Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Texas closed the garage door behind him with a quiet thud.
Unlike Sunday, tonight he didn’t care if anyone caught him.
He moved with purpose, shedding his usual clothes and pulling on the thrift-store finds he’d picked up earlier—a complete switch, right down to the boots.
The rough fabric felt strange against his skin, but it was necessary.
He tugged the balaclava over his head and pulled it down to his neck, readying himself for whatever was next.
Flicking on his flashlight, he swept the beam across the dim garage.
His eyes landed on a jumble of women’s clothes scattered across the cold concrete floor.
Among the mess, a pair of pale blue hospital scrubs lay crumpled next to worn slippers.
He scooped them up, stuffing them into his bag without a second thought. Careless, he thought grimly.
Nearby, several pairs of jeans and tops were thrown about. He grabbed one of each, cramming them into the bag alongside the scrubs. Each piece of clothing was another step, a new disguise, another mask he’d wear when the time came.
Using his foot, Texas slid out a stool and settled onto it. He pulled a roll of duct tape from his bag, tearing off three strips and pressing them firmly onto his shirt sleeve. Patiently, he waited for his prey to arrive.
He swept his flashlight across the cluttered garage again, but Sunday was nowhere to be seen.
Maybe that was the point—the place was stacked high with old furniture, boxes, towers of books, and rusted appliances.
The idea of her hiding inside an ancient freezer or refrigerator twisted his stomach into knots.
Even a man like him had things that gave him the willies.
Suddenly, headlights flashed against the side window. It was go time. It didn’t matter if it was just the boyfriend—or if he’d brought friends along tonight. They were all going to learn what pain meant.
Texas pulled the balaclava up to cover his hair and face, then slipped on a pair of dark glasses and gloves, sealing himself in anonymity.
Texas stayed perfectly still, straining to catch the sound of car doors opening and closing. When only one echoed through the night, he knew Dalton was alone. He waited, giving the man time to cross the lawn and step onto the porch before darting out of the garage.
In seconds, Texas closed the distance, grabbing Dalton and shoving him inside the house as he yanked the door open.
Catching him off guard was the plan. Texas pulled a pre-cut strip of duct tape from his sleeve and slammed it over Dalton’s mouth before a scream could escape. With a swift motion, he flipped Dalton onto his stomach, drove his knee into the man’s back, and bound his hands and feet with tape.
Rising, Texas watched as Dalton thrashed against his restraints. Satisfied, he closed the door and clicked the lock into place.
Dropping the backpack on the floor, Texas pulled out a pair of tin snips, a portable drill, and a pair of rusted pliers. He made damn sure to set them where the fucker could see every one of them.
Crouching down, Texas grabbed Dalton by the hair, yanking his head back. “You hurt the wrong girl, asshole.”
Dalton muttered something incoherent.
“I don’t give a damn what you’ve got to say,” Texas snarled, his fingers brushing the tools.
He tilted his head, eyes cold. “We’re gonna have some fun.”
Dalton shook his head, desperate to say no. Oh, they were going to have fun all right.
Texas hauled him to his feet by the arms, dragging him to a folding chair and shoving him down hard.
Texas prowled through the messy house, eyes scanning for something—though he wasn’t sure what yet. Then his gaze landed on a pair of women’s panties tossed on the living room floor.
“This place is disgusting,” he muttered to Dalton.
Next, he grabbed a filthy t-shirt from a chair. Snatching a pair of kitchen scissors off the counter, he cut the shirt in half with a crisp slice.
Carrying the panties, the shredded shirt, and scissors, Texas returned to Dalton’s side. Suddenly Dalton’s phone buzzed where it laid on the floor. Texas scooped it up and read the incoming text.
Jimmy: Heading your way.
Texas smirked and texted back: Changed my mind, heading back out.
Jimmy: Fine. Catch you tomorrow.
Tossing the phone aside, Texas sneered, “Jimmy won’t be saving you tonight, I’m afraid.”
Dropping each item deliberately where Dalton could see them, Texas bent down and yanked the man’s shoes off one by one. Then, shoving him roughly off the chair, Texas winced as Dalton’s head slammed against the floor.
“Oops.”
Using his foot, Texas rolled him onto his back. He unfastened Dalton’s pants and started yanking them down. When Dalton began to struggle, Texas slapped him hard across the head, drawing a groan.
Flipping him back over, Texas grabbed the scissors and carefully cut the duct tape binding Dalton’s ankles, freeing them enough to pull the pants off completely.
Dalton started kicking wildly, but Texas was faster. He pulled his gun, pressing the barrel against Dalton’s temple.
“Stop, or I’ll kill you. Not tonight, but don’t make me get there.”
Dalton froze; his wide eyes locked on Texas’s steady gaze.
Texas stood over Dalton, scissors in hand, flicking them open and shut. “You move, I’ll cut your balls off,” he warned, then reached down and snipped the boxers right off.
To make sure Dalton knew exactly how close the scissors were, Texas gave his balls a sharp tap with the shears.
Then, grabbing the woman’s underwear, Texas pulled them up over Dalton.
“Don’t those look nice?” he laughed coldly.
Next came the jeans—slipping them on was a struggle, thanks to Dalton’s tight skinny jeans and the sweat pouring off him like a sinner in church. Texas left them unfastened and finished by duct-taping Dalton’s ankles again.
Keeping Dalton pinned on his back, Texas grabbed the t-shirt and tied it tightly around his eyes. He secured it with duct tape wrapped around his head.
Picking up the tin snips, Texas jabbed them cruelly into Dalton’s groin. The man immediately began to sob. Pussy, Texas thought with a sneer.
Time was running out. Despite his disgust, Texas forced himself to the worst part. He grabbed Dalton’s flaccid penis—still awkwardly covered by the woman’s panties—and positioned it between the two sides of the jeans’ zipper.
With the pliers in one hand, he gripped the zipper’s toggle. With the other, he pulled Dalton’s skin taut, then slowly zipped the jeans up, trapping the scrotum inside. The zipper’s teeth bit into the delicate skin, drawing blood that seeped through the fabric of the panties.
Texas yanked harder, determined, until the zipper was closed all the way. He stepped back, gathering the tools and stuffing them into his bag with deliberate care. He bent over and slapped Dalton hard across the cheek.
“Next time you hurt a female, I’ll come back and do worse.”
Dalton lay on the grimy living room floor, sobbing uncontrollably, snot bubbling against the duct tape sealing his mouth.
Texas didn’t leave through the front door. Instead, he slipped out the back, moving quietly through shadowed yards and hopping a fence to disappear into the next block.
Two blocks later, he found an unlocked shed and slipped inside. There, he stripped off the thrift-store clothes and changed back into his regular gear. Using a plastic bag from the thrift store, he stuffed everything he’d worn inside the house, tied it tight, and shoved it back into his backpack.
With a quick call, he summoned an Uber, then walked to the street and waited, blending into the night.