by Kane Daemon
“Thank you. I do appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
“I’m going to change and then go out by the pool. Do whatever you like. We can get going first thing in the morning.” He left the room and closed the door.
The room was immaculate; the bed was perfectly made; the furniture was of some new-age design. I went to lie on the bed, and the damned thing seemed to surround me as if it knew my body. I stared at the ceiling fan and thought about what I was running from because I certainly wasn’t running toward anything. I doubted Mike would get off the couch long enough to come looking for me. That would mean he would have to put the game controller and the Cheetos down. We’d been married for far too long. And for far too long, he did nothing. So, I did it. I went to an attorney and had the papers filed. It was time to move on. He was okay with it, of course. So, no, I didn’t think he would come looking.
I went to the closet and opened the door. The area stretched for a good ten feet, with both sides lined with women’s clothing. A variety of shoes sat neatly on the floor along both walls. At the back of the closet were the swimsuits Zane mentioned.
I repeated his name and realized I really did like saying it. I liked him. He was a man that was a mystery to me. A man who could murder me tonight, bury me in the desert and nobody would ever know. I grabbed the two-piece bikini and undressed in the closet, just in case the walls became clear again. The swimsuit fit perfectly. I grabbed a silky robe from one of the hangers and hugged myself once I had it on. Mike never bought me anything so lovely.
I walked through the house. I couldn't help myself, and I nosed into the other rooms, except for the master bedroom at the end of the hallway. That would have been too nosey, though my curiosity would eventually take me there.
Zane sat at a table by the pool with a small drink in front of him. Across from him sat another waiting for me. What was his game? Get a piece of ass and then send me on my way? I watched him for several minutes before heading outside. I didn’t want to make another relationship mistake. Zane seemed like a mistake but in the opposite direction of Mike. It was one extreme to the other.
Zane wore a robe, as well. He obviously planned on us swimming together.
“Hey,” I broke the silence. “You have a beautiful home. You did this all alone?” It was me being nosey again. He had to know I would ask. A designer concrete wall surrounded the pool and a well-manicured lawn. The top of the wall dipped down and rose like waves.
“For the most part,” he said. “I’m an architect by trade. I don’t believe in letting people do for me what I can do for myself.”
“Admirable.” I glanced at his ring finger. He noticed but said nothing. I sort of felt bad for thinking he only wanted in my panties. Nice looking man. Rich. Gold-diggers were probably a daily occurrence for him.
“The pool is heated. I think you’ll enjoy it.” He stood and removed his robe. For some reason, I expected him to be naked. He wasn’t. He was as I imagined he would be, and he obviously took excellent care of himself. He was undoubtedly lean, not an overabundance of muscle but definitely a man who never missed a day at the gym. He had the right amount of tan and the right amount of ass, which kept my attention as he walked to the pool. I studied the tattoo on his back. The lines were broad and sweeping. I had no idea what the design meant, only that it made his back look incredibly sharp. I took a sip of the drink he made and felt the whiskey burn as it went down my throat. He turned back and smiled. “Too strong?”
I shook my head. “If I had any germs, they’re dead now.”
I had zero expectation of what would happen when I stepped into the pool. None. I stood and walked to the pool, dropping my robe at the edge. Zane looked at me as if he were considering coming toward me. I didn’t want to be so bold as to say, please do, but I wanted him to. I believed he could wash away all the things in my past I was trying to throw away.
“I think the suit fits.” I turned to the side, trying to tease him. His eyes brightened, wiping the faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes away.
Zane was an older man. At first, it seemed wrong and perhaps a little creepy. I had friends who dated older men, and I did remember their reports as always being positive. The older guys cared about pleasing their women and treated them like queens. I suspected Zane would do the same.
Zane looked at me the way I hadn’t been looked at in years. There was want in his eyes. There was a softness. His arms were creating small waves in the pool as he swam backward, watching me.
