by Alexa Riley
He nods and takes the skull from my palm before sticking it back in the box. “Yeah.”
“I want to tell you a story.”
For the next thirty minutes, my son morphs from a brooding boy to someone who once again has light in his eyes. The secret obsessions he’d been harboring were set free. It sure makes a difference when you have someone to share them with. I always had Bull. Now I have Violet. And Thomas has me.
“I hate him,” he growls, his voice surprisingly deep. Another few years and my boy will be grown up. He’ll turn into a man before my very eyes.
“I hate him too.”
My father was an awful man. After spending all that time in the hospital and once I was nursed back to health by my loving mother, I went to see him in the city. I followed and watched him. My father became my obsession.
He was a monster.
Not just toward me, but toward everyone.
A liar. A cheat. A thief.
I’d uncovered how he embezzled from his company. How he slept with anything that was female. And his computer that was littered with sick shit that no eyes should ever have to see.
I didn’t like watching him through the window but I did.
I hated the way he touched himself while looking at pictures of my sister.
So I took care of the problem.
I set my sights on him.
“Want to see?” I ask Thomas.
He nods eagerly. Together we go to my room and stand in front of the chest. I tell him the combination. Once he pulls the lock free, he lifts the lid with a creak.
“This must be Wail,” he points to a plastic zippered bag full of my pet’s bones.
“That’s him.”
His fingers run across the plastic and he smiles sadly at me. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
“It’s okay.”
He refuses to touch the other. Curled into a fetal position is a full skeleton in pristine condition. Aside from the gaping hole missing from the skull. A human skull. My father.
“How’d you do it?”
I kneel beside him and run my finger along the jagged hole. “I shot him at his favorite hunting site on some land upstate he owned.”
I eliminated my target.
“He deserved it,” he assures me, clutching my shoulder. For once in what feels like years, I’m connecting with my son again. It’s like he’s found a way out of his darkness and discovered me.
We’re the same.
We’re special.
“I’ll never tell a soul,” he vows, his gaze serious. He knows how important it is to keep the secret from his grandma, his aunt Gwen, and his mother. “But, Dad?”
“Yeah, buddy?”
He beams at me—a smile that reminds me exactly of Violet. “Will you teach me how to shoot?”
I grin back as I close the chest. “You want to be a sniper one day?”
“Maybe,” he says as he hooks the lock into place and snaps it closed. “But mostly, I just want to be like you.”
The End
BONUS EPILOGUE
Thomas
Eighteen Years Old…
“Thanks, Dad,” I say as I hold the binoculars in my hand. “These are nicer than my last pair.”
Dad nods and gives me a warm smile. Bird watching. That’s what we tell Mom. But the only thing I watch is her. “You headed out to see some friends tonight?” he asks.
He always asks. For appearances.
I always lie. For appearances.
Grayson Maxwell, my father, is the king of appearances and he’s taught his little prince well.
“Yeah, AJ and Britney. A party downtown. We’ll be out until late. Might even stay the night.”
Dad smirks. “Sounds like fun. Enjoy your birthday, Thomas. Just make sure you’re home tomorrow by dinner. Your mother and aunt have a whole birthday meal planned out.”
As soon as he leaves my room, I turn off all my lights and sit in my chair by the window. I have a few more weeks of school left and then I’ll be headed for boot camp. I’m more than ready to serve our country as a Marine like my father was despite my mother’s horror when I enlisted. But the look of pride on Dad’s face was enough to have me not second guessing my decision. After a few months of boot camp, I’ll begin marksmanship training. For the past three years, Dad has taught me everything he knows. I want to be a sniper just like he was.
I pull the binoculars to my eyes and peer down them toward her house. The same house I’ve been watching for three years. My dad told me it was okay to watch people—that I wasn’t a fucking weirdo for it.
Click.
Click.
Adjust.
Focus.
