trust the girl trusting the untrustworthy.

  In the evening sun, I light a smoke and walk toward her hotel. I’ll play a few rounds and scout it out. I end up grabbing a burger and finding a relatively secluded spot to watch the passing crowds.

  I don’t give off the aura of a deranged psychopath in my black slacks and starched shirt. I appear like a damn white collar, which I guess I am on the surface, but the truth is I cannot wait to be home—barefoot in jeans and a t-shirt. I’ve spent far too many weeks in dress clothes.

  About forty-five minutes later, a horde of people emerges from the performance hall. They’re all glammed up and ready to lay it down on the tables. The energy is infectious amongst them as I note the two young girls giggling.

  “Oh, Jesus,” I mutter, wiping my mouth. “There she is…”

  I throw my half-eaten burger in the trash as I follow her from a distance. Her new hair color—a frozen chocolate hue—sets off her pale skin and incredible features.

  Crap, I’m losing my shit.

  What am I thinking about doing?

  If possible, she’s even more lovely than before. And far more innocent looking than I remember.

  What the fuck am I doing in Vegas stalking this girl?

  They stop and play the slot machines, but I hang back and observe her from a distance. God, I would love to stick my dick in her wetness and be the one to give her exactly what she wants. But how?

  You’re pushing the sanity limit, J.

  “Shut up,” I mumble under my breath.

  I catch myself smiling when she wins. She is cheerful, joyous, and happy.

  And you’re the asshole that is going to hurt her—forever.

  I think about my internal dilemma—someone could make her unhappy for the rest of her life as long as the ad is up. That much is guaranteed. Some putz will take advantage of this poor girl, just like Chuck hurt Celeste, and Echo may not live through it.

  Her precious smile will vanish.

  God, J—what are you thinking about doing?

  Reasoning with myself, I pace between the boutique and the pizza joint. If I do the deed, she will likely pull down the ad, but I am a stalker. I get off on the thrill of the hunt and the pursuit of the chase. I’ve never actually caught—kidnapped or abducted—anyone. First time for everything, right?

  God’s honest truth is—I’ve never raped anyone.

  I can be violent with belligerent males, but nothing like this.

  Never toward a woman.

  Jesus Fucking Christ, what am I thinking about doing?

  Nothing I haven’t thought about a million times before.

  I sit down, feeling slightly lightheaded, and contemplate my next move. She cannot keep doing this, but persuading a twenty-two-year-old girl to do anything else will only cause her rebellion. I know; I was twenty-two once. A very long time ago.

  Shit.

  With my elbows on my knees, I bend my head down, only to look up and spot her, making a beeline for me. Her friend walks over to the slot machines, and Echo stands still, staring in my direction. I hope she doesn’t remember me, but I note the tilt of her head as I shake mine once.

  Don’t do this, girl.

  I’ve been close to guys who do the shit you’re begging for—don’t do it.

  Please, I’ll beg you not to go through with it.

  I long to sit with her over coffee and tell her how perfect she is and that she doesn’t need a scheme because plenty of great guys would kill to have a chance with a girl like her.

  She could be my fucking daughter for chrissakes.

  We’re fourteen years apart; she will never listen; this will only land my ass back in prison.

  I rack up the excuses trying to talk myself down.

  She hasn’t met the one yet.

  He is on the way, but she has no patience because of her youth.

  Just wait, pretty girl.

  I beg, plead, and bargain with the devils in the darkness, knowing they’re my brethren—my kind. The perfect guy will show up when she least expects it. Just hold on for a little bit longer.

  I can’t decide if I’m rooting for her to hook up with a random guy. Or praying he isn’t me.

  One very bad man is considering doing something horrifically vile to save you.

  She smiles and turns away, not knowing I know or that I’ve cracked into the system and been stalking her for weeks.

  I’m the fucking villain.

  I stand and spot her checking me out; I’m the guy she should be running from, not
flirting with.

  Run far away, girl!

  Don’t grin at me.

  Don’t taunt the wicked.

  We’re so far apart…so far away…so many years.

  I’m almost forty, and she’s barely over twenty.

  I know better.

  And that is why—I cannot do this.

