Page 12 of Unhinged Cain

A truck flew past where I was sitting, and the wind shook my tow truck, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Hope you end up wrapped around a tree,” I said and glared at the receding taillights before returning my attention to my notes. I’d spent the majority of the day following Asswipe and Sunshine around. I still didn’t know her name, so Sunshine it was. I’d almost changed the nickname to Bunny when she bolted out of the trees like her ass was on fire. I hadn’t expected her that soon and was planning to be parked on the bypass street a little further along once I realized where they were going to exit the trail. Technically this was Quantico property, so I had to tread carefully.

It was strange to have such a visceral reaction to someone, but I knew it was technically possible. Just because I was a psychopath didn’t mean I couldn’t feel more than a shallow range of emotions. But for me, it was like getting sucker punched in the face.

I fidgeted in my seat, my cock stirring as I pictured her running from the forest in her too-short shorts and the tight T-shirt with her long hair bobbing behind her in a ponytail perfect for wrapping around my hand. I rolled out the building tension in my shoulders as the image of her slamming her hands onto the van had me hard instantly. There was no mistaking those eyes as real now, and they were the prettiest I’d ever seen. Using the color amethyst to describe them didn’t do them justice, but I planned on harvesting those unique jewels for my own. The question became, why did I find myself wanting to say something like she was fucking hot?

“She is fucking hot,” I said out loud in the truck to see how it sounded and shrugged. It felt…good.

Unfortunately, I needed to keep a tight schedule, and as she returned to the building, I had to leave her behind. It was only temporary. I’d be back. I watched more cars speed past my location and nibbled on a bag of chips while waiting for someone to need my assistance.

I had a perfectly mapped-out schedule that ensured we never looked like the killer they searched for, and Abel needed some form of a leash. As long as we continued to be as careful, the cops would never catch us. We were too smart—well, I was too smart. Abel was smart enough not to step outside the boundaries of my hunting rules or my cleaning and disposal practices. If he thought he could get away with it, he’d go on a killing rampage and dance in the blood in the middle of the street before dying in a shootout with cops. My brother was the type that he’d never be taken alive, so I controlled him the way I did for both of our sakes.

I picked up my newspaper and flipped to page three, where there was a write-up about the Chameleon Killer. Catchy title—I thought it was fitting. Above the article was a photograph of a crime scene. It showed a sheet laid over a body while officers and Feds stood around.

This was perfect. It was what I’d been aspiring to accomplish. One day a book would be written about me. I’d make sure of it.

I’d dreamed of the moment when the world would see the quality of my work while they scrambled to figure out who would be next and who I was. This was the ultimate game of chess, where I was the king and had the queen by the throat. I’d played the game for years with those at school and my parents, but they were pathetic players. Nothing more than little pawns for me to pick off one by one. My eyes roamed over the image again. The cops and the Feds were much better opponents.

The idling tow truck and the thought of my parents took me back in time to when my father had underestimated me for the last time.

I wiped my brow with the back of my gloved hand. It was hot, like ‘fry an egg on the metal of the tractor hood’ hot, with scorching temperatures and a drought that I’d never experienced in my seventeen years. Everything was dry, and fires were starting all over the state, but here I was out slugging bales of hay. Sweat dripped from every inch of my body, and my muscles were already sore from doing the same thing for the last three days. Lugging square bales from early morning until dusk was the chore I hated the most. I liked the privacy of the farm, but being a man of the land was not for me.

“Hurry up, Cain, the bales are piling up,” my father yelled from the comfort of the tractor seat.

I turned my glare on my father.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” I yelled over the churning noise of the baler and rumble of the old tractor. The sound was bugging my ears.

A small breeze changed direction, causing hay dust to billow in my face and stick to any possible piece of skin on my body. It made me itchy and was irritating as fuck. I had trouble controlling my anger when I was overstimulated and irritated. It was one of the few emotions that didn’t elude me.

I grabbed another bale from the small pile created as they were pushed out of the shoot onto the wagon. Turning, I walked to the wall I was creating to toss the next one up and over my head. The tractor lurched as it came to a sudden halt. With a hard crash, I landed on the floor of the wooden wagon.

“Ouch,” I hissed and looked at the large sliver that felt like a tree branch sticking out of my palm.

Looking up at the baler and tractor still running, I caught a glimpse of my father’s boots as they walked toward the wagon.

“You’re too slow. It’s going jam up.” His face pulled down into a scowl, his eyebrows almost touching and his nostrils flaring like one of the angry bulls. He swung his leg up on the wagon and towered over me. “You drive,” he snarled.

“You’re supposed to give a warning if you stop. I could’ve fallen off the wagon,” I said as I slowly stood.

My father fixed me with a hard stare. “Maybe that wouldn’t have been a bad thing.”

It was the first time my father openly voiced concern about me to my face. In fact, I thought he was perfectly oblivious, living in his bubble of denial after all my therapy sessions, but looking into his eyes now, I realized he knew. That meant he had to die sooner than I’d planned.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I lied and cocked my head at him the way Abel had taught me.

Anger was volatile in my system, and it took all my effort to keep my behavioral control issues in line. I was tempted to grab him by the shirt and throw him onto the PTO shaft, but that would likely only break an arm or leg. The probability that it would snap his neck was slim, and the plaid shirt and already torn jeans would rip off his body. Of course, I could hold his face to the shaft, but he was still taller, had more weight on me, and I needed it to look like an accident. My handprint on his face most certainly wouldn’t create that illusion.

A moment of stillness and understanding passed between us while the tractor continued to rumble steadily like a spectator. A subtle jerk of the wagon back and forth felt like it was trying to lull us into a calmer place.

“You don’t need to play your games with me, Cain. I’ve seen the dead in your eyes. The good Lord made you wrong, and the devil crawled into your soul and has never left.”

I lifted an eyebrow at him and proceeded to pick the large piece of wood from my hand. “You’re mistaken. The doctor said that I’m cured.” I pulled out the sliver and tossed it into the wind the way I wanted to do with this annoying sack of flesh in front of me.

My father stepped close to me, and my muscles flexed, ready for the fight. I instantly ran through every possible scenario in my head. At that moment, I knew I’d been too relaxed and given away far too much of myself. That was a mistake I’d never make again.

“There’s no fixin’ what you are, and we both know it,” my father said.