Snippet Saturday: "What did you do to your friends, Marshall?" an excerpt from Halfborn

 

What did you do to your friends, Marshall?

an excerpt from Halfborn

“Hey, Marshall, do you ever miss your old life?” I asked timidly.

A jolt of confusion flowed from him. He quickly reined it in before he answered. “No,” he said, slightly angry. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Because . . . I think you should miss it. At least a little.” I sat down across from him. “I mean, there has to be something you're upset about losing.”

“I can't think of anything I wouldn't mind losing if being with you is what I get in return. I was a college student with no major, and I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. Now, I have a brand-new start with no need to know what kind of job I'll need to die at—just trying to scrape by and survive.” He glanced out the window, and some feeling I couldn't figure out revealed itself briefly.

“You didn't have any friends? No one you cared for? No one you miss?” I asked, pushing him to show something—anything—for everything he must have lost.

“Yeah, I had friends; not that it matters. Besides, they're better off I'm gone.” He looked at me, and then down to his hands.

The feeling I couldn't identify slipped to me from him, again. Regret? Then it was gone. I thought back to the night he'd killed his parents—to the car ride home. He'd been so racked with guilt, with remorse, and then it was gone. I wondered then: did Marshall know he was controlling his feelings or was it merely by accident and some sort of survival instinct?

“What did you do to your friends, Marshall?” I asked before I could stop myself.

The regret flowed back, accompanied by anger. I didn't really want him angry with me. I'd seen what he was capable of, but he needed to work at least some of his issues out before he turned me into an uncontrollable monster.

He brought his eyes back up to meet mine. His eyebrows pinched together above the bridge of his nose. “Friend. What did I do to my friend, because I really only had one true one,” he said.

“Well, Marshall?” I urged.

He shook his head, and the corners of his lips turned down. “I slept with his fiancée . . . Is this what you want to hear? That I'm a backstabbing asshole that fucks his only friend's girl.”

Out of everything I could've thought, the words he spoke seemed far from any of it. I didn't know why. I didn't even know Marshall, really. We'd been thrust together by a mystical occurrence. I was shocked by what he'd said, but I also felt betrayed. Though, I had no right to. He hadn't wronged me, and I didn't even know him when he'd done it.

He seemed so . . . loyal. Maybe the betrayal I felt was because I didn't want to believe he could do something like what he said he'd done. Like he had lied to me, but I could tell what he'd said was the truth.

He gave me a minute to process his words. When I hadn't responded, he continued, “That's why I was at that stupid burger place. I was breaking things off with her. Jared, my friend, had found out and was falling apart. He wouldn't speak to me, and I didn't blame him. I hated myself. Maybe I still do.”

“Damn it, Marshall,” I said as his self-loathing and hate washed over me. “I didn't know. Why didn't you say something sooner?”

“Why would I? I'm not going back to that life. It doesn't matter anymore.”

“But what if it does matter, Marshall?” I asked. “What if you holding these feelings back, hiding them inside, is keeping you from being able to control more important things? Even if you don't realize you're putting in an effort to block these things, you are, and I think it's making it harder for you to block other things. Like, I don't know, your bloodlust? At least that's what I'm beginning to believe. You need to deal with this stuff.”

“I have. I put it behind me. It's been forgotten. Well, until you brought it up!” He slammed his fist down on the table.

“You're wrong. Or else you wouldn't be so pissed right now.”

“God damn it, Coral! When I was laying there, thinking I was dying . . . I resigned. I decided I deserved death. That I'd brought it upon myself. I made peace with everything.”

I placed my hands on his and tried to comfort him, but he was so angry. “But you didn't die. Not exactly. You're still here. And then, you did something far worse than having sex with someone you shouldn't have.”

He jerked his hands away and stood up, taking several steps back. “Don't! Don't fucking do this, Coral! I can't. I won't.” The remorse, the sadness, the undeniable despair that rolled between us was short lived and was quickly replaced by a rage that burned so hot it began to draw out both our bloodlust.

Shit, that wasn't what I expected. Sadness, grief, tears. That's what I expected. Not for me to be touched with my own fear that my life could be in danger. I had the thought that I should have ended the conversation, that I should have quit pushing him, but I knew not dealing with these things would only allow everything to stay as it had been. No control over anything, just mindless killing, and that was going to do something to me that scared me more than death. I had to try.

