by Marie James
“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 than 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 tak
e 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.”
I hit the end button and shove my phone back into my pocket before he can utter another word.
“It’s more fun inside,” a twinkly voice says beside me. “Join me?”
Cold hands tug on my bare forearm until I pull my hand free from my jeans pocket. A pretty girl with blonde hair similar to Kaci’s but having the wrong color eyes smiles up at me. In a past life, or a mere couple of weeks ago if math is your thing, I wouldn’t have joined this girl inside with the other partiers. A couple of weeks ago, I would’ve bypassed the front door altogether and urged her into the shadows with me. Fucking her against the side of the house, no matter who was around, would’ve been my first goal, but I’m not here for this chick.
“Why are you out here alone?” The question is second nature, especially considering why I’m here in the first place. These damn college chicks are supposed to be educated, but they don’t seem to have any concern for their safety.
“I’m not.” Her brow furrows as she looks
around and realizes she is in fact alone. “My friends must’ve gone inside already. Come on it’s cold, and I need some alcohol to warm me up.”
The only reason I let her tug me across the street and up the steps to the house is that Kaci is inside, and I can’t protect her ass from outside.
That voice in my head that’s been telling me to leave her the fuck alone since I dumped that bum’s body in the dumpster silences immediately the second I turn my attention to the living room. Sandwiched between two assholes, Kaci’s head lolls on her shoulders. With the crowd surrounding them, you’d think these guys would take her someplace a little quieter considering consent is the last thing she can manage right now.
The only thing making her seem animated at all is the jerks one guy is causing from using her hand to stroke his exposed cock. It’s clear he’s doing all the work, yet, not one person in the room is stopping them or voicing an opinion about what’s going on. Society is so fucking broke these days.
I’m making my way across the room when the guy on her other side pulls his hand from under her skirt, spitting on his fingers before attempting to slide them back between her legs.
Red-hot anger fills my vision as I shove the last few people standing between me and her out of the way.
My first fist is aimed at the guy with his hand up her skirt. His head snaps back, but I lose it even more when he refocuses and has the fucking balls to be surprised I hit him.
“Dude? What the fuck?”
My fist meets his pretty-boy face twice more, and then again when he tries to speak. Getting the message, his jaw snaps shut.
The guy on the other side, so drunk or high, hasn’t even noticed me pummeling his friend. He’s overly concerned with Kaci’s hand and its inability to stroke his half-limp cock to climax.
Normally, I’d give it a minute, say something smart-assed to get his attention, but seeing her like this is killing me. I opt for a quick knee to the face. This guy actually has the courtesy to pass out with the first hit. Clearly, he’s smarter than his sexual assault companion.