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Jerry had spent years mistaking persistence for belonging. First with me and others at Preston. Now with Samantha. Apparently, nobody had ever taught him that wanting access to something didn’t mean he deserved it. And Samantha had just become considerably more interesting to me.

I wasn’t going to let Jerry Collins get there first.

Not that he even had a chance.

Jerry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Just do me a favor this time.”

“What?”

“You know.” His words were slurring badly enough now that he had to slow down to get them out. “You take her out, do whatever the fuck you do to get women obsessed with you, and when you’re done with her, send her my way.”

Jerry started laughing before he’d even finished his drink.

I watched him.

Jerry still didn’t understand. Samantha wasn’t Nancy Reynolds or one of the dozens of women whose names I’d forgotten before they made it out of my bed. She wasn’t something I’d use until I got bored and leave behind for another man to pick up.

Twenty-two years old. Beautiful. Untouched.

And Jerry Collins was sitting in my house talking about waiting for his turn. There wasn’t going to be a fucking turn.

I’d had enough of this conversation.

“I’m gonna go get us another drink,” I said.

I stood and crossed to the stereo, turning it on. “Semi-Charmed Life” filled the room, loud enough to keep Jerry from noticing anything happening beyond the living room.

Jerry laughed. “Jesus Christ. This fucking song is everywhere.”

“Then you should know the words.”

“I hate this fucking song,” Jerry called after me.

I smirked as I walked into the kitchen. “You’re gonna hate it even more in a few minutes.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

I opened one of the kitchen drawers and searched through the utensils, looking for something that felt appropriate. My attention passed over the knives without much interest before settling on the meat tenderizer tucked near the back.

I picked it up and tested the weight in my hand.

Using it on Jerry felt almost insulting. After listening to him run his mouth for the past hour, a tool made for pounding meat seemed appropriate.

Jerry was still talking from the other room, completely oblivious to what I was holding. Most of it was bullshit I had stopped listening to several minutes ago.

“You hear me?” he called.

“Unfortunately.”

“Asshole.”

I smiled and turned the meat tenderizer in my hand before closing the drawer with my hip. It was almost disappointing how easy Jerry made this. He had spent the last hour drinking everything I poured him, getting louder and more comfortable with every glass. Now he was sitting alone in a house where I had already killed several women, listening to Third Eye Blind and waiting for me to bring him another bourbon.

The idiot still thought we were going to a strip club.

I grabbed his drink with my free hand and headed back toward the living room, keeping the meat tenderizer hidden against my leg.