Page 45 of The Highwaymen

I drove us to the edge of town, to a seedy little strip joint called the Kitty Kat Club. It was the kind of place where the air reeked of stale beer and desperation, where men came to drink away their sorrows and blow their paychecks on a few fleeting moments of manufactured affection. The perfect hunting ground.

We walked in like we owned the place, Jamie pressing close to my side. The bouncer barely glanced at our IDs before waving us through with a disinterested grunt. Inside, the club was dimly lit and smoky, the throbbing bass of the music rattling my ribcage. A few bored-looking dancers writhed halfheartedly on the stage, their dead eyes and forced smiles a testament to the soul-sucking nature of the job.

We grabbed a booth near the back, giving us a good view of the room. A waitress sauntered over, her tired eyes barely flickering over us as she took our order of a whiskey for me and a beer for Jamie. As she walked away, I scanned the room, my predator's gaze searching for the right prey.

I wasn’t like Jamie, who’d kill anybody, anytime, for any reason. I had a specific type I was looking for, the kind of motherfucker nobody would miss. Not because he was nobody, or because he didn’t have a family, but because he was a stain on humanity. I viewed my work as a public service, taking out the trash of society.

My eyes landed on a man at the bar who fit the bill perfectly. He was in his fifties, with a sweaty red face and a paunch straining against his cheap button-down shirt. He had a beer in one meaty fist and theother hand was groping the ass of the uncomfortable-looking dancer perched on the stool next to him.

Even from a distance, I could read him like a book. The wedding ring he kept twisting on his finger as his eyes roved over the dancers' bodies. The white powder crusted under his nose, the glassy sheen to his eyes. The arrogant tilt to his chin, like he thought his money gave him the right to take whatever he wanted.

Yeah, this asshole would do just fine.

I leaned in close to Jamie, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. “There. At the bar. The fucker in the blue shirt.”

Jamie followed my gaze, a slow, wicked smile curling his lips. “Ooh, he's perfect,” he purred, a dark hunger kindling in his eyes. “Disgusting piece of shit. How do you want to play it?”

“Figured you could lure him out. Bat those pretty eyes, shake that ass. Get him to follow you outside for a private dance.”

Jamie licked his lips. “Mmm, you know I'm good at being bait. And once I get him alone?”

“Then I'll take care of the rest,” I rumbled, my hand sliding up Jamie's thigh beneath the table. “And then I’ll let the hammer do the talking.”

Jamie shivered, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he leaned into my touch. “Fuck, I love it when you talk dirty.”

I squeezed his thigh, my fingers digging into the taut muscle. “Go on then, pumpkin. Show me what you can do.”

With a final heated glance, Jamie slithered out of the booth and sauntered towards the bar, his hips swaying enticingly. I watched through hooded eyes as he slid up next to our target, his body language open and inviting.

It didn't take long for the man to notice Jamie, his little piggy eyes lighting up as they raked over my boy's lithe form. Jamie leaned in close,batting his lashes and licking his lips. The man's meaty hand settled on Jamie's hip, and it took all my self-control not to go over there and tear the guy's arm off.

But this was the game, the thrill of the hunt. So I stayed put, sipping my whiskey and waiting for my cue. Jamie knew what he was doing, knew how to play men like a fucking fiddle.

Sure enough, within minutes, he was leading the man towards the back door, throwing a sly glance at me over his shoulder. I knocked back the last of my drink and followed them out at a distance.

The alley behind the Kitty Kat Club was dark and rank, the air thick with the stench of piss and rotten garbage. I hung back in the shadows, watching as Jamie led the man deeper into the alley, away from prying eyes.

Jamie had the man pressed up against the dirty brick wall, his lithe body undulating against the guy's bulk like a snake. The man's hands were all over him, groping and squeezing. Low, breathy moans spilled from Jamie's lips, the kind of pornographic sounds that went straight to my cock.

But I could see the disgust in Jamie's eyes, the barely leashed violence. He was playing a role, putting on a show, but underneath it all, he wanted to tear the bastard apart, same as me.

I retrieved my hammer from where I’d stashed it earlier beside the dumpster. The man was so focused on Jamie, so fucking drunk on cheap booze and cheaper thrills, that he didn't even notice me approaching. Not until it was too late.

I grabbed the man by the back of his shirt and yanked him away from Jamie, flinging him hard against the opposite wall. He hit with a meaty thud and slid to the ground, dazed. Jamie spun around, his eyes flashing withsavage glee.

“What the fuck?” the man slurred, struggling to get to his feet. His piggy eyes darted between me and Jamie, slowly registering the danger he was in.

I didn't bother with any speeches or grand threats. I let the hammer do my talking, just as I’d promised. The first swing connected with the side of his head with a satisfying crack. Blood sprayed the filthy brick wall as he crumpled. I was on him in an instant, pinning his body under me. The hammer rose and fell, rose and fell, painting the alley in gore.

There was a savage sort of artistry to it, a primal, visceral thrill in watching the light fade from his eyes, in feeling the life drain out of him with each wet, meaty impact. The bloodlust roared through me, setting every nerve alight with dark ecstasy. This was my drug, my highest high. Nothing else could even come close.

Except maybe being inside Jamie, but fuck it. Why not have both?

I lost myself to it, to the slick slide of blood on steel, the jolt up my arm with every blow, the meaty smack of metal on flesh and the wet crunch of shattering bone sang in my ears. Flecks of blood and thicker things spattered my face, hot and coppery. The man gurgled and twitched, limbs spasming weakly. But I didn't let up, just kept bringing the hammer down until his skull caved like a rotten pumpkin.

My arm ached and my breath came harsh and ragged, but I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. The man's skull was obliterated, his face an unrecognizable ruin of pulped flesh and shattered bone. But still I brought the hammer down, each wet smack sending a dark thrill singing through my veins.

Blood pooled around the corpse, gleaming wetly in the dim light. The coppery reek of it filled my nose, sharp and intoxicating. Gore streaked my arms to the elbows, hot and slick. I was covered in him, marked by death. Possessed by it.

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