One light is on in her bedroom. I can tell he’s there because she isn’t smiling. Thalia Davis—I know this is her name because I looked in her mailbox years ago to confirm—never smiles when her husband Antoine is home. When he’s off traveling to God knows where for weeks at a time, her smile comes back and she’s happy.
Now, she’s anything but.
Her dark brows are pinched together as she frowns, her stare at the bathroom door where he’s inside is troubled. As if she can sense me, her brown-eyed gaze darts to the window. There’s no way she can see me from this distance in my dark room but her eyes plead with mine.
Help me.
A tear snakes down her cheek and I’m thankful for my new binoculars. My other ones were military quality as well, but these, I can actually see details like tears and the way her nostrils flare with each terrified breath she takes.
She’s afraid because he’s mean to her.
I’ve seen the way he grabs her by the arm and shakes her. How sometimes, when he’s had too much to drink, he shoves her into the dresser or the wall. And how he fucks her when she clearly doesn’t want him anywhere near her.
But all that anger he has for her disappears the moment they have sex. She seems to relax him because then he’s calm. The next morning, I see them chatting as they drink their coffee on the back patio—as if he didn’t nearly beat the shit out of her the night before.
The routine is always the same.
Once, I asked Dad about it. Asked if I should intervene. He said some people don’t want a hero. Some people want to be the hero. That I should make sure she can’t handle herself first. And so far, she seems to smooth things out on her own. Having a stalker teenager show up to save the day might do more harm than good.
So I wait.
I wait for the moment she needs a hero.
The bathroom door swings open and Antoine stumbles out. He’s massive. A monster. His chocolate-brown skin encases bulked-up muscle from years of hitting it hard in the gym. Dad says he’s ex-military. That now he’s contracted out by the government privately to work jobs for them overseas. Dad’s ability to know everything about a person is a skill I’ve yet to master. I don’t want to sit in front of a computer learning about someone. I want to be right there. Watching them. Smelling them. Touching them.
Antoine staggers into a wall and a picture crashes to the floor. Thalia winces and pulls the covers to her chin. I want to implore her to pretend to sleep. Instead, she stares at him wide-eyed. The towel around his waist unravels from his hips and drops to the floor. He’s hung like a damn horse. A spike of jealousy surges through me. A woman like Thalia—who’s used to a giant black dick—would probably be disappointed with a normal-sized dick. I mean, the girls I’ve fucked at my school have always seemed pleased, but I don’t compare to the black hulk.
He says something to her and waves his hands in the air. She flinches. At times like these, I wish I had her house bugged so I could listen. His hand swipes out and he knocks a bunch of shit off their dresser, his chest heaving with rage. She blinks up at him with tears in her eyes. And then he’s pouncing. He attacks her on the bed, tearing away the sheets. Her perfect body—one I’ve whacked off to thoughts of countless times—is revealed. Naked. Curvaceous. Mocha brown. Smooth and silky.
I stand because if this mot
herfucker rapes her, that’ll be the last thing he does.
But then she seems to be pulling him between her spread legs. If he weren’t so goddamned drunk all the time, he’d see how she just goes through the motions to placate him.
Thalia doesn’t find pleasure in Antoine.
He slaps her and hits her and chokes her. Each infliction against her, a douse of gasoline to my rage. And yet, she doesn’t fight him. She endures it because she’s brave or fucking stupid, I don’t know what. Regardless, she takes it because for now, she’s her own hero. The beast begins to fuck her powerfully as he claims her. It infuriates me. I want to rip his throat out.
She needs a hero because she’s not a very good one.
Dad said don’t intervene unless she needs a hero.
I’m seconds from motherfucking intervening.
He fucks her quick and I don’t think he even finishes before he passes out. As soon as she’s sure he’s asleep, she slides out from beneath him and goes to clean herself up. I watch her round ass jiggle as she walks to the bathroom. Thalia has a nice big ass I’d spend my entire life worshipping if she were mine.
I grit my teeth.
A woman like Thalia, at least five years my senior, wouldn’t be into a guy like me.