A half-dozen steps were leading into the pool, and I took each slowly, keeping my eyes on Zane. I finally looked away, at anything to stop the growing feeling of desire. I had to be careful. “This is fabulous,” I said. The water was the perfect temperature, surrounding my body like a heated blanket.
“It’s six-feet at the deep end.” His voice was heavy and thick. Water pushed at his chest and cascaded down his muscular arms. The black ink of a large Celtic-designed arrow that ran the full length of his right bicep caught my eyes. I did know a little about those knots. The two intertwining ropes represented the memories of those loved ones that had fallen. The arrowhead, which spread the width of his upper arm and touched the top of his shoulder, represented the brotherhood of men as brothers in war and life. I thought that a compelling choice of tattoo for a man that lived such a lush lifestyle.
I waded toward the side opposite Zane. He stretched out his arms along the edge of the pool. His biceps were lean and inviting in so many different ways. I thought about his arms around me, holding me for an eternity. What it must be like to have a man like him protecting me. My mind took me places it shouldn't.
“How long have you lived out here?”
“About ten years,” he said. “I like my time away from the rat race.”
“You work hard,” I told him. Small talk would divert my mind.
“I do, and I enjoy my work. It allows me to do things most people never get the opportunity to do. I consider myself very lucky.” He stared at me for a moment. “What kind of work are you into?”
“Nothing exciting,” I responded. “Ever been married?” I wanted to avoid talking about my joblessness. He didn’t need to know I had been laid off last week.
He looked away, and I guessed that his marriage had not gone so well.
“She passed two years ago.” He swam toward the deep end of the pool.
“I’m sorry.” I was guilt-ridden for asking that question.
“It’s okay,” he replied. “We had a fulfilling ten years together. We never stopped loving and never stopped caring. The time we had was well spent. Better than most people.”
“I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m sorry.”
“Things like that come up,” he said. “Don’t feel bad about it.” His smile told me it was okay. “What about you?”
I tried to stay away from too much detail but told him about my divorce, explained that I was tired of carrying the load in a marriage that should have been 50/50. I stayed away from the lack of sex and the lack of intimacy. I hated to admit to some of the things I’d experienced. I hated to confess to those things that I had yet to experience but wanted to. They just weren’t things you told a complete stranger, though he made me want to tell him my life story.
“What are your plans for tomorrow?” he asked. “Really.”
“That obvious?”
He nodded. “I’m not judging you. But you’re welcome to stay longer. I’m heading to a ranch in the western part of the state. You’re welcome to join me. Saturday morning drives are pretty righteous.”
Righteous? “I’m not much of a morning person.” In fact, I could be downright deadly until the sun was up.
“I make one helluva cup of coffee. It’ll bring you to life quickly.”
“Okay,” I relented. Zane didn’t seem to be the kind of man that would accept no as a response.
“You ever been on a bike?”
“Not since I was a kid,” I told him, making him laugh
.
“I mean a motorcycle.”
“Damn.” Was he serious? “I’ve always wanted to try.”
“We leave around nine.”
He swam back to the stairs and grabbed a large towel from the stack on the table. He held it out, waiting on me.
CHAPTER TWO
THE Killer
I hated driving cars. Give me a bike or a truck any day. And this piece of shit rental made it even worse. I suspected I was the only killer in the country who drove around in a Honda Civic. Fucking Japanese. Fucking little people.
She stepped from the darkness of the guy’s truck and made her way around to her car, which sat in front of Lenny’s House of Hoes. As soon as her shift was over, she left with the jerkwad in the truck. The two of them climbed into the back and fucked like a couple of monkeys, squeaking and screaming, as if they were two virgin teenagers.
I’d given the bitch nearly a hundred dollars to rub her twat on my cock, only to have her leave me for two guys waving a thousand dollars in the air. Pussy doesn’t care what kind of hand is attached to that kind of money. It all spends the same. That’s the thing. Rich guys can buy expensive pussy and make it do whatever they want. The rest of us have to go down to The Dollar Tree and pay for pussy pushing around a cart full of cheap shit from China.
