I grab my leather coat from the chair back and my beanie from the bookcase, pulling the hat on as I head for my office closet. I open the closet door, exposing my gun safe. With a quick spin of the combination lock—0-4-2-0-1-1, the date of my first murder—the solid steel door creaks open. Inside are my guns, twenty of them and of all varieties, along with three identical briefcases tucked neatly at the bottom of the safe. I crouch and grab the first one, which contains my bind-fuck-kill kit. I don't even need to check if it's the right one. I've been doing this a while.
Closing the safe and closet doors, I make my way through the cabin hallway to my front door. My body is buzzing. The adrenaline has kicked in, sending a charge up and down my arms and legs. I'm ready for this. And even though I have an hour’s drive ahead of me, this feeling won't change. When I'm on the prowl, I'm at my best. I conquer the world one miserable soul at a time.
My first stop is Taylor, NC, about thirty minutes from my cabin. It’s a quiet, dreadful little town full of redneck fucks I’d rather not mingle with, but one of those fucks is an old high school friend—if I’ve ever had such a thing as friends. He runs a Ride Spot Rent-A-Car out of Taylor. He gives me good deals, doesn't ask questions, and rents to me whenever I damn well please. Being a well-known author, my name carries weight around this entire fucking world. Now imagine how it is with those I grew up with. It's not hard for me to make shit happen.
He rents me a little Chevy Sonic.
"Business in Myrtle Beach," I tell him.
"Been there once. Fucked three strippers," he responds.
After a quick cash transaction, I'm on the road again and ready. Ready to take on the night. Ready to unleash some carnage. Ready to fuck some shit up.
Asheville isn’t the quaint little Southern city it once was. Many of these desperate city streets, ones I've become quite familiar with, are now places normal people like to ignore. They're the gum on the bottom of your shoe. They're straight out of fucking Hollywood. For me, they're like a drug. I feel comfort in the darkness… in the silence.
I park next to a curb, drawing the attention of a few bums huddled along some buildings, but most stay bundled tightly in moving blankets and newspaper. I shoot off a quick page to Chastity, my only method of communication with her—the only one I want to use, that is—and after a few moments, she comes slinking from the alleyway in her usual yoga pants, Nike running shoes, and black pullover, her arms folded tightly against her petite body. She pulls the handle and jumps quickly into the passenger seat, putting both hands to the vents.
"Don't you own a jacket, woman?" I ask as she looks at me, her nose and ears bright red, skin flushed, and bottom lip clenched between chattering teeth. I pull away as she finally begins to warm up.
Her shivering calms. "I didn't think it would be this cold. It's only a few flights of stairs and a ten-foot walk, but damn, I think my pussy froze off." She laughs.
"I guess I'm destroying your asshole then?" I shoot her a smirk, and her eyes instantly widen.
She shakes her head slowly, her long blond hair swinging from side to side, her arms still mummy-like against the vents. "Please, no, I think she's gonna be just fine." She laughs again, patting her groin and sliding her other hand against my leg. She gives my thigh two good squeezes. "I've missed you."
"Honey," I say as I pull into our usual motel, “Well, I can’t say the same, but I can say I’ve missed fucking you." My dick twitches at the thought of cuffing her hands and feet to the bed frame and taking her for everything she's worth.
"You have no idea. I've had so many fucking old rich fucks lately who want me to peg their assholes. I just don't get it," she says.
My nose scrunches in disgust as I put the car in park. "Well, my beautiful little slut"—I grab her hair and pull her face closer to mine—"I hope you didn't bring your strap-on tonight because you certainly won't be needing it."
I kiss her hard, taking her bottom lip between my teeth and pulling back almost enough to break skin. She whimpers before our lips connect again. I tear away, letting go of her hair. Her eyes remain closed, her head drifting slightly from side to side.
"I can promise you that." I smile and pop the door open.
"Now that I've missed," she says, opening her eyes, a broad smile taking up her face.
I lean toward the backseat, grab my briefcase, and step out of the car before looking back in at her. "Don't go expecting much of that. Don't you even think about it." I pass her an evil smirk and close the door just as she attempts to respond.
Have you ever had a moment when you were in complete control? When the world felt as if it were just a marble in your balled up fist? That's how I feel when I fuck and when I kill. This is my hour. This is my calling. I am the god of fuck, and I do the Devil's dirty work, and tonight, my wrath will be felt.