Page 9 of Riot's Thorn
She wriggles, and I quickly realize her hands are entirely too close to my dick, which has chosen this moment to come alive. How is that even possible? I excused my hard-on earlier because I still had adrenaline pumping through me from the kills, but I can’t explain my body’s reaction to her now.
My cock has always required a mouth or hands to coax it to life. It doesn’t seem to care if it’s a man or a woman touchingme; either way, I need physical stimulation. It’s like my mind is incapable of joining in and becoming aroused while my body just does what biology tells it to do.
Except for now, because as my eyes drink her in, my brain fires all kinds of sparks.
There’s nothing I can do about the tent I’m sporting, and I’m curious what makes her different, so I don’t back off. I’m usually sensitive to smells and don’t enjoy people in my space, but I find I like her slightly sweet scent and the way her body fits against mine. Why is that? What is it about her?
When she doesn’t answer my question, I tighten my grip. The throat is a delicate part of the anatomy with virtually no protection. It’s entirely too easy to kill someone—with a swift jerk of the head and snapping the neck, a slice over the carotid, or steady pressure to cut off the air supply—so I’m careful about how hard I squeeze. I want to make it difficult to take a full breath, not restrict her air completely. “I’ll ask again, will you behave?”
“Yes,” she croaks.
“There’s my good little thorn.” Using my knife, I release her from the plastic ties.
With her hands now free, she adjusts her glasses, perching them higher on her nose before she does the opposite of what she just promised and slips past me to run. I do nothing as she darts to the front door and yanks on the handle. Over and over, she tries, not realizing you need a code to get inandout.
After I left the trailer park, my head was a mess, and I could hardly sleep. I was so exhausted, I started sleepwalking. I’d wake up outside the shitty apartment I rented, or even at the park down the street. I installed a deadbolt, but not even that kept me inside. I switched to a coded lock, and thankfully, entering a sequence of numbers was too much for my unconscious mind to figure out. Once I joined the club and had an outlet for mythoughts, I rested easier, and the sleepwalking stopped as quick as it started.
The fear of it starting again never went away, though, so when I moved into the cabin, I installed the safety measure. It’s a mere coincidence it’ll also stop her from leaving.
Turning around, she scans the cabin, looking for another exit. She can try the windows, but they’ve been painted shut since before I moved in. There’s no way for her to get out, and judging by the panic on her face, she’s now realizing that.
“Why did you bring me here?” Tears flow freely down her cheeks now. “And why did you hurt my dad?”
“Sit,” I say, moving to the kitchen. I need to put some space between us so I can figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do with her now. A headache forms, and I brace myself on the kitchen counter.
“I don’t understand.” She sniffles, collapsing onto the couch.
In the blink of an eye, my world has been turned upside down. It’s overwhelming for someone who thrives on consistency and dreads change, and having this girl here is a monumental change.
Typically, even the slightest deviation from my routine sets me off balance, and having her in my personal space without any logical explanation introduces too many uncertainties for my mind to handle. I search for some shred of control, but it’s nowhere to be found.
I take a deep breath and slowly expel the air from my lungs. Okay, let’s put this into perspective. Just because I haven’t put a bullet in her yet doesn’t mean I can’t or won’t. I could drive her to the desert right now if I wanted. She has no influence over my decisions. I’m in charge. The reminder slows my racing heart.
I won’t kill her today, but only because it’s been a long day, and she’s still amusing me. She’ll have a brief stay of execution until tomorrow, when I’ll inevitably wrap my hands around herthroat and squeeze. I’ll watch the light in her eyes slowly dim. It’ll be beautiful. More beautiful than the memories of my first time.
Returning to the living room, I hand her a bottle of water.
She smacks it out of my hand, a decision that both impresses me and pisses me off. “I don’t want water. I want to know what the hell is going on.”
I calmly pick it up and set it on the coffee table in front of her. “A little respect would be nice.”
“Respect? You killed my dad!” Bending over, she clutches her middle, resting her head on her knees as she cries. “Oh, god! He was all I had left, and now he’s gone.” She sits up, her face red, her glasses back on the tip of her nose, her tone turning icy. “Why would you take him from me? He was a good man.”
I sit on my leather chair and rub my hands together, wondering how much to divulge. “You must not have known him well.”
“I did. I knew him better than anyone. He donated money to charities. He paid for my college and my car. He helped people grow their investments so they could retire and still enjoy themselves. Hewasa good man.” She chokes the words out between sobs.
“Right.” I pick at my nails.
“How can you just sit there like you didn’t just ruin my life?”
“I didn’t. You just don’t know it yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I sit back, resting my ankle on my thigh. It’s time to deliver some hard truths. “There are people currently questioning the guards I left alive. Not just the cops but other, more important, people. Once word gets out you were there but didn’t leave in a body bag, they’ll want you dead too.”
“I’ll go to the police. They’ll protect me.”
