Helping my neighbor was supposed to be a good deed. Nothing else. But as I carried her things inside, I’m sure I felt her watching me. And when she leaned down to pick up that box, I couldn’t help but stare.
Her denim overalls pulled tightly over her round ass. As her hair came loose from her bun, she looked even more beautiful. Her eyes were liquid gold, brimming with emotion, with character, withher.
As sleep takes me, I’m pulled into tangled dreams of this stranger. She’s tugging on my shirt with one hand, pushing me away with the other. I grab her wrist and guide her hand to my face. Then the dream shifts, and I’m staring into a mirror.
She smeared blood all over my face. Why?
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
I force myself awake and bury the dream. I’m getting good at that. Then check my cell phone.
I’ve got a burner number that’s circulated on the streets. Gunnison Peaks is a town of eighty thousand, big enough to have problems, small enough to make a difference.
A message is waiting for me. A man’s gravelly voice, filled with tension and emotion.
“Huh-hi,” he says. “I don’t even know if this number is real, but they say you can help people. People like me… who the cops’ve ignored. The system has failed me, sir. I need help. Or maybe it’s too late for me. Not for others, though. Suh-sorry. This is hard.”
I’ve got a reputation for being a cold bastard. And perhaps it’s earned. But when I hear the pain in this man’s voice, something shifts in me. That’s twice in one day, first with Elle and Mira. Now this. Must be a damn record.
“There’s a dealer out of The Windsor, a British-themed bar. Or pub. Tall fella, always wears a big black coat like he’s inThe Matrix. He’s been slinging coke, or what he says is coke. But people have been OD’ing. My daughter, God help her. She was one of his victims. But the cops say they haven’t got enough to do anything…”
I don’t need to hear anything else.
I stand, look at myself in the mirror, almost expecting to see blood on my face, but all I see is the darkness in my eyes. The tightness in my mouth.
Perhaps it’s a good thing Elle is so standoffish. Men like me aren’t made for women like her.
It takes me two days to do the necessary research. I won’t just rush in and coldcock some bastard because a phone call said so. Each time I drive past Elle’s house, I find myself looking for her. But she’s never outside. Once, Mira is, and she runs to the end of the road, waving.
I smile and wave back. I’d be a monster if I didn’t. She beams. But then her shoulders slump when I keep driving. What am I supposed to do, stop just to say hello to the girl? I’d like to because she seems lonely, no friends, despite it being summer break.
But I’m respecting Elle’s wishes. She clearly wants some isolation. I completely understand that desire.
Finally, I’ve got what I need. Confirmation that this bastard deserves what’s coming to him. He knows he’s dealing shoddy crap. Knows it’s killing people. Doesn’t give a damn either way.
Worse than that, he’s gotten away with three murders, innocents who got in the way of hisbusiness.
So, I do what I do. I let out the darkness within me. The pain and the rage from being in the police for so long, not being able to change a damn thing.
When it’s done, I repeat a familiar cycle. Throw my shovel into the back of my pickup. Climb into my car. Drive home.
This time, Elle is at the edge of the road, doing yard work. My blood must be up from the violence. I breathe hard when I see her wearing a baggy T-shirt, leggings underneath. The leggingsare tight but not some sort of lingerie, but my body stirs. My manhood pushes against my pants.
What sort of fucking monster am I?
She sees me and her body stiffens. A shudder goes through her curviness. She juts out her lower lip and stares at the weeds by her feet.
I force my gaze back to the road. Need to chill the fuck out.
At home, I do my checks, then climb into the shower. I stare down the drain. Usually after a job, I think about the good I’ve done. I’ve got my bounty hunting work, which keeps the lights on. But this work, the bloody side, is what makes a real difference.
But now, with adrenaline pumping through me, all I can think about is her.
I close my eyes. Groan. Place my forehead against the shower wall as hot water slides down my body. My manhood stiffens, my end aching. Precome leaks out of me and drips down my head.
The way she looked in those leggings, trapping her thick thighs. I imagine peeling them down, picturing the sassy look in her eyes as I reveal inch after inch of her perfect, curvy body.
I slide my hand to my cock. Grip my shaft and squeeze to feel the sizzling tension. In my fantasy, she’s only wearing that T-shirt now, pulled up to reveal the round, gorgeous globes of her ass.
