3. Cain
My thumb drags across the naked woman on my phone screen.
Inside my dark pickup, the device’s glow is hypnotizing.
I turned the brightness up so I can make out every detail of her incredible body and every drop of my cum splashed over her skin.
A jerk runs through my cock, and I grin, the tip of my cigarette glowing red as I take a drag.
I exhale the smoke slowly through my nose.
Folk wisdom says beauty is on the inside, though she has plenty of it on the outside, too.
Not that I can say anything about her personality.
We’ve never spoken and I don’t know her name.
Not yet.
She must be around thirty years old, and the heart of a healthy woman her age sells for a small fortune.
Factor in the rest of her organs, too.
Eyes.
Kidneys.
Lungs.
But it’s not about money.
As a doctor, I turn around most of my harvest myself.
That way I can make sure the organs go to recipients who need them the most, those lowest on the transplant waiting lists and those deemed unimportant or expendable.
Mainly poor folks.
Years spent working in hospitals and managing a chain of private clinics makes faking the documents a piece of cake.
I know the system inside out.
On occasion, when I can’t find a recipient in time, I sell to the highest bidder on the dark web.
It’s a waste to let the organs rot.
Masked to protect my identity, I handle the exchanges personally in one of many old warehouses I own across Texas.
I always reinvest the money in my favorite charities.
No, my hunts aren’t about cash.
It’s about the stalking.
The total power.
The relief of the kill when shiny steel slices through skin and muscle.
Seeing the life drain from my victim’s fearful eyes is addictive.
The ultimate drug.
A shudder runs through me.
I can’t wait to do the same to my little dove.
I tear my attention from her picture, lock my phone, and throw it onto the passenger side of the bench seat.
Damn, I don’t know why I took it in the first place.
It’s evidence.
An unnecessary risk.
I have a room at the motel, but I spent most of the day in my truck again, parked up the street on a slight incline.
It’s the ideal spot to keep an eye on her.
The memories of her silken skin and wet cunt are like hallucinations floating in my mind.
I can’t believe I was so fuckin’ bold.
Bold and stupid.
But last night after I came back from grabbing a bite at the local diner and peeked into her window, she was already drunk.
Half-naked, she jumped around with a bottle in hand while she yelled along to River Below , one of my favorite Billy Talent songs.
The beer spilled when she carelessly put the bottle on the nightstand, dragging herself onto the bed.
She just about managed to turn off the music and passed out.
Something inside me snapped, seeing her like that.
Vulnerable.
Defenseless.
The memory is enough to make my pulse spike.
I barely bothered to check that the creep at the reception was busy watching some trashy late night talk show on TV before I found myself at her door, lockpick in hand.
That guy rubs me the wrong way, always leering at her.
Fuckin’ dickhead has no right to look at her.
She belongs to me.
She’s my prey and I’m the hunter.
I’m in control.
Then why did stepping into her room feel like walking into a trap?
A frown furrows my brow.
I have a tried and tested routine for my hunts, but it took one glance at her and my strategic planning went out the window like she gripped my heart with an invisible fist and didn’t let go.
Fuck me .
How can a woman I never exchanged a word with have such a hold on me?
I roll down the window.
A coyote howls in the distance as I hang my arm outside, dropping the cigarette butt.
The air is cooler than during the day, but it brings little relief from the waves of heat under my skin.
I hoped last night would calm my carnal urges, but sticking my fingers into her perfect pussy made things worse.
My day has been plagued by random hardons and my thoughts circle around her like I’m some obsessed freak.
I raise the binoculars to my eyes.
Her room across the street is still dark.
Restlessness trickles down my spine and I shift in my seat.
Tonight is the night.
Everything is prepared, and my patience has run out.
No more games.
No more waiting.
But how fuckin’ long is she gonna sleep?
I switch on the radio.
The speakers crackle as I turn the tuning knob until I find a rock station.
I tap my foot in rhythm with the quiet music, focusing on her window again.
Thank fuck I do.
With the lights off in the room and only the motel sign shining inside, I didn’t notice that she’s finally awake.
She sits in the bed, staring at the curtains like she just realized she forgot to close them.
A deep frown appears on her forehead while she looks at her phone for a few minutes before getting up.
My cock comes to life when I see her ass peeking out under her shirt, and I have to stop myself from jumping out of the car.
I want to burst into the room, grab her, and bend her over that bed.
She leaves her phone on the nightstand and stops by the closet on her way to the bathroom.
Disappointment cools my desire as she closes the door behind her.
I lean back, dropping the binoculars on the seat.
My fingers need something to do if I’m not allowed to dig them into her hips.
I grab another cigarette from the crumpled packet on the dashboard when my phone lights up.
I groan.
If I don’t answer, she’ll call and I hate phone calls—even if it’s my sister.
This ain’t the time for a chat.
I gotta concentrate on my prey.
My other life feels universes away.
Dr.
Cain Morrow, accomplished surgeon, reclusive businessman and philanthropist, doesn’t exist in this moment.
When I’m on the prowl, I shed my skin like a brutal monster hiding beneath the facade of a good man.
Nobody would recognize me looking like this.
Not with the jeans, the hat and the boots, showing off tattoos I normally hide under strict business attire.
Not with a five-o’-clock shadow darkening my face while I drive around in my dad’s banged-up pickup truck instead of my brand-new, luxury SUV.
But this version of me is closest to my true self.
I’m more comfortable in the gloom of depravity than in the bright lights of the nice, responsible guy the world expects me to be.
My phone flashes with a new message and I smile.
Movement at the motel catches my eye and the phone slips from my hand, falling to the floor.
It’s her .
My little dove lingers in the door to her room, wearing a tiny red number so fuckin’ tight, it looks like it’s gonna rip at the seams.
She’s still damn short compared to me, but the black high heels add to her height.
Where the hell do you think you’re going dressed like this, darlin’?
Fantasies spring up in my mind and I swallow thickly.
I imagine her hair wrapped around my fist like a leash, her eyes watering and makeup running down her face as she chokes on my cock.
Then pounding into her sweet pussy, filling her with my seed while she cries out my name.
She locks her door and tucks the key into her bag.
Then she stands there, lost.
Her head turns.
Is she waiting for somebody?
Her phone hasn’t rung once in the past days and she doesn’t seem to know anybody in town.
She strikes me as kind of a loner.
We have that in common, at least when my sister Mandy or work responsibilities don’t force me to be social.
I prefer being by myself.
Humans are too complicated.
Two-faced users, the whole lot of ‘em, and none can withstand a glimpse into the bottomless, pitch-black abyss of my soul. It’s better to keep my distance.
She fumbles with the shoulder strap of her purse, and I follow her gaze across the street.
My hands clench into fists when I realize where she’s looking.
That shitty bar.
I visited the place myself, and it’s a den of filthy bastards just waiting to get their grubby hands on a ravishing woman like her.
I shake my head.
Oh no you won’t, little dove.
Hell naw .
I spit the unlit cigarette on the floor and lean over to the glove compartment to take out the plastic syringe I prepared.
Making sure the cap is on the needle, I tuck it into the back of my waistband, hidden under my loose fleece shirt.
Like a reflex, I reach for the hunting knife at my belt and get out of the truck.
I stalk down the dark street, my pulse thrumming in my ears.
She’s mine.
Mine to take and fuck.
Mine to gut.
I won’t let anybody else lay a finger on her.