I mentally clawed my way through the rage and past the bloodlust that boiled below the surface, and I found the things Marshall didn't want to feel. I let those feelings flow into me, and I tried to push them back at him. This made his rage grow more, and the bloodlust leaked through further.

“You just keep getting angrier, Marshall, but we are going to talk about this. You are going to confront this!” My voice got louder as I spoke, as the anger seeped past my barriers.

A manic laugh bubbled from his lips, and the wildness, I'd grown familiar with when we fed, filled his eyes. “You think you can make me do something I don't want to do?”

“I don't think you'll do anything to hurt me, Marshall!” My words came out more confident than I felt.

More manic laughter filled the small space. “You don't think so? Keep this stupid shit up and see what happens.”

It's not that I didn't believe him. I did, but the facts weighed too heavy on me not to finish what I'd started. I ripped the band-aid off, and I said what I should have said weeks before, “Marshall, you killed your parents! That has to have some kind of effect on you. Ignoring it isn't going to change what happened.” At some point, I had stood up, and I was staring into Marshall's eyes, issuing a challenge, when my words ended.

A sound, I could only describe as a growl, rattled up from his chest and left through his clenched teeth. I didn't move. I wouldn't back down, but I also didn't dare give him reason to think I was fleeing.

“Marshall, you need to calm down. Get yourself under control!” I shouted at him.

“What? This isn't the reaction you wanted?” he asked, his rage and bloodlust spiked so high that I nearly leapt at him.

I composed myself as much as I could. “You need to grieve your losses. You need—”

My head hit the dining table as my body fell to the floor from Marshall's weight on top of me. I didn't even see him move; he was just there, attacking. Everything was going dark as I felt his teeth rip into my neck.

*Halfborn is available on Amazon. Grab your copy, ebook or paperback, here. Thank you for your support! I love my readers. 💖

Short Story Saturday: Rabid Dog: A Creepy-Colin Escapade by Guest Author Paul Skelton

Rabid Dog

(A Creepy- Colin escapade)

“I'm  a sick dog, a slavering canine,

My brains inflamed, come and be mine,

I got it viral, I got me a fever,

Come and taste my saliva, girrrrrl.”

“Coz, I'm a dog, a rabid dog, I'm a dog, a rabid dog,

I'm a dyin' breed doncha wanna snog,

With a rabid dog, a rabid dog like me?”

   The punk rock song blasted out from Jessica Wilson's boombox.

  'What vile lyrics, Jessica, who are they Slipknot?' Mrs. Sandra Wilson enquired of her sixteen-year-old daughter.

  'Uh? Mum, you're so lame. Slipknot? God, they're, like, so pre-historic,' Jessica spat back.

  'They sound a bit like them. Sorry, I'm sure. So you're out with Colin Gilby tonight, are you?'

   'Yeh , and?'

   'Just so's I know who you're with and . . .'

  'Yeh? Well, like, we're gonna go down the graveyard and have sex with dead bodies, coz Col’s well into necky feel ya,' Jessica said sarcastically. 'But I'll be in before eleven.'

  'Haha, it's necrophilia if you must take the piss, daughter of mine. Where are you really off to?'

  'Actually, Mum,' now more friendly, 'Col's got tickets for “Rabid Dog” at the Wagons. Says they include a backstage meet and greet with the band after.' Clearly Jessica was excited.

  'Well, watch that Colin, he gives me the creeps. Pete reckons it was him took some of my lingerie off the washing line.'

  'Mum! I'm not stupid, Colin is a creep. He won't get my knickers off. Pah! I'm just stringing him along to get gig tickets, ain't I? Huh!'

   'And this meet and greet business, Jess, what's that about? In my day, it was . . .'

   'I know, I know what it was in your day mother. That's how you met my real Dad, blah blah blah. So, I was a Rock n' Roll baby, so what? Col thinks it's cool, being Ralph Stocker’s illegitimate daughter. I ain't ashamed.'

   Mrs. Wilson blushed. 'No, what I meant was . . .'

  'It just means you get to, like, meet 'em, chat with 'em, maybe have a drink. I'll be with others, Mum. It's proper safe, everyone does it. God, you're so . . . so . . . oh I dunno . . . pot calling kettle black.'

   'Ok. Well, I'm not going to say you were an accident. It's just that I would rather have had you in other circumstances, that's all, and I'm just concerned that there might be drugs. I love you, Jess, and I want you to be careful and be safe, that's all.'

   'Yeh, whatever,' yawning, 'I'll be safe, and I'll be in by midnight.'

