Chapter 11
KILLA
Watching the jumped-up little prick who looked fresh out of an Ivy League foam at the mouth for a piece of Cassidy had every cell in my body come alive with a need to pulverize him. To destroy those squeaky-clean good looks until he was unrecognizable.
There’s no way in hell I’m letting someone like him touch what’s mine.
Is this the kind of prick she likes? Does the kid’s father look like this prick too? All slick and strait-laced and well on his way to a white-collar career. Hunter needs to work quicker, deliver me more fucking answers before I go insane.
A jealous streak flashes through me and clogs in my throat, something I haven’t felt before.
Possession.
I take a quick photo of his light-blue Polestar as he drives away. A need to ride out after him overcomes me. There’s no way in hell I can let him get away with touching what’s mine, let alone speaking to her like that. Only I can do that.
Before I know what I’m doing, I flip the kickstand and rev the engine, then take off in the same direction the prick is headed.
Feeling the growl of my beast between my legs, the wind in my hair, and the promise of satiating my balls tonight, I’m buzzing with adrenaline, darting between the cars.
I keep far enough behind I can see the little prick but stay undetected.
The last thing I want is him hearing my hog, but something tells me the idiot is oblivious to danger.
Daddy probably keeps him out of trouble with some scratch in the right pockets.
By the time he turns into a gated community in Berry Hill, dusk has fallen, and I smile at how easy this is going to be. I shoot Hunter a quick message with the photo of the gates and the guy’s license plate and wait.
I get off my bike and lean against it, surveying the area while I wait the few minutes he will take to respond with a gate code and house number.
I have no doubt Hunter will wipe all evidence of me being here off the system, and the standard time we have, unless preplanned, is twenty minutes to be in and out before the cameras are back to recording.
That’s okay, I only need a few minutes for what I’m about to do.
A buzz of excitement whips up my spine as I cross the road and head over to the mansions behind the gates.
Hunter has sent me the code to the rich and famous, and my grin widens when I look down at my phone to see the house number.
Perfect.
Knowing the cameras are off makes my little self-invitation easier than ever. I literally push open the community gate, slip inside, and head straight to the house.
It looks more like a damn hotel than a family home. I bypass the front door, heading to the side gate, push it open, and step into a lavish garden, complete with a swimming pool and grotto.
Holy shit, are those animals made of bushes?
I shake my head; rich people are insane. Damn garden looks like a fucking zoo.
It’s pitch-black outside, but the lights are on in the kitchen, and the dumb shit has the patio door wide open, allowing me to hear a whole conversation play out.
“I’m telling you, she’s gagging for it. All I need to do is throw a few extra dollars at her, and I’ll have her bent over one of those tables.
” He laughs, and my blood pumps ruthlessly around my body at hearing him talk about Cassidy.
“Man, she’s a hot piece of ass. I bet she’d let me film her getting railed. ”
Film her? Only I get to film her. Unadulterated rage slices through me.
I step into the kitchen, uncaring if he sees me or not, and when he slowly lifts his gaze to the window above the sink, his eyes widen, his mouth drops open, and his phone falls to the marble floor, sending it skittering toward my boot.
He moves quickly, but I’m quicker. My heavy boot lands on it, crushing it with ease.
“Oops.” I laugh manically.
He’s like a startled animal, flicking his gaze around the room as if trying to figure out his next move. “My parents will be home in a minute,” he rushes out, and his Adam’s apple slowly slides down his throat.
A low, patronizing chuckle leaves me, and he jolts. He darts his hand across the counter, and I remain rooted to the spot, already expecting his move. I wait for him to grow some balls to take me on.
He grabs the largest knife from the block and holds it out in front of him. “D-Don’t come near me.”
An amused choke leaves me. Jesus, this is going to be like taking candy from a baby.
I step forward and go straight for his wrist, and before he can slice me with the knife, I crack it back, causing him to drop the knife.
An agonizing scream erupts from his chest, and I shake my head—fucking amateur.
I lean down and deliver a swift headbutt to his pompous nose.
The sound of it cracking has me grinning from ear to ear as his blood splatters across the counter.
While the dumbass is crying up a storm, I’m moderately impressed he’s still conscious, given what a scrawny little fuck he is.
I smash his head down on the marble counter, holding him in place with my elbow.
With my hand, I splay his hand on the worktop and grab another knife.
I dart the knife between his fingers while I sing, “Eenie, Meanie, Miney, Moe, which fuckin’ finger has gotta go? ”
A choked sob catches in his throat, and I delight in it.
“You don’t touch what doesn’t belong to you. You hear me?” I rasp in his ear, and he attempts to speak. I press down harder on his neck. “What was that?”
“Y-Yes,” he says through snot and tears.
“Now, take your punishment.” I trail the knife over his hand until I reach his pointer finger, the very one he touched Cassidy with, then press down hard.
He screeches and bucks beneath me, but he’s no match for my weight on his back and the pressure on his neck, adrenaline surges inside me.
Cutting through his bone with a kitchen knife is harder than you think, and I’m starting to wonder if it’s going to break the blade, but I sever the digit before it comes to that.
A strangled cough leaves him before he goes limp. His body falls slack beneath me, and he becomes quiet. The fucker passed out. I pocket his finger, but not before using it to write on the counter in his blood. Stay silent, or your tongue is next. I mean every word of it.
Perfect.
When I step back, he collapses to the floor in a bloody heap. My biker boots squeak on the marbled floor as I step over him, and pride fills my chest at the state of his bloody face. He might have been a good-looking preppy boy before, but he sure as shit ain’t one now.
With excitement thrumming through my body like gasoline igniting, I head toward the door, determined more than ever to remind Cassidy she belongs to me, and not only do I want answers, but I also want to relieve the tension building inside me.
She’s about to become the catalyst that ignites the burning rage blazing through my organs from the inside out.