Slaughter Park (The Slaycation #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Quinn

Ipull the shawl tighter around my shoulders and try to shake the feeling of being watched.

Of course I’m being watched. I’m a fucking cam girl.

The ticker on the bottom of my screen shows that exactly seventy-six pairs of eyes are currently open and staring at none other than me as I prepare to put on a show.

But this icky feeling isn’t coming from my computer.

It’s coming from the bedroom window.

I school my face and smile. This fear is silly, and it’s going to fuck with my bottom line if I’m not careful. These people are paying good money to see me at my best, and that’s what they’re going to get.

Another group of people is also paying me good money, though their machinations are less about devious perversions and more about the cause of my constant fear.

“Just a few more minutes before we get started today,” I say with a glance at the clock.

My public show runs for thirty minutes, followed by a call for private chats afterward.

That’s where the real money is. All I have to do is show a little skin, fake a few orgasms, and watch the bank account climb.

Best of all, I make enough to pay the bills and squirrel a little extra away for my bank account.

This wasn’t my dream, but I want my luxury lifestyle. I already have the beach house, thanks to a lucky find on Zillow during a late-night scroll session a few months ago. Now I just need the flashy car, a few pairs of sexy shoes, and enough cash in the bank to support my lobster-tail obsession.

The money will come a lot quicker if I can help my new “friends” find Desmond.

The chat grows restless as I play with my loose golden curls.

I let the pale-blue shawl fall open a bit more, revealing a hint of cleavage.

Men furiously type with one hand as they start beating their dicks with the other, resulting in comical messages like MMM B B OPAN BOBS and YOI ARE SO HIT BB.

Their desperation is kind of cute, not gonna lie.

The shawl dips lower, and I let it.

A few tips start filtering in. Little flowers pop onto the screen each time someone sends a dollar. Daisies, to be exact—my online namesake.

It’s an homage to my mother. It was her favorite flower.

I can remember the field that grew behind a duplex we were lucky enough to stay in one winter.

That following spring, daisies filled the field with pops of yellow, pink, and white.

We’d go out and pick a basket of them, then dry them over the stove.

We may not have had much, but I had a very happy childhood with my mother. I was loved.

When she abandoned me at an amusement park, it came as a shock.

Despite our dire circumstances, she never lacked as a mother.

It’s just unfortunate that addicts aren’t often given second chances in our society.

Not even when they want help. As a result, she couldn’t find a job.

What she ended up doing for what little money she earned wasn’t so different from what I do now.

The main difference is that I don’t think she was very proud of her job.

Wherever she is, if she can see me now, I hope she knows that I don’t feel any shame about what I do. And that I forgive her.

The clock dings on the hour, and I stretch my arms to let the shawl fall away. With an arch of my back, I nibble my lip and peek at the camera. “Are you boys ready to get warmed up?”

Strings of words fill the screen faster than I can read them.

A few regulars catch my eye, like HornyandHung24 and FingerBlaster3000.

They tip very well and usually request a private about once per week.

It’s mostly vanilla stuff with those two.

Bend over and show me where the sun doesn’t shine type shit.

At nearly twenty-seven, I’m still pretty flexible, so they get their money’s worth.

“Do you guys want a dance today? Or maybe we could do a little light reading?” I pull my librarian glasses from the desk and slide them onto my face.

They make my green eyes look too catlike, but the men seem to like it.

I grab a dark romance book from beneath the monitor and flip to the marked page.

“Let’s see where we were. Ah . . . it looks like the masked man was just about to chase his sexual conquest through the forest. God, just thinking about it is already getting me so hot. ”

I fan my face before pulling off my low-cut cami.

This is the most they’ll get in the public room—a little cleavage and maybe a nip slip.

I’ll eventually rub myself through my panties once I’ve read a few paragraphs, but if they want to watch me shove stuff in my ass, I need more than a few Daisy Dollars.

Before I can even get through the first paragraph, another familiar name pops onto the screen. Instead of feeling excited, a warm wave of dread pushes through me.

Fucking Desmond.