* * *

   'So, girrl, liked our show, did ya?' Connor Bryant, lead singer with Rabid Dog leered.

   'Oh yeh, like, WOW!' gushed Jessica.

  'Connor, what tuning do you use on “Snotty Little Creep”?' enquired Creepy-Colin, but he was ignored. 

   'Wanna come in the dressing room for a little vodka?' Connor continued, drooling slightly.

   'I'm up for it,' said Creepy-Colin, eagerly.

  'Not you, creep. He means me,' Jessica sneered, followed by a “no, not you” look from Connor.

   'What about “us”, Jess?' Creepy-Colin sounded hurt, and his lower lip quivered.

  'There's no us, Col. I just wanted tickets and him,' gesturing at Connor, 'he's lush, and you're not, pimple face! Now, piss off.'

   Creepy-Colin walked off sheepishly, back to the function room bar, whilst Connor led Jessica into a dressing room and locked the door. It was quite basic, the only furniture being two plastic chairs, a full-length mirror and a massive bean bag, which was heavily stained and discoloured. Connor produced a bottle of cheap vodka and two hotel bathroom type tumblers. Having both slugged their vodkas, Connor, salivating heavily, poured out more and put his arm 'round Jessica's waist.

   'Gotta question for ya,' he slurred. He seemed hot, almost feverish.

   'Okay.'

   'Listen, “Got the liquor out the back of my car, take a drink take off your bra,

Got the hots and gettin' hotter, lemme get inside your knickers”,'  Connor sang a line from one of his songs softly into Jessica’s ear.

   Jessica replied softly into his ear. 'You can't get my bra or knickers off,' she cooed.

   'Oh, ok, babe. Ya can't blame a bloke for tryin', eh? Just love what I'm seein', girrrl, and . . .' Connor started to say, but Jessica interrupted.

  'Because I haven't got any on. None. No bra, no knickers, wanna party?' she purred provocatively.

   They “partied” on the filthy bean bag, and Jessica just about made it home by midnight in the back of the Rabid Dog tour van.

* * *

    The first thing Pete (Jessica’s step-dad) noticed were the love bites on Jessica’s neck, on the Sunday morning after the show, as she emerged from the bathroom.

    'Bloody Hell, Jess, you got a bit heavy with Colin last night, didn't you?'

    'What?' she replied irritably.

    'Bit hungover, are we? The love bites on your neck, Jess. You're only sixteen.'

    Jessica checked her neck in the hallway mirror. 'It wasn't Creepy-Colin. I was just neckin' with, like, a real man.'

   'Well, you'd better put on a roll-neck or something, your Mother will go ballistic. One of the band, was it?' He smiled.

   'Yeh!' she said in a triumphant tone. 'Connor Bryant, the lead singer. He's lush, I mean like, so lush. Got his number an' stuff. Yeh. Like he'll get me in any gigs for free, and he said he wants to see more of me, coz I'm the prettiest girl he's ever, like, ever seen.'

   Jessica got dressed and put on a roll-neck sweater. She joined her step-dad and younger step-brother, Jacob, in the kitchen.

   'Coffee, Jess?' Pete called out as she sat at the dining table.

   'Nah. Just juice, please. Where's Mum?'

   'Gone 'round to help Creepy-Colin’s Mum with Church flowers. So did you do him then?' Jacob sniggered. Jessica ignored him, but he persisted. 'Did you 'ave him, Jess? Ol' Creepy-Colin? Haha, you'll catch pimples. He's well diseased he is. Haha.'

   'Shut up, Jacob, you plank,' she spat back at him.

   'Jacob! Go to the garage, get the mower out and do the lawn, now!'

   'Uh? Oh, Ok, Dad,' Jacob responded truculently and went outside via the back door, which he slammed violently.

   'Here's your juice, Jessica. Er, look, did you have sex with this Bryant guy? I won't be mad at you. We know you're on the pill.' Pete spoke evenly.

   'What? That's gross. I mean, what?'

  'Ok, so you did then.' Pete sighed. 'Like Mother, like daughter. Look, Jess, there's something you need to know about him. For a start, he looks young but he's thirty-two and married, at least in theory, and . . .'

   'So? That's only what Twitter says.' Jessica was defiant.

  'And, I was going to go on to say, he's Ralph Stocker's son, which makes you, my little groupie, his flipping half-sister! We'd better not tell your Mother.'

