Chapter 7 Liam
SEVEN
LIAM
We’d love to have you as a guest host! I’ve got my lawyers drafting up a contract, we’ll send it over to you/your lawyers. If all goes well, we can start recording together by the end of the week!
xoxo Natalie
I forward the email to my lawyer, who told me three times already I shouldn’t bother with this podcast thing and that the money wasn’t worth the effort.
I think Dad wanted me to make more out of my life, though, and that’s what I’m doing, right?
I go back to my socials and pore over the messages. Nobody I don’t recognize, not even in the tab filtering out unknowns and potential spam. I mean, I don’t recognize the spammers, but I’m pretty sure Ryker didn’t message me to suggest I hire his totally legitimate marketing services.
Which leaves the likes. My latest post was my review about a true crime book that I read. Mostly read. I got about halfway through and then skimmed to the ending, which is pretty much the same thing as reading it fully.
Not like my followers will know.
The book reviews get less engagement, but that’s better for me because it means I can keep track of which accounts are liking the post. Unfortunately, with over 43,000 followers, even low engagement doesn’t help me sort out the general masses from the one, single account I care about.
What kind of username would he have? Probably generic and boring, nothing so obvious like Ryker1995 or whatever birth year he wants to slap on it.
He wouldn’t be axmurderer25 either.
Ugh, his account probably looks like a bot account.
After another ten minutes of scrolling, I find nothing helpful.
Which one of these empty accounts is him?
Why hasn’t he DM’ed me? Why hasn’t he broken into my condo again?
He has the key! He made it sound like he was going to do it again!
But it’s been two months and there hasn’t been a single peep from him.
…The last time he stopped by, it was because I murdered somebody.
Maybe it’s time to do it again.
It’s not like that itch hasn’t been beneath my skin, urging me on, whispering to me late at night when I can’t sleep. It would be a nice change of pace. It would be good.
My mind decided, I grab my supply of the nice little drug that’ll keep whoever I target docile and easy to work with. It’s a pity I’m not a bigger guy who can just physically subdue them, but hey, a physical altercation would draw attention to me.
Playing smart is better, anyway.
I head out of my condo, humming to myself and in a much better mood than I’ve been in for days as I breathe in the cool evening air.
I don’t go to my usual club. Stalking prey there is all well and good, but at the end of the day, it’s not a good idea to leave that many links to myself.
It’s bad enough that I’m already killing in my proverbial backyard, but that can’t be helped.
I wonder how much travel Ryker does. Maybe that’s the way to do it… But I’m too high profile. When I go somewhere, people pay attention, and that’s the last thing I need right now when my agitation is already through the roof.
The club I head to isn’t a place I’d normally be caught dead at. It’s full of people who can’t get in anywhere with standards, people whose outfits cost less than a hundred dollars… and more importantly, don’t have contact with anyone in higher places.
Probably.
The bouncer barely looks at me as he collects my twenty dollar cover charge — only twenty dollars, really? — and waves me through. I scoff, but I sail inside, already settling into a predatory gait as I start to circle the dance floor like a shark scenting blood on the waves.
The club music is some god-awful grunge, and the people here are wearing clothes with artful tatters. Or maybe real tatters. Either way, it’s not my vibe, and I realize I’m overdressed for the place.
Will it make me stand out too much?
Maybe it’ll draw someone in more easily instead of less.
I finally step out onto the dance floor, and while the beat is unfamiliar, there’s a certain way of moving that seems universal in a throng of people dancing to escape their lives.
I wonder if Ryker would ever go to a club.
My eyes narrow at the thought of him. If he hadn’t blown me off, I wouldn’t need to be here. I could be at one of my usual haunts, or getting fucked within an inch of my life.
Not literally.
Unfortunately.
Well, we’ll see what tonight brings.
I touch the pocket of my tight pants, where a few tablets have been secreted away in a little bag that makes them look like regular club drugs. Maybe I’ll find the perfect guy to fuck instead of the perfect guy to kill and I won’t need them.
I doubt it.
There are a few people dancing alone, and my eyes linger on a twink whose movements are so sloppy that it’s clear he’s wasted.
Boring, and I’m really not twink4twink.
I feel arms wrap around me from behind, and my heart beats in time with the music. Ryker. Is it Ryker? Would he follow me here? Would he touch me in public?
I steal a glance behind me, disappointment racing through me as I take in the sight of the man who’d been bold — or stupid — enough to touch me. It’s not that he’s bad looking; he’s not.
