“Great.” At that, the static dies out.
After I hear our truck grumbling outside, I put on my mask because I feel like it and go over to Jett’s.
I’m there in two minutes flat since no fences separate our three houses. No fancy lawns or driveways either. What’s left of Colbert, the town named after my family, is purely functional.
My lips curl in disgust as soon as I walk through the door.
While my home is always clean, Jett’s place is a pigsty. Empty beer bottles are scattered across his coffee table. A mustard stain is a permanent feature on his used-to-be tan carpet. The stink of meat is here to stay.
Not my problem. I have my own shit to take care of, like heading over to the room where he has his laptop. Same room where, a few years ago, I watched him type on it late at night. From my place in the shadows, I learned a little about how to work this thing. How to go on the internet.
Sorcery is what I thought it was. And an opportunity.
Between stalking him and teaching myself how to use it while he was away, I now know where to click when I need anything.
I can do my own research on the outside world. On what’s waiting for me out there. About what breeding a woman actually means, since I won’t ask anyone here about it.
Today, I need to learn about these visitors Jett mentioned.
A little digging around his laptop, and I find it. The visitor’s email to Colbert’s Leather Museum.
The sender is Skylar Evans. Our next guest. Coming down here all the way from New York City.
For no apparent reason, her name alone is enough to get my dick hard.
Now I really have to see her.
Good thing these people have what’s calledsocial media. Photos, everywhere. More than I ever imagined.
Their pictures stay there even after we make them disappear.
But the dead don’t interest me.
She does.
Because…
Fuck me.
Fuck.
Me.
That face.
Round green eyes stare at me from the screen.
Her thick blonde hair is piled up on top of her head. A strand of hair has escaped from that mess that looks like the most beautiful bird’s nest I’ve ever seen, hanging just next to her eye.
My teeth grind. My breath is hot in my mask. Precum dampens my boxers.
My body leans forward on its own.
Skylar isn’t smiling. I think—deep breath, or I’ll come in my jeans—that’s what attracts me the most. Her lips aren’t curved down either. They’re flat.
An enigma.
I’m willing to bet she smells of oranges. Nothing too sweet, so not apples. Nothing too sweet, either.