She stares down at him as he sleeps. Hate brimming in her brown eyes. Her lips mouth the words, I hate you, to him. As if this satisfies her for now, she lets out a deep breath.
She walks over to the window, places her palms against the panes, and leans her forehead against the glass. My dick hardens in my jeans. I’ve watched her hundreds of times over the years. Never has she presented her naked body to me like a gift. With my free hand, I unzip my jeans sending them careening to the floor around my ankles, and pull my throbbing cock out. I stroke it as I admire her perfection. Giant double Ds are the object of my focus. I know they’re double Ds because I’ve been in her lingerie drawer when she wasn’t home. I’ve touched everything that’s touched her. I’ve inhaled her scent and jacked off in her bed. I’ve licked her vibrators and stolen her panties right from her hamper.
Thalia Davis is my obsession.
She leans away from the window and squints. Her hand slides to the dark patch of hair between her thick thighs and she begins to tease her pussy with her long, elegant finger. It’s as though she knows I’m watching. As though this show is for me. I grunt in pleasure and quicken the way I grip my cock.
Her plump bottom lip gets trapped between her teeth as she succumbs to the pleasure she’s doling out. I become fixated on the way her gorgeous tits jiggle as she breathes. Her soft middle bears the scars of a pregnancy she almost carried to full-term before her loss last year. She never lost the weight there but it’s something I love about her. I would kiss those scars and promise to give her all the babies if it would make her smile.
She opens her mouth to let out a moan I desperately wish I could hear and then she slumps her shoulders. As though the weight of her world is too much to bear.
She needs a hero.
Thalia is a motherfucking queen meant to be worshiped. She shouldn’t be fighting daily physical and mental wars with that villainous beast.
The thought of me being that hero has me coming all over the front of my T-shirt and drenching my hand. A grunt of satisfaction escapes me. She shoots one last longing look into the darkness my way before she turns the lights off, takes a long shower, and then slips into bed with that monster.
I’ll be your hero, Thalia.
Last night, it took everything in me not to sneak into their house with the purpose of beating the living daylights out of that prick. Instead, I went to sleep as soon as her lights went out and she returned to bed. Tonight, I’m slightly buzzed. Dad took a couple of shots of whiskey with me when Mom wasn’t looking. An eighteenth birthday is special, he’d said. You’re a man now, he’d assured me.
Click.
Click.
Adjust.
Focus.
Now, as I stare through my binoculars through the trees at my neighbors, I’m reminded that I’m very much a man. Watching Thalia swim in the pool in nothing but a tiny white bikini has my cock very hard. Her stupid husband is inside getting shitfaced but I know it won’t be long before he’s outside giving her hell again.
Fury bubbles up inside me.
Why does she put up with him?
I wish she would just leave him.
But then who would look after her?
Irritation simmers in my veins as I contemplate how to be the hero she needs.
I grin, and all annoyance fades away when she stands in the pool and runs her fingers through her soft brown hair, twisting it back up into a bun so it doesn’t get wet. I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman in all my life. The girls I’ve dated at school are skinny and bony. Like I might break them if I unleashed fully on them.
Thalia looks as though she could handle a rough fuck—a fuck where I’d make her come over and over again, unlike her worthless husband.
Her gaze is pointed up to my bedroom window. My party is long over and my family is asleep. She doesn’t know I’m in the backyard watching her. A smile tugs at her lips as she adjusts her bikini top. The wet white fabric does nothing to hide her dark nipples that are erect beneath the tiny scrap of cloth. It makes me want to walk my ass over there, dive in, and bite each nipple until she squeals.
I’m hard as fuck over that thought but my fantasy is ruined the moment Antoine walks out and steals her smile. Motherfucker. He yells at her to get out of the pool—words I can hear all the way over here—his arms waving around him in anger. I clench my fist and crave to run it right through his fucking nose. Antoine may be a monster who’s bigger and scarier than me. But I’m a stalking panther. Quick, sneaky, and fierce. One day I’m going to beat the shit out of him and he won’t even see it coming.
