Pervert.
He’s the watcher of the group, the kind who gets off on fear. Daisy said he smiled while she screamed, brushed her hair back and told her to cry louder.
Oh, sweetheart… you’ll scream louder than she ever did. I’ve learned from Henry. This time I’ll be slow.
“So, are you here by yourself?” he asks, leaning onthe door, arm caging me in.
“Just for the day. Why?” I run a fingernail down his lapel, playing the part.
“Want to have dinner?” His hand slides lower.
“I’d love to,” I purr.
He grins and hands me a card with his personal number. I turn and walk away, hips swaying on purpose.
Camden isn’t as prolific as Henry, but he’s worse in other ways. He taunts first, watches, makes them say his name while he rapes them, turns pain into a ritual.
Back at the hideout, I prep fast. I skip the dinner. I text him that I only have a few hours before my plane and send an address instead—an upscale motel known for its discretion and lack of cameras.
He arrives right on time wearing jeans and a black shirt. He is over six feet and lean, but strong. Stronger than Henry.
“You look beautiful, Candice,” he says, fingers brushing my arm. I step back, pretending to be meek and shy.
“I’m a little nervous. Never done this before,” I lie, picking up the whiskey he loves and pouring him a glass.
His eyes gleam. “I can’t wait to be buried inside you.”
Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it down.
He downs the drink in one go, starts toward me, his hands grip my hips, pushing me toward the bed. I pressmy palm to his chest, buying time, but he’s already lifting my dress.
“Stop, you asshole,” I whisper.
He chuckles. “Fuck, I love when they beg.”
His hand slides between my thighs—
A loud knock rattles the door.
He freezes.
“What?” he barks, swaying as he stands.
Please let that be the drugs kicking in!
Another knock, harder this time and my pulse spikes.
“What the hell?”
If someone sees us, if this gets messy, I lose my chance to kill him.
He sways again, his balance gone. I move fast, peeking through the curtain but no one is there so I can take the chance to leave.
The motel has private exits. I loop his arm over my shoulder and walk him toward the car. He’s mumbling about feeling sick, and I smile. “You’ll be fine, I’ll take you home,” I whisper and he thanks me, poor bastard. I toss him in the back seat and he’s out cold in seconds.
I see a shadow near the pillar from the corner of my eye; my heart skips a damn beat.
“Hello?” My voice is light. “My boyfriend had a little too much to drink.”