But the only man in my mind is tall and fit, with light brown hair and a little bit of scruff, with eyes that can see into my soul instead of what’s at face value.
I paste a smile onto my lips anyway. “Hey handsome!” I call out, turning in his arms so I can face him. I wrap my arms around him.
He smiles back and trails his hands down my side. “What’s a twink like you doing in a place like this?” he asks. “You’re way too clean for this crowd.”
Not exactly smooth, but then, I don’t need him to be.
I can either fuck him or kill him.
“And you’re way too hot,” I tell him, pressing against his body. “You should think about leveling up sometime. I’m sure any bouncer in the city would let you in.”
He laughs and pulls me closer to him, so my crotch is up against his. It feels significant enough that it could be a good time.
Of course, even insignificant can be a good time, if the guy knows how to use it.
Ryker wasn’t insignificant.
The fact that this isn’t Ryker pisses me off, and I realize I’ve made my decision.
Sorry, dude. He picked the wrong person to hit on tonight.
I slide my hands down his arms, squeezing his muscles. Impressive. I’ll need both of the pills I brought along, probably, if I’m going to keep him down long enough to strangle the life out of him.
Good thing I’m always prepared.
He mouths along my neck and takes a deep breath. “You even smell expensive.”
“That’s because I am,” I say with a laugh. “But maybe if you dance well enough, I’ll forget all about that.”
He manhandles me so I’m turned away from him, and he starts dancing, grinding his cock against my ass. I can feel it harden against me.
This is familiar. Not that all guys get hard when they dance with me, but we all know that those kinds of reactions are expected when you lose yourself in the adrenaline of the music, the energy of the crowd.
Also, I have low standards and I’m fine dancing with the sleazebags.
Well.
I usually have low standards.
But my thoughts are on someone who far exceeds this loser, even if I have to admit he’s not a bad dancer.
Maybe I’ll let him live after all.
Holding that decision in my hands — holding his life in my hands — is enough to make my own cock start to thicken in my pants. I can’t have both, though. If I let him fuck me, there’s evidence.
Maybe if I kill him and make enough of a spectacle of it, Ryker will finally return and I’ll get the fuck I’ve been dreaming of.
The music beats down on us, and I lose myself in the thoughts of death and destruction, imagining what I’d do to this guy if I had him alone.
His hands slide further down, and one of them goes past my waistline and into my tight jeans. He cups my cock, right there on the dance floor.
“Want to slum it a bit, rich boy?” he says against my ear.
“Sure,” I tell him, shamelessly thrusting against his hand. “As long as you pinky promise to be extra gentle with me.”
“Good.” He squeezes my cock before withdrawing his hand. “Bathrooms. There’s a stall without a toilet in it.”
Of course there is.
I somehow doubt it’s any cleaner than any other stall. It might even be worse, given that it means everyone goes there with one thing in mind.
I pout at him. “Don’t you think I deserve better than a quickie in a bathroom stall?” I wheedle. “There’s slumming it, then there’s… whatever’s below slumming it, baby.”
He hums. “Yeah, sure. You want to feel all of it, huh.” He grinds against my ass again. “The hotel down the street—”
“All of it,” I interrupt him. “The whole experience. Let’s go to your place.” I peer up at him. “Pretty please?”
“My place?” He mouths along my neck. “Bet yours is nicer.”
Yeah, but I don’t want the inconvenience of a dead body in mine.
“I live with my parents,” I lie. “Super protective types, you know?” I sigh, like it’s just that much of an annoyance.
He scoffs loudly. “So I’m ruining their precious baby?” He pauses, then asks, “Wait, how old are you?”
“Twenty-two,” I tell him. “I’m a big boy.” I reach behind me and cup his cock through his pants. “Not as big as you, though, I’m sure.”
“All right, that’s all good then.” He nips at my neck one more time before stepping away, but he keeps his hand on the small of my back. “I’m going to pound you into tomorrow, baby.”
“Mm, can’t wait,” I purr. “How far away are you?”
I don’t really want to be seen leaving with him, though. I ponder how best to get away with this.
Murder is tricky.
“This is my home base, babe. I’m three blocks down.”
Only three blocks away. That seems like a risk, but I’ve already laid all the groundwork, and I don’t want to start over. Besides, this is far, far more than three blocks away from my home base. I’m not one of those killers who hunts in his backyard.
Will anyone really remember who he left with? I doubt it.
Adrenaline surges inside of me. Oh, fuck it. Who cares?