“So soon?”
He nods. “Their explosives expert rigs the devices to send a signal to their satellite team just before they go off.”
Holy shit. That’s some advanced technology.
I avoid the temptation to fuck with his Grindr profile and instead pull up the messaging app Wimberley’s tech team has loaded on all our phones.
“Yep. Satellites confirm the cabin is toast.”
Rather than using his words, Erik merely nods and continues driving. He doesn’t say anything for the next hour, which, luckily, gives me plenty of time to revisit how it felt to have his eyes on my body at the cabin.
For a solid year, I’ve had strict rules about where I’ll get dressed and undressed, always making sure I’m in a room with a locked door. Over the last few months, however, I’ve relaxed. I swim in the creek behind Levy and Javier’s place all the time. I’ve even made the occasional midnight run to the bathroom in my boxers.
Today, though, I didn’t care. It wasn’t like Idecidedhe was safe and I could get undressed in front of him. I just started undressing.
I didn’t even question it when he offered to rinse me off. I can’t tell what I loved more—having New Orleans’ blood all over me or having Erik wash me clean. I vaguely remember stroking my cock, but the memory of him aiming the pulsing water at my balls is distinct. Fuck, I was so drunk on killing New Orleans that I pushed my ass out, practically begging Erik to take me. Instead, he acted like a skittish colt, almost dropping the sprayer.
If I were in my right mind, I’d be cringing until the day I died, but I can’t find it in me to be sorry for getting naked or that I caught him looking.
When he left me to shower on my own, I was so fucking turned on that within seconds of putting my hand on my dick, my knees nearly gave out under the most brutal orgasm I’ve ever had. Ever. It left me strung out against the cool tiles, but it still wasn’t enough.
I played with various angles on the massaging showerhead until I hit the same spot behind my balls, then paired that with a little pinch-roll over my nipples. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to come again, but then I saw a smear of blood on the tiles, and it was all I needed.
To be clear, blood isn’t the thing that gets me off. It’s the control I have over these fucks. I had absolute power over New Orleans’ life and death, and it was glorious.
Hedy once asked me what I’d do if I could go back in time to the night I was kidnapped as the adult I am now. I gave her the obvious answer—I’d save the kid version of me. I admitted, however, that I wouldn’t stop there.
Close your eyes, Little Ant. I’m about to gut this motherfucker.
Hedy was neither surprised nor disturbed by my answer.
Later I’d asked Hedy why killing made me horny, especially after sex had seemed like such an unpleasant expectation for so long. She explained how fucking and killing were two sides of the same coin—specifically, life. One side is about making and affirming it, and the other is about taking it.
“Universal balance,” she said with a wink.
It was enough to make me wonder what she gets up to with that Wimberley team.
I get what she’s saying though. Killing bad people has slowly but surely given me back the ability to experience and enjoy the other side of life’s coin. Well, killing random bad people. New Orleans was different somehow.
As for killing the randos, I may have told a fib or two to my friends, making them think I’ve been going on all these one-night stands in addition to the killing. That’s not true. It’s only ever been about the murder.
When I think about the other side of life’s coin—fucking or being fucked—I can’t begin to fathom doing that with a stranger. Hell, I’m just happy I get to experience being horny. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I only recently developed the desire and ability to touch myself.
Even though it does make me feel like a loser, one of my secret Friday-dinner appreciations was that I’d come by my own hand for the first time. As a kid, I was already a late bloomer, so I’d never touched myself before I was taken. And I definitely didn’t jack off while I was in the life.
It wasn’t easy to ask Hedy about it—until then, I’d felt too numb and shy to attempt anything approaching self-pleasure—but she was kind and talked me through it.
Things didn’t rev up, though, until the night I saved Erik’s life. The second I got home, I dry-jacked into the toilet and nearly passed out from how hard I came. I remember leaning against the counter, watching the white fluid circle the water, feeling like I’d just experienced a damn miracle.
I’ve since worked up the courage to try lube and one of those stroker toys. Now, every time I kill someone, I treat myself.
Killing New Orleans, it seems, has thrown my sex drive into overdrive. I was still high on that feeling when I ended the shower and got changed in the room after. I had not a single fuck to give about my nudity.
Murder is fucking magic, kid, and don’t let anyone tell you any different.
That’s when I noticed Erik’s eyes getting caught on my ass and cock. Like my body was flypaper or something. Then he’d shake himself and refocus, but it wasn’t too long before his eyes found me again.
I know what his hesitation is, but he doesn’t look at me the way the johns looked at me. They looked at me like I was property. He looks at me like I’mhis. Like he wants to taste me.
