Page 3 of My Girl
Step out of the car.
Flick open the knife. The click echoes in the desert.
“The fuck, man?” he asks.
I yank him out of the backseat. He crashes into the dirt. I shove the knife into his stomach, and he shrieks, his fists flying.
I pull out the knife and stab his neck. The blade comes out, blood squirting into the air. Then it dribbles down his neck. I can smell her perfume on him. Floral. Synthetic. My dick gets hard.
He gurgles, and I work hastily, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. I don’t want him to die before I finish my task. I hold his damp dick and cut off what I can with the hacksaw. The blood and flesh ooze out. I squeeze his length. He sputters, panting, a scream finally ripping from his chest as the hacksaw reaches those sensitive balls. His eyes roll back as he faints.
I hold up his dick against the dark sky. The violence is beautiful. It’s a shame she didn’t get to see it up close and personal.
I sniff his dick. It smells like latex and ammonia. Semen. The faintest hint of pussy—sour and sweet, like a slice of pineapple burning on an open fire—surrounds me.
I want more.
I search the backseat of the taxi. The condom lies on the leather. I stuff it into my mouth. Past the rubber, I tasteher.
Raven Sinclair. The deviant little thief with a good girl disguise. I know that now.
I jerk off, my palm under me as I hump the backseat of the car, my head deep in the cushion, sniffing the fabric for hints of her floral perfume. In my mind, I see her dyed, cherry-red hair. Her tanned skin. Her brown eyes rolling back in pleasure, but it’s not because we’re fucking. It’s because we’re both holding a knife.
We clutch it together. Thrust it into a body. The blood pools on the ground. And the girl smiles at me.
I come, my jizz splattering against the leather.
I stand and wipe my hands on my pants. Everything is silent, even that nagging inner voice. Come to think of it, that voice hasn’t spoken up since I picked up Rae.
“Good one, little girl,” I say out loud. “You think you’re smart, don’t you?”
Perhaps she is.
I had planned to finally kill the girl, but she survived another night. Behind closed doors—even the car doors of a taxi cab—Rae is a different person. We both are. We look like normal, innocent people. I murder. She steals—a petty little thief—but she’s capable of so much more.
And that makes her interesting.
I rub my hands together. Watching her from the confines of my taxi isn’t enough anymore, and neither is the idea of killing her.
I need her to find her way to my hometown. It’ll be easier to manipulate her there.
First, she needs to be fired. She works for her mother at Opulence, but if she’s been stealing from her hookups, it’s likely she’s already moved onto bigger hits. Plenty of billionaires and celebrities stay at the Opulence. Soon, I’ll drop a hint or two to one of them, and her reputation will spread across the city. Blocked from employment, she’ll have no choice; she’ll have to leave Las Vegas. Then I’ll fake internet ads, claiming that my town has better rent. Perhaps I’ll even find a way to get her mother to tell Rae the truth about her connection to the place.
A curious, economic girl like her won’t be able to resist exploring that connection. And right now, I’m curious too. How far can I pull her away from the good girl exterior? How bad can she become? Can I manipulate her into hurting others for pleasure? Deep down, is she a killer like me?
We’ll find out.
Chapter1
Rae
present
I narrow my eyes.Across the mall’s cracked parking lot and up a dirt driveway, a dilapidated two-story house stares down like a guard watching over the gates of hell. The two windows on the top floor are reminiscent of boxy, judging eyes. The blue, peeling paint is like layers of tattooed skin. The gray front door resembles rotting flesh. Desert surrounds the outside perimeter of the mall’s parking lot,exceptfor that one house, almost like the house was never meant to be there. It’s a scar that will never truly go away.
The Galloway House.
The house was constructed in the seventies and nicknamed after the first residents that lived there, a family of four that died by murder-suicide. I’d be willing to bet their deaths helped my father get a deal on the house…before he died inside of it too.