  7

  Don’t Make Me

  Jynx

  I check out of the hotel and grab a cup of coffee. I need an open road to prevent suffocation. I have to get my head on straight.

  I don’t want to be in a crowded airport waiting on an overbooked flight with that much obtuse energy surrounding me. I want away from it all, including my mind.

  I put my bags in the back of the sports car. I brought the old dogged out girl up from Phoenix. The rental company won’t give a shit which location I leave it at as long as I pay the damn bill.

  I sit down, situating everything—from putting my coffee in the holder to opening my water bottle. I crank on an eighties rock and roll mix, roll down the windows, and open the roof. I put my sunglasses on.

  I must drive to exorcise the fucking demons manifesting inside of me.

  Backing up, I notice her waiting on the valet.

  “Where the fuck are you going, Echo?” I pull off to the side and wait as she nervously shifts her weight between her feet. “Why are you so anxious?” She smiles as the black SUV pulls up. “Mama-mobile,” I snicker. “You should go, J. Forget that hot piece of ass that you shouldn’t have anything to do with and get the hell out before you drown.” I shake my head, arguing with myself. “But if I leave, she’s as good as dead.”

  Fuck it.

  I light a smoke.

  I’ll pay the fucking cleaning bill.

  She zips out of the lot like a damn race car driver, and I hit the gas. I don’t know where the fuck we’re going, but I follow her ass. She drives like a maniac, whipping in between cars and heading out to the freeway.

  South on 93, we do more than 90.

  We’re going to get pulled over.

  “You sound like such an old fuddy-duddy,” I laugh, knowing I have a suped-up drag car sitting in the garage at home. I wish I had some clue as to where we were racing. She’s veering through traffic and finally gets into the fast lane. By accident, I end up directly behind her ass.

  And the bitch brake checks me.

  I have a good mind to flip her off and dust her because she won’t keep up with me. We’re stuck behind a semi, doing seventy when I spot her a car length distance and swerve into the right lane. I wait for her—not because I am a gentleman—but I’m having a damn good time fucking with this girl.

  She dodges in front of me and floors it.

  I never knew a Mama-mobile could do that in those hands; I stand corrected.

  I’m chain-smoking and losing ground because if I keep following her so close, she’s bound to know. Hell, maybe she already does.

  Again, I say—fuck it.

  Only this time, I whip past her and take the lead. “I ought to brake check you.”

  She grins at me.

  Yeah, she knows.

  I tap’em.

  And she flashes her brights at me.

  Goddamn, she’s a piece of work.

  The traffic clears up when we hit I-40, but she is still shadowing me. The problem is—I have no idea where in the hell we’re going. She’s zipping around as we hit a good open road. “What are you doing, girl?”

  She darts around my car and flashes her damn tits. Jesus. Help. Me. I grin and point for her to take the lead.

  We’re driving, with me following and having a grand time for several hours. She is bouncing in her chair, probably singing, while I play watchdog to make sure this poor girl doesn’t kill herself. I don’t know what the fuck I am doing. I’m taking it as it comes, on the fly, and crossing my fingers.

  Half an hour out of New Mexico, she slithers over to the far right lane and exits. “Shit.”

  Her car screeches at the curb of the shoddy looking gas station, and I lurk off to the side in the parking lot, waiting on her. “I gotta pee!”

  Keep in mind, this girl doesn’t know who the fuck I am—but she also doesn’t seem to care. As she opens the gas station door, I bravely step out and yell, “Give me your keys!”

  She tosses them, and I catch.

  I move my car and hers to the gas pumps and fill them. I check her tires and wash her windows. “What the fuck am I doing?” I ask myself again as I scrub her back window.

  “I don’t know, but thank you.”

  “Where the hell are you going?” I ask, drying the edge with a paper towel.

  “Birmingham.”

  “Why?” I ask, not looking at her. I can’t. She’s too damn beautiful with her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

  “My brother is in rehab. How old are you?”

  “Thirty-six, child,” I reply with a grin, dropping the squeegee in the bucket and pulling out my phone. “Let me drop this bitch off in Albuquerque, and I’ll help you get there. I can fly home from Bama.”

  She giggles, “Where is home?”

  “South Carolina.”