When she pulled from the parking lot, I waited a few seconds and then pulled out from the parking lot across the street, letting her get a good hundred yards ahead of me. Who was going to find someone in a Honda Civic to be dangerous?
Her stage name was Jasmine Sky, her real name Mary Sumpter. When she wasn’t shaking her ass in front of men waving money, she was splitting time between two motorcycle clubs, sucking dick, and taking it in the ass. Of course, neither club knew she was humping the other. Not yet. She had a couple of young kids who lived up north with their grandmother. Mary Sumpter’s life as Jasmine Sky could not be preempted by a couple of snot noses.
She pulled into the parking lot of her ratty-old apartment and climbed the stairs to the second floor. The flats had once been a cheap motel where most of the pussy-for-sale brought their “Johns.” The city shut it down and became a place that drug dealers, hookers, and gang members could live.
Once she entered her apartment, I got out—leaving the Honda unlocked, because who the hell would steal it, and climbed the stairs. Pizza delivery? The po-po? No, neither would work. So I pulled three, one-hundred-dollar bills from my pocket, knocked, and then slid the money under her door.
It took less than thirty seconds for the chain to rattle, the lock to click, and the door to open.
“I’m off duty,” she said. She stuck her head out the door and looked around.
“Then give me back my money.”
She tried to close the door, but I jammed my foot against the bottom. “Not going to steal my money, are you?”
Jasmine looked at the cash in her hand and walked away from the open door, her delicious ass bouncing the way it had in the club. I was going to fuck her ten different ways to Sunday.
I closed the door behind me, slid the chain back into place, and secured the lock.
“Three-hundred. You must want something special.” She sat on the bed and crossed her legs.
“I want to hear you scream.”
“Are you going to make me scream?” The playful look in her eyes was part of her act.
I pulled a tie from my back pocket, a red silk tie, and told her to open her mouth. She did as she was told. I wrapped the tie around her mouth and secured it at the back of her head. That was when I noticed the pad of paper on the nightstand. At the top of the page, read “Hell’s Justice.” Beneath the name of the club was a list of the church members. She’d placed stars by their names, a list of all the gentleman callers that were not strangers to her bed. She looked at me and then at the pad of paper.
I shoved my hand over her mouth and pushed her flat on the bed. She was not going to be my original target for the evening. However, she had pissed me off in the strip club.
The thing about me. I had to be two people - the killer and the guy people trusted. You really couldn’t have one without the other. I killed both men and women. Men, because it was my job. Women, because of the blood lust. Because of the pussy.
Jasmine’s eyes changed. They knew. She knew.
I shoved her blue jean skirt up to her thighs just like I’d done to Amanda Legend. Just like I had done to a dozen women. I moved down her body, smelling other men on her, beer, cigarette smoke, and sex. I kissed her stomach. She placed her hands on my head, her fingers combing through my hair, then pushing me down between her legs. She was sure of the way she wanted to go for a woman who was about to die.
I ran my nose through her pussy; the growing wetness was a signal she wanted what I was ready to give. I kissed her thighs, using my hands to spread her legs further apart, her asshole opening up to me.
“Do whatever the fuck you’re going to do,” she mumbled out through the tie. “Quit teasing me.”
I licked her pussy, the taste almost repugnant. She moaned and moved her legs side to side, not paying attention to me removing my belt. I licked and kissed her again, her pussy throbbing, her need growing.
I ran the belt through the buckle and then slipped the loop over her head to her neck. She neither fought me nor tried to pull it away. In fact, she became wetter.
Returning to her thighs, I buried my teeth into her skin and pulled on the belt. She struggled at first, and just when she relaxed, I released the tension on the belt.
Jasmine gasped for air, and as soon as she was able to breathe again, I buried my teeth into her other thigh and pulled on the belt.
