Page 22 of The Highwaymen

Stu cut his eyes at me, his stare sharp as a blade. “Oh, he'll get what's coming to him eventually, but not from me. Men like Romeo, their life expectancy is pretty low in the business. Might be next time I come around here, someone else is running things. I'm not gonna blow up my whole operation over a few measly grand. Gotta play the long game. Romeo’s replaceable. I’m not.”

His hand drifted from the gearshift to my thigh, calloused fingers digging into my inseam. My cock throbbed at the unspoken promisein that grip. Stu had the self-control of a monk, but when he did let loose?

I groaned low in my throat as Stu's hand inched higher up my thigh, his fingertips brushing the growing bulge in my jeans. He kept his eyes on the road, but I could see the smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. The sick fuck got off on teasing me, keeping me on edge.

My hips canted up, seeking more friction, but Stu just squeezed my thigh punishingly and moved his hand away. I bit back a frustrated whine.

“Stu, come on,” I gritted out, my voice rough with need. “I'm dying over here.”

“Patience, kid.” His gravelly baritone sent shivers down my spine. “Good things come to those who wait.”

I huffed, slumping back against the seat. My skin felt too tight, my blood electric, every nerve-ending raw and sparking. I needed to hurt someone. Needed to slice into yielding flesh and watch the life drain from fear-blown eyes. Needed to make some pathetic piece of shit choke on their own blood.

The image flashed vivid and gory behind my eyes. My cock ached, trapped behind denim.

Stu's hand landed heavily on the back of my neck, fingers curling into the damp hair at my nape. My breath caught.

“I know what you need,” he rumbled. “But now that we’ve got hot cargo in the back, we have to be all business for a bit. I promise, once we finish this delivery, you’ll get what you need.”

I exhaled harshly through my nose, trying to will my erection away. The phantom sensation of hot blood splattering my face, the imagined screams reverberating in my skull, made it nearly impossible. Stu's fingers flexed on the back of my neck before he withdrew his hand, and I immediately missed it.

I watched thecity scroll by beyond the windshield, endless miles of asphalt and concrete bathed in the harsh glow of streetlights. All those dark alleys and seedy motels, ripe with victims. My leg bounced restlessly.

“Where's the drop?” I asked, more to distract myself than anything.

“San Diego. I've got a buddy with a salvage yard who can break everything down, make it untraceable. He’ll take all the product and flip it, get it in the right hands.”

I side-eyed the duffel bag of cash pointedly. “And the money?”

Stu smirked. “That's my payment for a job well done. Minus Romeo's little 'skimming fee'.”

I eyed the duffel bag, the possibilities swirling in my twisted mind. That much cash could set me up for a long time. No more turning tricks for pocket change, no more relying on anyone else. I could go wherever I wanted, do whatever I wanted.

Buy a slick ride, designer threads, all the best drugs. Splurge on the honeymoon suite in ritzy hotels and lure in the most prime, clean-cut marks. Real American Psycho shit.

My gaze flicked to Stu, his weathered profile underlit by the dash lights. He was the only thing standing between me and that bag. The only loose end.

My cock throbbed at the thought, blood-drenched visions flickering through my head like a gory film reel.

But killing Stu…There was a part of me that didn’t want to do it. A part of me that had gotten attached to him.

What if this was some sort of test? What if he was expecting me to try to kill him and take the money?

I forced myself to take a deep breath, unclenching my fists. No, I couldn't kill Stu. Not after everything we'd been through together. He was the closest thing I'd ever had to a real partner, in crime andotherwise. The way he understood my darkness, even shared it - I'd never find that twisted connection with anyone else.

Besides, I had a feeling Stu was just cagey and lethal enough that trying to take him out would be a fatal mistake on my part. The old man hadn't survived this long in the game by being careless or easy to catch off guard. He probably had contingency plans for his contingency plans.

I exhaled slowly, reining in my more impulsive urges. The money was tempting as hell but not worth blowing the good thing I had going with Stu. I needed to play this smart, stick to the plan. There would be plenty of time for gleeful carnage once we got this payload delivered.

I leaned my head back against the seat, trying to will my stubborn hard-on away so I could focus. It was gonna be a long drive to San Diego and an even longer night of resisting the cravings for blood.

The junkyard gate creakedopen, metal grinding against metal like a rusted scream in the night. I swung the semi into the muddy lot, headlights cutting through the blackness to illuminate towers of wrecked cars stacked high as the eye could see. Moonlight glinted off shattered windshields and chrome bumpers, casting an eerie glow.

I killed the engine and glanced over at Jamie lounging in the passenger seat, his long legs stretched out and a cigarette dangling from his full lips. Even in the dim cab light, his angular cheekbones and tousled hair made him look like a fucking fashion model. A psychotic one who got off on slicing throats, but still.

“Ready,pumpkin?” I asked gruffly.

Jamie took a long drag and blew the smoke in my face with a wicked smirk. “Ready when you are, honey bunny.”

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