  “You’re native Southern,” she guesses, wrongly. I don’t bother to correct her. I reluctantly glance up at her as I remove the pump from her tank. She’s chewing on her lip. “Do you have a name?”

  “Not one you need to know.”

  “So you want me to let you drive my car to Birmingham, but you won’t tell me your name?”

  “Call me J.”

  “Okay, J, I am A.”

  Liar.

  She hands me a water bottle and a bag of sunflower seeds from the black plastic bag on her arm. “Do I look hungry?”

  “You look like the kind of guy who eats sunflower seeds,” she replies, getting in the car. She shuts the door and quickly rebounds back to my side, grinning at me. “You have my keys, J.”

  “I do.” I grin, opening the bag and taking a mouthful of seeds. “You want them?”

  “Please?”

  “Are you going to trust me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you keep showing up—the Dower wedding and Las Vegas—was it coincidence or purposeful?”

  I arch my brows and defiantly smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “I would,” she says, grinning. “But you’re not going to tell me.”

  “Nope,” I reply. “I gotta piss. If you’re interested in having me get you safely to Birmingham, don’t fucking leave, E.”

  I wink.

  Echo

  Sitting in the car, I wait until he disappears inside. My hands tremble with the suspicion that he knows about the ad.

  God, he’s freaking perfect.

  I hit the gas as I spot him in the checkout line. He shakes his head.

  “How bad do you want it, asshole?”

  I enter the freeway and soar. I could take an alternate route, but I have never done this—any of this. I call Selia and explain the whole story of the wedding until now.

  Her only response, “Is he cute?”

  “I don’t fucking know!” I yell, spotting the sports car several cars back. “I haven’t gotten close enough to him to know. He’s mysterious, dangerous, and sexy as hell.”

  “You’re a fool if you do not find out what this guy wants,” she scolds. “You’ve been waiting for some low-life to have seedy sex in all your holes, this guy buys your fucking gas, and you ghost his ass? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “I’m scared,” I whimper as my palms slick on the steering wheel. “He’s big.”

  “Hopefully, in all areas, if you know what I mean.”

  “Selia!”

  “You didn’t say—I want a little rapist. It would help if you thought about that earlier. From what you’ve told me, he more than fits all of your criteria. I say get on that D and ride until it ejects you.”

  “You’re of no help.”

  “Look, you’re the one
who wanted someone to assault you. You knew, you even said, he would be a stalker. This guy is clearly stalking you. You got exactly what you asked for!”

  “No,” I say, crying. “This guy is right behind me and grinning from ear to ear, Selia.”

  “And if you recall, I told you, one slip of the tongue and you would run like the wind, which is what you’re doing. Stop freaking. Have some fun with the guy. Loosen up. He bought your gas. He’s not going to chop you into bits.”

  “But I’m alone!”

  “Uhh,” she stutters. “You were going to be alone in an alleyway being raped too, sweetheart.”

  “How do you know he’s not going to kill me?”

  “Because it is quite apparent that he has a working heart, and he cares,” she assesses. “And again, you’re a fool if you let this one go.”

  “Shit.”

  I hang up the phone and drive for another two hours to outside of Albuquerque with a strange man following me. I zip off on a farm to market road and stop in a deserted parking lot. I step out, and he does the same.

  “I will let you take me to Birmingham.”

  “You left,” he chastises, slowly approaching me. “Why?”

  “Because you scared me.”

  “Did I scare you, or did you scare yourself?”

  “Both,” I honestly reply. “Lead the way to the car rental company.”

  I feel his steady gaze on me, but I can’t look up. His finger lifts my chin. “I’m not going to kill you.”

  “… Is that a promise?”

  “Yes,” he says and I nod. Surprisingly, he pulls me into his arms, holding me close. My God, he smells divine like musk and sandalwood with a hint of spice. “I’ve got you, Echo.”

  It’s perhaps the greatest words anyone has ever said to me.

  “You know my name.”

  “I know many things,” he says, smirking and walking me to the car. He opens my door. “Follow me.”

  “You’re a gentleman.”

  “Hardly.”

  Why do I do it?—I don’t know.

  There is something about him that I trust. Gut instinct or stupidity. I feel that we’re together for a reason, and if I don’t try, even if I get hurt, I will regret it for the rest of my life.