The taste of her blood would not allow me to release the belt. It never did. I moved her knees to her chest and buried my face in her pussy, pulling on the strap, drinking her as she came. When she stopped moving, I rereleased the belt.
I looked into her lifeless eyes and then breathed into her mouth around the tie. Her eyes flickered, and she suddenly noticed me over her. I drove my cock between her legs and then pulled on the belt.
Her hands came up, but they didn’t go for the belt. Instead, Mary Jasmine grabbed my neck and squeezed.
I pulled the belt harder, and her hands closed tighter around my neck.
“Fuck me,” she said. “Finish it.”
I moved my hand closer to the belt buckle and pulled, my mind beginning to swirl. Mary Jasmine’s pussy squeezed around my cock.
“Die,” I grunted out and came. My hand gave the belt one last tug.
Her hands dropped to her sides. I rolled off and onto the floor, gasping for air, coughing, and almost vomiting. By the time I got to my feet, my stuff was already leaking from her. She lay there. Lifeless. Another pretty little piece of ass giving into my anarchy.
Before I left, I circled a name on the pad of paper. His old lady would be next.
CHAPTER THREE
Carrie
I woke to the sun coming in through the window. The clock on the nightstand read nine-thirty. I threw back the covers and grabbed the robe I had worn last night. I had one job to do—get up on time—and I had failed. Way to make a good impression, Carrie.
I found Zane sitting in the kitchen dressed and ready to hit the road, a cup of coffee in his hand. His biceps were much bigger than I remembered them being last night. Last night he’d gone from a tuxedo to swim trunks. I walked into the kitchen and found him in a tight t-shirt, a black leather vest, faded jeans that were ripped at the knees, and black biker boots. At any minute, I was expecting the wicked stepmother and wicked stepsisters to bust through the door and make me clean the bathroom and kitchen.
“I’m sorry. You should have woken me.”
He laughed. “You were snoring so loud I was afraid to enter your room.” He sipped his coffee. “Hit the shower and take your time. I let the ranch know I was running behind. I also arranged to have your car towed to town. I know a mechanic who can look at it today and have you on your wa
y.” He paused for a moment. “If you choose, of course.”
“Thank you.” I returned to the bedroom and flopped onto the bed. Seriously? Obviously, someone else had stopped and picked me up, beat me half to death, and dumped me in a ditch somewhere. Somehow, being near the end of my time, I was in a delusional dream where I had been picked up by a knight in a shiny Mercedes. Incredible.
The attached bathroom, like the rest of the house, had glass walls, including the shower. I stared at the keypad on the outside of the shower.
“Just punch in the temperature you want the water to be,” Zane yelled from the hallway. “Then hit the green button. There’s another keypad inside the shower to adjust the temperature. Feel free to wear anything you find in the closet.”
I did as he instructed and found the water perfect. Hell, I found everything, since he saw me, to be perfect. What had happened? One minute, I was stuck on the side of the road in the middle of the night. The next minute, I was showering in temperature-controlled water? Take your blessings as they come, I told myself.
The shower lasted much longer than it should have. Then again, none of what was happening should have been happening. It didn’t happen to people like me. My destiny should have included an apartment, an old car, and a husband, who’s white t-shirt wouldn’t fit over his belly. He was the kind of guy who knew how an Xbox controller worked, but not how his dick worked.
I went through the closet again. I had the eerie realization that I was wearing Zane's deceased wife's clothes. Was I the answer to some deep psychological need he had? Or, as usual, was I reading too much into this whole thing? I told myself to enjoy the ride, no matter how short it may be. I grabbed a pair of skinny jeans, black boots, a tee, and a black vest. We were going to be twins.
Out in the hallway, I looked the opposite direction I was supposed to be going toward the master bedroom. I took a step in that direction and then stopped. It would fuck it all up. After a deep breath and bringing myself to my senses, I went the way I should have.