A smile took hold of Zachary's face, toothy and weasel-like. “Tits out to here.” He cupped the air in front of him as if juggling watermelons like a goddamned retard. “Pretty face. Tight little *.”
Van's vision clouded in red, the blood in his veins boiling to burst. Zachary was a dead man. He slapped a hand on the counter. “Another shot, and hurry the fuck up, old man.”
The tool on the stool must have mistaken his rage for excitement. He let out an ear-splitting cackle. “Thing is, dude, she's got serious issues. Talk about quirks. I don't think she leaves the house much. She won't let me fuck her with the lights on. Been doing her for six months. Always at her place. I still haven't seen her naked.”
Six months and the ass didn't know she was agoraphobic. The shot slid in front of Van, and he tossed it back, swallowing down images of Zachary doing her. His stomach hardened, and his breaths pushed out so fast and coarse. No way would he be able to speak without roaring.
Goddammit, he could handle this conversation. This was his fucking forte. Control and coercion without physical force. Hell, he'd spent weeks drinking with the drug-dealing slime who'd lived with Kate, the last girl he'd taken for Mr. E. Her brothers might've protected her virginity, but their drunken, wagging tongues had lost her in the end. He liked to think he'd saved that girl, seeing how he'd freed her from her brothers' crack-house and Liv had freed her from Mr. E's trafficking.
Zachary nursed his beer, all quiet and thoughtful, as he pushed his hair away from his puckered eyebrows. When he opened his mouth, he seemed to be talking to himself. “I have to go to her house at a set time on the same days. Thirty seconds early or late, and she freaks the fuck out.” He swiped at his hair. “But there I am, syncing my clocks to hers and showing up right on time.”
This wasn't like the other captures. Amber wasn't going to a slave buyer. She was...unique and fascinatingly crazy. And she was his. Hell, he'd take her even if the sole purpose was to make sure she wasn't Zachary's—which it wasn't. But the moron didn't deserve her. Of course, neither did he.
He set the empty shot glass down and plucked a toothpick from a container on the bar. He'd only killed two people in his life. Shooting the wife of Liv's rapist had just been a means to torture the monster before killing him, too.
Zachary wasn't a rapist. He was just a ball-less queef in the fucking way.
He shifted to face the queef. “She the only * you're banging?
“Yeah, why?”
He thrust his chin at a flock of ladies who had just walked in. “Want to stick your dick in a real woman? With the lights on?”
Zachary's dark eyebrows rose beneath the falling strands of his hair. “Seriously?”
What a cunt. “Follow my lead.” He pivoted on the stool toward the women and let his thighs fall subtly apart, knowing the stretch in his jeans cupped his junk just right. He leaned his elbows on the bar top behind him and gnawed on the toothpick.
Four pairs of eyes looked his way. He blanked his expression in a portrait of indifference, his eyes roaming the group as a whole with little commitment.
Like a pack of hungry Chihuahuas, they scampered as one in his direction. A stagger of Hi's came next, followed by flushed cheeks, cleared throats, and smoldering stares.
Time to put them out of their misery. “I'm gay.”
A chorus of whiny Oooooh's blubbered out.
He chuckled. “I know the feeling. This guy here” —he squeezed Zachary's neck, probably with more force than was necessary— “turned me down. I saw his cock in the men's room. Un-fucking-real, ladies. Have fun with it.” He dropped a wad of cash on the counter, patted Zachary on the back, and gamboled to the door.
He moved the Mustang a few parking spots down from Zachary's truck and set up his camera. Forty-five minutes later, the two-timing prick strolled out of the bar with one of the girls under his arm and his tongue down her throat. Took the fucker long enough to snag a girl.
Camera raised, Van clicked away from his shadowed position in the Mustang. Zachary pressed her against the passenger door of the truck, one hand fumbling for his keys, the other shoved up her skirt.
Click. Click. Click.
Van's lungs expanded to their fullest with each deep, satisfied breath. Damn straight, he was smug. Not only did he restrain himself from gutting the guy, but also he did Amber a favor. She might not have cared who Zachary was fucking—especially given her willingness to fuck him a couple days ago—but he'd read agoraphobics didn't just cling to their homes. They attached themselves to people, too. At the moment, there was only one person she could've been attached to.
Zachary pushed the girl onto her back across the truck's seat. Without bothering to close the door, he proceeded to eat her face then her cunt beneath the glow of the streetlight.
After a few more clicks, Van set the camera down and lit a cigarette. Tomorrow, Amber wouldn't have a choice when she cut ties with Zachary Kaufman. But he needed her to be convincing when she did it.