Phoenix.
I’m lying on the mattress that serves as my bed in the guest room, picturing what I will do to Asad when I find him. He’s as good as dead, but before that, I will make sure he goes through hell. I just need to find him. Finding him is proving to be more difficult than I had anticipated. That sly motherfucker is probably hiding in a hole somewhere like a scared rabbit, and it’s working for him so far.
But the fox is patient.
Living under the same roof turned out to be harder for me than for Sarah, and my little obsession for her is making it impossible. I’ve had it since the beginning, but now the thought of her sleeping comfortably in my own bed gets me fucking hard.
This needs to stop.
I can’t be around her like this. The thing is… I can’t control it. My hands itch when she’s around. I need to know how it feels to touch her skin without scaring the hell out of her. Fuck, I sound like a stalker— a psycho stalker, that’s what I am. And I can’t do anything about it. However, there’s one thing I can do: pretend that nothing happens to my body when she walks into the same room. Hell, even thinking about it right now makes me so hard, it hurts. Enough of this daydreaming. I need to find Asad. It’s time to do some digging.
I glance at my watch— midnight. The night is young, and I have to get the fuck out of here before I do something stupid. A pair of guards are posted outside: two special agents handpicked by myself. They know me and my ways and know better than to report that I left my house at midnight. I step outside and announce that I will be gone for a while. They know they must be alert.
I’m on my way to visit some ‘friends’— the kind of friends you visit at night. They deal with drugs, women, information, etc. And if the price is right, they’ll sell their own mother. I need to put a bounty on Asad’s head, and that’s the perfect spot to start. To spread the word, the message must be simple. And this message is extremely simple.
The Professor is fucking mad.
“Hermano, I swear. I haven’t heard anything at all.” The Cuban, always wearing a floral shirt, a pair of khakis and the iconic white hat to honor the stereotype. He’s always neck-deep in shit and never crossed me, so I decide to believe him. However, he’s the type of guy who would deal with the devil for you if he can make a profit. “But I might know somebody who does.”
“Who?” I ask without showing too much interest. But I know this is gonna cost me.
“Well, you know me, hermano. I’m putting my neck on the line here, trying to earn a living.” This fucker and his greed.
I pull a Benjamin out of my jacket pocket and shake it in front of his face. “A name, Andres.” He reaches out to grab the note and I snatch it away from him. “First, the name.”
I decide in the morning I’ll check the name Andres gave me, which is my only lead for the time being. My other contacts had nothing. My next stop, ‘Bucket of blood.’ I need a fucking drink.
The Bucket is a bar sitting by the highway, filled with outlaws, people of questionable integrity like myself or Carter, but with one of the best whiskeys in the area. I’ll have a double on the rocks and then head home to Sarah. I chuckle and repeat ‘head home to Sarah’ to myself. What a loser.
The bartender pours me the fifth glass of Johnnie and makes me realize that alcohol doesn’t have the same effect on me as it used to. Now I just look like a lonely old guy.
A stunning woman enters the bar. I don’t have to turn around to know she’s extremely hot— the entire bar does it for me. She sits beside me. She’s skinny, five-three, blonde, with perfect fake tits and a pair of legs that would make a gay man go straight again. She’s smiling at me and I know I only have to throw a couple of lines to get between her legs.
“What’s your name?” She starts with a basic, rich and spoiled-bitch voice.
“Mike. What’s yours?” I lie. She doesn’t have to know my real name. I lift two fingers to signal the bartender to pour her a drink.
“Sally. Nice to meet you. I’m super thirsty, thanks.”
“I can fix that.” I give her the most sinister smile I have.
After two drinks, she’s naked with me in a motel room next to the bar. I’m angry-fucking her; I’m fucking my frustration, helplessness and self-loathing away. I can see that she likes it— she hasn’t stopped moaning for a second. I’ve got her face-down, ass-up, pounding her from above, just the way I like it. But somehow it’s not enough to clear my mind. Sarah comes and goes from my thoughts endlessly, until my stupid brain pictures her in this same situation, making me cum instantly.
Fucking brain.
Chapter Seventeen
Snow White.
Sarah
The slam of a door makes me jump out of bed. It reminds me that I hadn’t locked mine. So, I sprint towards it to do it, but I don’t have the key with me and I’m too damn sleepy to be able to look for it. I throw the clothes from a nearby chair to the floor and jam the doorknob with it. I stick my ear against the door to try and listen, but I can’t make anything out of what I hear. Someone is mumbling and grunting.
Did someone break-in?
A few seconds go by and I still can’t decide if a robber is here or Bruno is just being extremely sloppy. Suddenly, a loud thud is followed by a moan. It sounds as if the coffee table has punched someone in the face.
“Go check it out.”Life says from behind her armchair. I don’t think I should, but then again, I remember that there are guards posted outside. Plus, Bruno’s here as well.
