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37
Camdyn
My bro told me to go be there for Willow, which I had every intention of doing—at least—doing my fucking best considering just who I am. But before that, he said something that didn’t make a lick of sense. He said he was proud of the change in me. Yeah, I’ve calmed down somewhat, but what he finished off with sent me racing at the first light of day to Costco Barbie’s apartment. She’s not the only bitch I’ve fucked with who had a taste for blood. Her predecessor was bequeathed the title College Barbie. They resembled each other; pretty blue-eyed, blonde educated sluts who go after men with money. Sugar babies whose dark, bloody fantasies aren’t fulfilled by old geezers.
A couple of months ago, the three of us were high out of our fucking minds at a party, except I don’t recall leaving that fucking party. Brody jogged my memory. Apparently, I’d screwed College Barbie in my parents’ basement in front of one of his enemies. This was the actual reason my bro hounded my parents into switching me to a more prestigious high school. All this time, I’d assumed he was complaining about my drugs of choice. But I had College Barbie in a place banned to anyone that’s not a motherfucking MacKenzie.
I’ll admit, I’m reckless, but not to the point where I’d jeopardize my clan. Furthermore, torture time is my personal self-care time. It’s me time.
Now, I’ve got questions. Questions like where was Costco Barbie that night? Around five a.m., I’m seated in the backseat of Costco Barbie’s car. It had taken almost an hour to find her. She’s a gym junkie, leaving early each morning for Anytime Fitness before school and parks on the highest covered level away from everyone. I knocked the lightbulbs out in the area, and with the only natural lighting a couple of rows in either direction, it’s dark. Fists tight, I pray the bitch doesn’t extend her early morning workout routine today.
As I wait, I think hard, waiting for the night in question from a few months ago to come to mind. When it does, it plays out almost like a dream in my brain.
College Barbie sliding through the window into my family’s basement. Brody’s latest torture victim. Blood on our hands. Carvings on his chest. College Barbie saying some bullshit, doing a silly ritual. Me feeling like the fucking Hulk, pulling a couch down into the basement. A pile of condoms on the floor. College Barbie in reverse cowgirl position. Brody walking in.
The memory solidifies as I focus.
“The feck is this, Cam?”
I clutched College Barbie’s jaw, growling for her to keep fucking me. I was on another plane. Everything felt amazing. It was unreal. I smiled at him. “Bro, she’s twenty, relax. I’ve got the back door. The front’s all yours.”
Brody complained, but I couldn’t hear him. I was a man possessed. All I could think about was pussy and torture. College Barbie writhed, and I tweaked her breast. “Brody, if you were on that fucking chopping block, wouldn’t you want this to be the last cunt you were ever going to see? Gorgeous, ain’t it? Look at your friend’s face. One can disassociate himself from physical pain. But the thought of not having pussy . . .” I jerked my hips forcefully. An insatiable rage burned like acid through my veins as I growled. “Kill me now. That’s a worse fate than death, huh, sweetheart?”
“Yesss, yes,” she called out.
As hard as I try, the rest of the memory won’t come. I knew College Barbie had vanished, but at the time, it hadn’t mattered. There were hundreds of College Barbies to replace her. When Brody mentioned cleaning up my mess, I finally understood.
What happened that night?She and I shared a knife fetish, but there was no way in hell I’d let the bitch onto clan land and most definitely not into the family basement.
“Fuck. That wasn’t a dream . . .”
The driver’s side door opens, and Costco Barbie climbs into her ride. AirPods sit in her ears as she breathes out a mantra. “I’m happy, healthy, and—”
“Shut the feck up,” I order in a low voice. “Sit back.”
Through the rearview mirror, elation flickers in her blue eyes. She yanks the earbuds out, eager to follow my command. Sitting forward in the backseat, I loop my arm around the headrest, forearm on her throat.
“Mmmm, I’ve missed you so much, Cam. Hey, is that blood smeared on your jaw?”
“Stop questioning me.”
“Sorry. What’s next?” she eagerly asks, anticipating our game. “Oh, um, sorry. Quiet, right?”
For the life of me, I can’t recall either woman’s real name. While caressing the column of her neck, I ask, “Remember the bitch who introduced us?”
“Yeah. Mindy. Moved back home, I think—”
Nah, the bitch’s dead.All this time, I assumed College Barbie moved back too. But she was a liability. Brody had her killed.
I reach around and grab her pussy, shielding my knife beneath my thumb. With a one-track mind, Costco Barbie twirls her hips around, running her clit against my palm. In this instance, my memory doesn’t disappoint me. Costco and College Barbie were always fans of rape fantasies.
I ask, “Remember that one night? I think it was the last time we all hung out before she moved. What was laced in the coke she had that night?”
“That was a horrible night. I still can’t believe you left me. I went to get drinks—”
“I asked a question.”
“Mindy said . . .” A moan escapes her mouth. While she’s aroused by my arm constricting her throat, I turn up the heat by pushing down her lululemons and sliding her g-string to the side. I place the tip of my ballistic knife into her cunt, screwing her already wet slit. Though guilt gnaws my heart, I slot this into the area of things I’ll never tell Willow. At least I’m not enjoying this . . . Well, not sexually.