   Pete turned his laptop 'round so Jessica could see the aging Ralph Stocker with his arm 'round Connor Bryant. The text read: “Rocker Ralph proud of his 'Rabid Son', Connor Bryant, frontman of award-winning ska-punk's 'Rabid Dog'.”

  Jessica ran to the downstairs toilet and threw up with violent retching and coughing. Later she deleted a contact in her mobile phone and cried her eyes out.

* * *

“I'm drooling over your rancid corpse,

My brains are exploding my head is sore,

I got it bad, the fever's high,

Gonna have you before I die, girrrrrl.”

“Coz, I'm a dog, a rabid dog, I'm a dog, a rabid dog,

I'm a dyin' breed doncha wanna snog,

With a rabid dog, a rabid dog like me?”

* * *

   Colin Gilby listened to, and simultaneously read, the lyrics with growing concern. It was about eight weeks since the Rabid Dog gig, and Jessica had been ill for the last couple of days. Colin’s Mother, who had visited the Wilson's that day was most concerned.

   'They're getting the Doctor out if she's not better in the next couple of days,' she said to her son.

   Colin tapped furiously on his laptop, and upon finding what he was looking for, slammed it shut. He rummaged around in a drawer, produced some items and thrust them into his leather jacket. He grabbed the jacket, put it on, tucked his laptop under his arm and stormed out of the house.

   'What is it, Colin, you don't look well?' Mrs. Wilson gasped as she opened her front door to Colin.

   'Look, I know you don't like me, Mrs. Wilson, sometimes I don't like myself, but I think I know what's wrong with Jess. LOOK!' He opened the laptop and showed her the screen. Mrs. Wilson fainted, collapsing at Colin’s feet.

   'Sorry, Mrs. Wilson, gotta see her now. while there's still time,' he said as he stepped over her body, raced up the stairs and burst into Jessica’s bedroom.

   'What the . . . ? Colin?' Pete was standing over Jessica’s convulsing body with a glass of water as Colin went over to her.

   'Don't give her water, Mr. Wilson. Look at this,' he said as he handed his laptop to the stunned step-father.

  Jessica was panting, salivating and babbling incoherently her skin drenched in perspiration. She was clearly delirious.

   'Rabies? Fucking Rabies?' Pete Wilson was ranting, his eyes bulging and glued to the screen on the laptop. 'I'll get the Doctor,' he finally bleated weakly.

   'No time for that. Help me out,' said Colin. 'Got any whiskey, vodka or such?'

   'Er . . . yeh-yeh. I'll get it for you.' In a daze Pete fetched a bottle of vodka.

   'Right!' said Colin with authority. 'It maybe too late, but wash her neck where those welts are with the vodka, ok?'

   'Er . . . yeh, right. What are you gonna do?' At that moment, Jacob walked past the bedroom and peered in.

   'Huh, Creepy-Colin. Like dying bodies do ya, acne face?'

   In perfect unison, Pete Wilson and Colin looked up and yelled, 'PISS OFF!’

   ‘Do something useful and call the NHS, get a Doctor, tell ‘em it’s Rabies,' Pete added.

   Jacob rushed off to dial “101”. Pete turned to Colin. 'What are you doing?'

  'This!' said Colin as he stabbed Jessica’s thigh with an epi-pen, he then produced a syringe and plunged that into her leg as well.

  'Epi-pen, I have allergies,' he gasped breathlessly, holding it up so Pete could see it. 'And an injection I made up. Basically anti-flu inoculation and liquid paracetamol, I use it on my pet python, Boris.'

   The Doctor arrived thirty minutes later, examined Jessica, who was now lifeless, and prepared himself to share some bad news with the family waiting fearfully downstairs. Colin was still in Jessica’s room with the Doctor, having described his home-made treatment to him.

  Suddenly Jessica sat up, vomited and stared at Colin. Then she relaxed, and in a hoarse whisper said, 'Thank you, Colin.'

* * *

   Jessica's seventeenth birthday party, six weeks later, was more “Rag ‘n’ Bone Man” than “Rabid Dog”. Colin had been invited, and he appeared to be the centre of attention. Connor Bryant had recently died of a “mystery illness”, according to his publicist. The Wilsons and Gilbys knew better!