A private message opens in the corner of my screen. He’s found a way behind my security attempts. Again.

Desmond: Two weeks is too long without seeing you. I won’t let you shut me out again, Daisy.

Two weeks is the longest I’ve kept him out of my computer—and my life—so at least we’re making some fucking progress. Then again, the goal was for him to break through eventually.

I lean forward and close the private chat window. I’m not terribly worried about pissing him off. He knows where I live, but I know where he is too, and I’m not concerned about a man who’s currently threatening me from a hovel in Cameroon. He isn’t the only one who knows his way around a computer.

Granted, I don’t know malware from marshmallows, but I met someone who does.

He magically popped up right around the time Desmond appeared.

It sounded like the start of one of my books at first, all romance and fate, but it was no coincidence.

He offered a large chunk of change if I would allow them to hunt my stalker in the background.

It sounded too dangerous at first, but when he assured me I’d be safer baiting him with their help than dealing with him without them, I agreed. The promise of money certainly helped.

I pull out my phone and consider texting him, but there’s no need. He’s already spotted the problem. Another private message pops onto my computer screen.

ScotlandYard842: The team is having trouble tracing him. Are your doors locked?

I smile sweetly at the monitor despite the fear roiling to life in my guts. Maybe if I shit myself on camera, Desmond will lose interest. But my handsome new friend is watching too, and I don’t want to run him off.

Though he isn’t exactly running toward me, either.

He’s been in my orbit for nearly three months, but he’s very hard to read, what with his brooding, quiet demeanor and dedicated focus to his job .

. . whatever it is. He hasn’t really told me what government entity he’s from, and I haven’t wanted to ask.

His credentials were enough for me—a strong jaw, powerful muscles, and dark eyes that make my toes curl.

“Guys, we’re having some technical issues on my end, so let’s plan to meet back here in a bit.”

I click out of the application and logout before the angry messages can fill my screen.

Isn’t it enough that I have to deal with one psychopath?

I don’t need an entire army of angry men with boners.

God, could you fucking imagine the mob? Instead of wielding pitchforks and torches, they’ll be brandishing bottles of Jergens and fisting their cocks as they beat down my door.

After typing a quick response to my savior, I hurry to check that I actually locked the doors.

Not that the locks will do much fucking good.

I bought this beach house on the Carolina shore six months ago.

Even though I got this place for a bargain, I can barely afford the mortgage, let alone replacing the shitty doors with something more substantial than particle-board crap.

A bargain in this housing market is still highway fucking robbery.

I can’t wait until I can afford to upgrade some shit around here.

The front door is latched and locked when I reach it.

The house is quiet, aside from the intermittent tick-tick-tick from the ancient fridge.

Nothing stirs on the beach. Not even the birds have ventured out to watch the sunset, though the clouds in the distance might indicate why.

In spite of the ominous storm on the horizon, the sight begins to calm me. I’m alone.

I pad on silent feet to the side door and give the knob a jiggle. It’s locked as well, so that just leaves the back door. I cut through the kitchen and down a narrow hallway that opens into a small mudroom. The lock is visibly engaged, but I give the handle a jiggle anyway. It’s perfectly secure.

A sigh of relief eases out of me as I hurry back to my bedroom. The message window for ScotlandYard842 is still active, but it’s hidden behind another of Desmond’s messages. He just doesn’t know when to quit.

Desmond: Don’t run from me, Daisy. It only makes me want to chase you that much more.

With a shudder, I move the cursor over the X in the corner of his message window.

While I would love to be chased and pinned down by a man, it requires a level of trust that I just don’t have with this guy.

Something tells me he’d never let me go if he caught me, and I’m not willing to test that theory.

I press the button to get him off my screen.

Chaos ensues.

“No, no, no,” I whisper as hundreds of message windows cascade over my screen, all of them bearing his horrible name at the top. “Desmond, what the fuck do you want from me?” I scream.

The boxes stop reproducing, disappearing almost as quickly as they appeared until only the single box covering ScotlandYard842 remains. Two lines of text fills the box.

Desmond: You know what I want, silly. Now come outside and give it to me.