She reluctantly climbs out of the pool, water dripping from her curvaceous body. Like melted chocolate against her brown skin. I want to lick every drop from her. Once again, her eyes dart to my window.
A hero.
She wants a hero.
I stand from the lawn chair and abandon my binoculars to stalk their way. We’re one of three houses out here—our house situated in the middle—and the length of a football field separates each house with thick woods lining the back of all three properties. His yelling is louder as I approach.
I’m nearly there when he raises his hand to hit her. She flinches but it does nothing to protect her from his full-fisted blow to her abdomen. He knocks her to the ground with that punch and she bumps her head on the lawn chair.
Rage.
Motherfucking rage.
With a roar, I charge for him. He’s already crouching, his fist reared back to hit her again when I connect with him. My hands shove him hard. I may be only eighteen and not nearly as big as him, but I did play football my entire high school career and know how to tackle brutes like him.
“What the fuck?” he snarls, his brows pinched together in confusion as he tries to right himself near the edge of the pool. “Fucking weird ass kid. I’ve seen you watching us.”
I start to reach for Thalia to help her up but this asshole is running my way like he’s going to punch me next. Fuck him. When he nears, I use his momentum against him. I’m younger and more agile. Twisting away from him, I dart behind him and shove him once again.
Splash!
Pop!
Into the pool he goes. That’ll distract him for a bit. Not looking back to see how pissed he is, I rush over to Thalia. She’s sobbing as she holds onto her stomach. My poor sweet thing. It kills me that he puts his hands on her. Fucking kills me.
“Hey, beautiful,” I murmur, my voice low and husky as I stroke her nearly black hair from her face. “You okay?”
She turns her tear stained face to regard me. Surprise dances in her gaze. “You came.”
A hero.
Thalia needed a hero.
Of course I fucking came.
“It’
s okay,” I assure her. “I won’t let him touch you again.” Jerking my head over my shoulder, I scan the pool area looking for that fucker. He’s going to be ready to kick my ass at this point. He can try, goddammit. “He’s gone.”
I turn back to her in time to catch her pretty smile. Thankful and shocked. She’s shaky but I manage to help her to her feet. I tower over her shorter frame which I like. It makes me feel like I can take care of her. I will take care of her.
“Where did he go?” she asks, worry dancing in her brown eyes as she darts her gaze to the house.
“I don’t know…” I trail off when I see him still in the pool.
Blood clouds around him as Antoine floats in the water below the surface.
“Oh shit,” I hiss. “Shit!”
I start to dive in—even though the abusive asshole doesn’t deserve it—but Thalia’s fingernails dig into my bicep.
“Please…” Her single word comes out like a choked cry. “Don’t. He’s dead.”
I snap my gaze to hers. “He could still be aliv—”
“He’s not,” she whispers. “He’s not.” Lifting her chin, she regards me with a relieved expression. Her lip wobbles and I wonder if it’d be inappropriate to kiss her with her “dead” husband nearby. “You need to leave. Hurry. Before anyone sees you.”
She wants to be my hero.
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure in all my life. Now go,” she breathes.
And then she smiles.
I smile too.
It’s been three weeks since I accidentally killed Antoine Davis. I’d wanted to add his skull to my collection of animal bones I’ve collected over the years. Unfortunately, life doesn’t always let you keep your rewards. My reward is every night—when she smiles and stares out into the darkness. When she touches her cunt and she thinks of me. I know she thinks of me because I’m her hero. Her motherfucking savior.
Since he died—of unfortunate drunken pool accident where he “slipped and fell”—I’ve become bolder. Each night, while she sleeps, I creep into her house. Sometimes, I like to think she leaves the door unlocked for me because she wants me to come to her. Tonight, just like every night, the door isn’t locked. I sneak into her nice home and slip up the stairs. As soon as I enter her room and inhale her sweet honey scent, I feel relief flood through me.