Short Story Saturday: Dog Fight: A Creepy-Colin Escapade by Guest Author Paul Skelton

Dog Fight

(A Creepy-Colin Escapade)

Written by

Paul Skelton

   Billy Chandler, who was nearly twelve years old, loved his toy. It was ace. During the day, Billy was home alone for the school holidays with only Benji, the families Yorkshire Terrier for company. Benji did not share Billy’s love of the toy. In fact, he was terrified of it, especially when it was used to chase him 'round the garden.

  Billy’s Mum, Lorraine, worked in the local bookies in the afternoons, and Dad, Terence, worked the twilight shift (2pm – 10pm) at a local warehouse. Both parents worked six days a week, with only Sundays off. Lorraine finished at 5:30pm each day and had Billy fed, watered and in bed by 7:30pm, giving her a two-hour window to go to her bedroom and play with her favourite toy, which was ace.

   Creepy-Colin was a fifteen-year-old nerd who lived next door. He was very clever and into all sorts of high tech gadgetry, including a sophisticated surveillance system set up to watch Lorraine when she played with her favourite toy. What he did not know was that Billy with his toy could spy on Creepy-Colin. Billy often wondered what Creepy-Colin was looking at on his computer screen, but judging by his antics, he reckoned it must be very exciting. Only Lorraine was oblivious to all this spying, whilst lost in ecstasy and pleasure, sprawled naked on her divan bed.

  The neighbours on the other side were the Caswells, a family of six adults, all benefit and alcohol dependant. Their pet dog, Tyson, was a vicious pit bull, who regularly attacked other people's pets when he was on the loose.

   One afternoon, Billy was playing in his upstairs bedroom, whilst Creepy-Colin next door was setting up his telescope to watch Mrs. Wilson (two doors down) come out to do some topless sunbathing. This was inferior entertainment compared with Lorraine’s activities but had its moments when Mrs. Wilson applied sun-tan lotion to her chest area.

   Billy was just turning his attention from his Tonka-Toy truck to his X-Box when there was a loud and urgent banging on the front door, accompanied by shouting through the letterbox.

   'BILLY, BILLY! Let me in quick! Your dog's in trouble. He's being attacked in your back garden. LET ME IN! I CAN HELP, BILLY!' It was Creepy-Colin.

   Billy jumped up and shot a glance from his bedroom window to the back garden below. He could not see Benji, but he could see Tyson, who had come through a hole in the fence. Alarmed, he ran down to let Creepy-Colin in.

   'Billy, them Caswells kicked a hole in your fence, which let their pit bull into your garden. Benji's hiding behind your Dad’s shed. Saw it all through my telescope. We gotta do something, Billy.'

   'We can't fight Tyson, Colin. He'll kill us.'

   'No, not with our bare hands we can't. Get your drone, Billy, and I'll get some knives and stuff from your kitchen. I've got some duck tape, we can rig up your drone to scare Tyson off, okay? See you up in your room, Billy, in two minutes.'

   Billy went and got out his favourite, ace toy: his drone. It was a sizeable one fitted with a camera. It was also fully charged. Within minutes, Creepy-Colin was in Billy’s room, equipping the drone with sharp kitchen knives, attached with the duck tape. He'd even found some loose craft knife blades to stick onto the rotors. Billy, meanwhile, had opened the bedroom windows wide. He saw a bloodied Benji being chased from behind his Dad's garden shed by a snarling, slavering Tyson.

   'QUICK, COLIN,' he yelled.

   'It's ready, Billy,' Creepy-Colin affirmed. 'Now, gimme the remote controls, and hold your drone over the window ledge. I'll fly it, coz it's a bit heavier than you're used to with all these knives on it.'

    Billy did as he was asked.

    The drone lurched drunkenly through the open window into the garden. Benji was now perched up on top of an old coal bunker, quaking and yelping in fear. The rather heavier pit bull stood in front of the bunker, glaring up at Benji and growling with malicious intent. Tyson lacked Benji’s agility and therefore did not succeed in his attempts to jump up onto the bunker himself, which bought Billy and Creepy-Colin valuable time.

   Creepy-Colin lost no time in mastering control of the drone, and in moments, had it circling above Tyson’s head. As Tyson attempted to rear up on his hind legs to assault the drone, one of the knives slashed one of his front paws, leaving a nasty gash. The stricken pit bull fell back heavily, howling in pain just as Creepy-Colin steered the whirling machine in for a second attack. This time the blades caught Tyson in the face and head. One ear was sliced through, an eyeball vacated its socket and Tysons jaw was severely torn. The whimpering hound retreated to the Caswell’s back garden, leaving a scarlet trail behind him. Once he was on the other side of the fence, he hid under a garden table to lick his wounds.

