Page 38 of Along for the Ride

“What...the...fuck,” she pants. “And why is your dick hard?” she asks me. Her gaze shifts to Gentry, and she lets out a weak groan. “Jesus Christ, yours too?”

I laugh because who the fuck comes out of a choking like that? Unfazed by the near-death experience, but totally offended by the stiff cocks.

“That was the easy part,” I say.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

Gentry’s head pivots toward me. “Yeah, what do you mean?”

I grip the collar of her shirt and snatch down, ripping the thin fabric and fully exposing her left breast.

“What the fuck?” Gentry and Leana snarl in unison.

“Trust my process.” With a feral grin, I revel in the beautiful sight before me. Her breast is so round, and the nipple has peaked against the coolness. Seeing just one of her tits makes me want to see the rest of her. All of her. I reach down and trace the cupid’s arrow tattoo on the outside of her breast, wrapping around the curve. Gentry growls a warning, and I pull my hand away.

“What’d you get this for?” I ask.

“Don’t answer that,” Gentry commands, his body trembling.

“It’s from when I used to believe in love,” she says.

My stomach gives the slightest squeeze in my gut. I remember when I thought love was something to look forward to. I found a woman I liked a lot when I was eighteen. Gave her flowers and shit. Walked her home from school. Well, I walked behind her while she walked home from school. I thought we were heading toward fucking marriage until she rejected me. I had no choice but to kill her after that. Regardless, I also got it tattooed on my body. The wordbitchdown my forearm.

My open blade sits beside me. I grab it and bring it to her breast.

“Don’t you hurt her,” Gentry says.

“It’s a fucking knife, Gentry. It’s going to hurt her.”

“No! No!” she screams.

“If it’s blood you need, use mine.” He thrusts his arm forward. What a white fucking knight.

My dark eyes rise to his. “It needs to be hers. It needs to be perfect if you want her to live so badly.”

I cut into her, careful not to ruin her lame tattoo. She screams and I throw a hand over her mouth. Crimson rises to the surface. It pools for a moment before it drips under her breast, down her side, and onto her ripped shirt. Another line forms and gathers in the hollow of her neck. The cut looks deeper than it is, but the amount of blood it produces is fucking artistic beauty. I adjust the frayed fabric so it kind of looks like a fatal stab wound. The outside of her tit still hangs out, wet and bloody.

God, I’m so fucking hard.

“Fuck you,” she snarls as I rip my hand away from her mouth.

“Swear all you want, thief, just don’t fucking move.” I look up at Gentry, who’s furiously pacing at this point. “Now we need to do something with this,” I say, waving my hand above her face. “Give me your best dead face.”

She drops her head to the side and her jaw gapes. I sigh and smack her cheek. “I have killed so many people, and none of them died with their mouths hanging open like a yutz.”

“Fine, since you’re the professional, show me the death face.”

I lie on the grass beside her, turn my head—she was pretty accurate about that—and keep my mouth fucking closed. I relax my jaw, fix my eyes on the SUV’s tire, and hold my breath for good measure.

“Gentry, get a stick and poke him to see if he’s dead,” she says through a laugh, and even Gentry chuckles for a moment.

“Stop fucking around, thief. Look at me. Mirror what I’m doing.”

She turns her head toward me, but now her lips are pressed together too tightly.

“Relax your jaw. You want it somewhere between gaping like before and...whatever the fuck you’re doing now.” I look over at Gentry. “Real death would have been a lot less labor intensive, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, throwing me a dismissive wave.

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