   Billy ran downstairs to bring Benji inside for a drink of water and some rest. He and Creepy-Colin then found some unused paving slabs to block the hole in the fence, they even thought to use Billy’s Dad’s garden hose to wash away Tyson’s trail of blood.

* * *

   Billy’s Mum arrived home just after 5:30pm.

   'Hi, Billy, been up to much?' she called as she entered the front doorway.

   'Just playing with my drone, boring day really.' Billy yawned.

   Billy was fed, watered, and sent to bed at 7:30pm, but he did not sleep. Once he'd heard his mother close her bedroom door, he got out of bed, put his dressing gown on and sneaked downstairs. Creepy-Colin’s mother and father were out at the local pub when Billy entered the house. Soon Billy was in Creepy-Colin’s room watching the action on his computer screen, he'd never seen his mother quite like this before.

   'Told you, Billy, ace, innit?'

   'Blimey,' said Billy. 'Is it naughty of us, doing this?'

   'Nah. Fun though, innit? I call it neighbourhood watch. It's just spying really.'

   'Yeh? Like James Bond and stuff?'

  'Yeh, Billy, like that. And remember, Billy, if it hadn't been for me doing my bit of spying, we might not have saved Benji. So no telling, right, Billy-boy?'

   'No. No telling,' Billy reassured him. Then giggling and pointing at the image of his mother on the screen in front of them, Billy said, 'And mum's the word.'

   'Ace,' said Creepy-Colin, high fiving Billy’s palm.

Snippet Saturday: Your Momma Didn't Raise You Right an excerpt from 'Wraith'

First off: this post is a great example of why you get the content warning when clicking on a link for my blog. This excerpt contains both sexual and violent content while balancing a bit of adult humor. So, continue reading with that in mind. 😉

Your Momma Didn't Raise You Right

an excerpt from 'Wraith'

Turning the corner, I glanced around, disappointed at the lack of people. Maybe it was too early, but usually at the truck stops I was familiar with, the first shift of panhandlers were in place at the break of dawn, swindling truck drivers and travelers before they could get their first cup of coffee and fully wake up.

“Shit!” I swore, and then bit my lip, narrowing my eyes.

“Such language from such a purrty thing. Your momma didn’t raise you right.” The voice came from the parking lot behind me.

“Excuse me?” I spun around and glared at the broad-shouldered, mostly silver-haired man stepping up on the store’s sidewalk.

“Don’t get me wrong, while you ain’t marrying material, a girl with a dirty mouth usually carries that dirty over elsewhere.” He waggled his eyebrow at me. “I’ve got fifty bucks if you show me how dirty you can be.”

“Are you fucking kiddin’ me?” I laughed at him and rolled my eyes. “Ugh!”

“Name’s Rusty.  If you change your mind, I’ll be out in a few. We can put that dirty little mouth of yours to work. Maybe, I could scrape up another twenty-five if it’s more than just your mouth.” He stuck his tongue out and flicked it furiously, lapping at the air in a suggestive way. “Who knows? If you’re a good little, dirty girl, I’ll give you a ride on the Rusty Racer.”

He walked in through the automatic doors as I gagged, forcing down the bile that threatened to come up my throat and out of my mouth. Who the hell names their tongue? I thought with a shudder.

I walked to the opposite side of the building and looked along the empty walkway. Frustrated and irritated, I started back to the car.

Just eat the truck driver. That guy seems like a prick, anyway. I’ll have someone clean it up later. Bastian’s voice glided through my mind.

I recoiled at the thought but decided the options were limited, and the guy pretty much invited it. Fine. I guess you’re right. I’ll be around in a bit. Gotta wait for him to come back out.

You could always take a little longer, have a little fun . . . try out the Rusty Racer. The sound of laughter echoed through my head.

Um, yeah. Nah, I’m good. I shook my head, trying to erase the image that passed through my thoughts.

He’s not too bad looking. Not hot, but I guess you like ‘em to look like they’re barely out of high school. His words struck hard when I realized he was referring to Marshall. Not that Bastian looked any older.

Bite me, I retorted.

Only if you ask nicely, he replied, catching me off guard.

“Still here, I see,” the trucker said behind me.

I tried to compose myself before turning to face him, knowing a blush had crept up my cheeks from Bastian’s last comment. “Yeah, turns out I like to be dirty. You don’t even have to pay me.” I smirked.

His jaw went slack, and he seemed at a loss for words.

“Unless you didn’t mean it. I can go find someone else, but I really wanted to see why you call it Racer.” I pouted my bottom lip out. “Like can you put a vibrator to shame or is it just over quick-like? I suppose if it’s done properly, quick is fine as long as it actually gets the job done.”

He stood there dumbfounded.

I huffed. “I see,” I said, pouting my bottom lip out further, “you’re all bark and no bite.” Turning, I took a step to walk away.

He gripped my wrist, causing me to spin back around and face him again, need burning within his hazy blue eyes. “Where you going?” He pressed my palm to the bulge at the front of his jeans. “You can’t cause this, and then just walk away.”

“Technically, yes, I can, but I won’t. Where are you parked?” I asked, shaking my arm from his grip.

“It’s the red and blue rig over that way.” He jutted his chin toward the left side of the parking lot.

“Well, let’s go get that little guy taken care of.” Taking the lead, I headed for the semi he’d indicated.

He unlocked the door when we reached the truck, and he made sure to ‘help’ me into the cab by grabbing my ass as I climbed in. When I slid the curtain to the side, I was surprised by what was there. I didn’t know what I’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t a full set-up—king size bed, sink, mini fridge, and a T.V.

“Nice,” I said, walking to the bed and sitting down.

“Worth every penny.” He stood hovering just in front of the curtain before he reached back to pull it closed behind him.

I patted the bed beside me. “Well, get over here and show me what I’m working with.”

Uh, Coral, what are you doing? The words drifted through my mind, uncertain.

I chuckled internally. What I do best? Seduce and slaughter. I thought you knew that?

Can you not project? I don’t really want to watch this. Bastian’s words were contradicted by the way they drifted through my mind, more with a tone of interest than disgust.

What? You’re an adult. You can handle a blowjob. It . . . well, it just might be a little bloody. You’re not opposed to blood, are you? I mean, you do drink it, right? I let the words pass through my mind to his as I watched truck-driver Rusty drop his pants.

Um, Coral, that thing’s not a straw? Please, don’t act like it is. That’s just not right. I don’t care how much of a creep he is. Bastian’s words nearly had me sputtering with laughter, but I held it in.

“Aww, he’s so ready, but you’re still all the way over there. What are you waiting for? Kick your pants off your fucking ankles and get over here,” I said, and then licked my palm before inserting two fingers into my mouth and sucking them.

Rusty whimpered, honest to goodness whimpered, and then did what I’d told him. When he was close enough, I wrapped my moistened hand around his hardness, stroking down and then back up the length of him. My thumb glided over his tip, catching the bead of slickness that had left him.

Bastian pleaded in my mind about not wanting to watch, did I not have an ounce of humanity? Blah, blah, blah. I hadn’t actually planned on putting my hand on the thing, let alone my mouth, but Bastian’s freak out was too much fun.

I looked up at the man in front of me, his eyes were intent and focused on my hand as it slowly slid down the length of him and back up again. “Why don’t you lie down? Get comfortable?” I said and moved my hand away from the throbbing lump of flesh.

He sat down beside me and laid back, sliding further up the bed to where only his sock-covered feet hung off the edge.

I could practically hear Bastian’s labored breathing. Seems he didn’t mind so much ‘watching’ the ongoings, but he seemed just as surprised as Rusty did when my pocketknife sliced through his femoral artery.

No, neither one of them noticed as I’d slipped the blade from my pocket or even the small click it made as I opened it. I’d adjusted myself like I was going to take him into my mouth, and then there was blood everywhere as I plunged the blade through the thickness of his thigh. It made a much bigger mess than I’d anticipated before I could seal my lips around the incision.

The shock of it left truck-driver Rusty silent, and he was dead before he realized what had happened. Of that fact, I was nearly positive. Once the blood stopped filling my mouth, I pulled back, noticing the creamy splash of ejaculate across the man’s lower belly and up his shirt. His face locked in an expression between ecstasy and fear.

That was all kinds of wrong. Bastian’s words sounded somehow breathless as they flowed through my mind. You weren’t always this ruthless. It’s . . .

Hot? Sick? I offered.

Unnerving, yet, strangely compelling, he said.

I shook my head. I’m gonna need you to drive back here. I’m a mess. I need to shower when we get to that bitch’s house.

**Note: this excerpt is not a final draft. It is subject to change before the release of the final product.