Chapter 12
Twelve
Zee
Holy shit.
Holy fucking shit.
I’m gonna come.
I’m gonna come with the nickname of my stalker on my tongue.
“Sugar Skull.”
I felt how big he is.
He would fucking destroy me. And I’d let him.
Am I crazy for luring a potential killer to my home? Yes. But after talking to Liv, I need answers.
My moans fill the air, my fingers moving faster with my thoughts. I don’t know if this camera has audio, but I don’t care. There’s something about him watching me that sets my body on fire.
“Oh fuck,” I moan, my juices coating my fingers.
Putting myself on display doesn’t come easy, but Sugar Skull makes me want to change that.
Creee-ak!
A smirk spreads across my face, my heart pounding.
Slam!
It worked.
Footsteps approach, faster this time.
He’s louder. More frantic.
My breath hitches.
I feel him above me, heat curling in my stomach.
“Fuck, Zee.”
My body stills.
“You missed me, huh?”
My eyes pop open.
“Drey,” I gasp. “You can’t just let yourself into my fucking home.”
Drey laughs, his big furry coat open. “Your home?”
His eyes are blown to Saturn. “You’re high as fuck. Get out.”
His hand slams on my chest before I can get up. “We didn’t get to finish what we started last time.”
“Yeah, you fell asleep.” I try to stand.
He forces me down. “You’re not sleeping tonight, baby, not in my house. You have a debt.”
“Fuck you. Get out.”
“Cash or ass.”
I push his hand away.
Slap!
A sting explodes across my cheek.
Drey crouches to my level, his eyes dragging over my face. “It’s either you pay me, or my guys outside.” Ew. “So? What’ll it be?”
My stomach twists.
Drey’s caught me with my pants down. Literally.
I try to level with the devil. “Drey, someone’s been—”
“Get on your knees.”
In one swoop, he pulls off his belt, his jeans dropping to the floor.
My eyes fall to the sugar skulls on his boxers, heat rising on my chest. My brows furrow, the room tilting.
“On your knees, Zee.”
I find more words. “Drey, listen, I found my father—”
“On. Your. Knees.”
“Fine!”
My body moves, but my brain is elsewhere.
I imagined Sugar Skull showing up. Not my ex.
I glance at the book on the shelf.
Is he watching?
Did he see me at all?
Or…
“Fuck!”
Drey’s curse brings me back to his flaccid dick in my face.
Looking up, his face is red. Twisted.
I smirk. “What’s wrong?”
Sugar Skull is way too smooth to be Drey.
His boot slams into my chest.
“Drey!” I yell, my back hitting the floor.
Then his dirty fucking boot lands right on my throat.
“Get off me,” I choke.
“Let’s see how smug you look when you beg.”
“Do it,” I rasp. “You’re not fucking man enough.”
“Drey!”
Someone calls from outside.
“Your car’s on fire!”
Drey stills, glaring at me before he glances back at the door. Then back at me.
"Drey! Get the fuck out of here!”
Drey mutters a curse, his boot lifting. “Don't move."
Sugar Skull
Fuck this guy.
My eyes move from the feed of Zee on my screen to her house in front of me.
As I lean against my Augusta, better than a Ducati despite what Kon says, I watch the chaos unfurl.
These guys don’t have the training I have. Sloppy. Pathetic.
Crunching my apple, I chuckle as they scramble to put out the fire I set under the hood of Drey’s Honda.
One guy throws his sweater over it.
The fire grows, lighting up the night.
It forces me to step back, deeper into the trees.
Another guy pours whatever’s in his cup onto it next. The fire burns brighter.
I didn’t expect it to get this bad. I needed to make a distraction, but this is top entertainment.
A minute later, sweater guy pulls the back door open and fishes out an extinguisher. He fumbles, spraying it around before it hits the flame.
Darkness reappears.
I take another bite, the front of Drey's car, burnt to a crisp.
Drey kicks off a burnt piece of metal as his friend lights up a joint. Then Drey reaches for a bottle of something from the back seat. Raising it to the moon, he takes a long drink.
Yeah, that’ll help with his performance issue.
As they talk against the car, my eyes return to the video feed with Zee.
She’s still on the floor, a bruise from Drey’s boot on her chest.
My grip tightens around the phone as her gaze meets the camera, a blur in her stare.
Don’t worry, Angel. I saw what he did to you.
That won’t happen again.
Drey takes his time, knocking back that bottle with his pals.
All this alcohol has to go somewhere, but I’m patient.
I get to the core of my apple before Drey drains his share of the bottle. Then he veers towards the trees, phone in his hand.
That’s it.
Just a little closer.
He crosses the street into the forest, pulling his phone to his mouth.
“I told you I can’t spend the night tonight, baby,” he says. “I’m handlin’ business.”
My brow arches, my eyes drifting back to the feed on my phone.
That’s not Zee.
Why am I surprised Drey's also a two-timing fuck?
I reach for the vile in my pocket.
It’s meant for stabilizing wasps, but for this pest, it'll do the trick.
Taking out a silk handkerchief, I pour the entire vile onto it, soaking it.
I step towards him, careful not to land on a branch. Or a dry leaf. Inching closer, the sound of piss hitting leaves gets louder and louder.
He leans back, his eyes to the sky, his dick in his hand.
When I’m close enough, I place the cloth over his mouth.
His body stills.
My hand grabs the back of his head, keeping him steady.
He swings, his words muffled against my palm.
Drey’s strong, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. It’s easy to keep him in place even as he swipes and spins.
Tightening my hold stops him from swaying as I push the cloth harder on his face.
But after some time, he’s still standing.
Still struggling.
What the fuck?
“Drey?” One of his boys calls over.
My head shifts to the sound to see if he’s still far enough away.
Drey’s elbow lands in my gut.
The impact lets him slip from my hold.
Then he’s standing right in front of me.
And, he looks pissed.
“Who the fuck are you?” he yells. “Who the fuck sent you?”
Well, shit.
“Drey!” someone calls again. “You alright?”
I take a deep breath.
Drey lunges forward.
Time for Plan B.
My elbow hits his throat before I grab the knife from my pocket and slide it across his neck.
His body stops, his eyes widening.
Blood pours from the red line growing on his throat.
Then, he does the dance. You know the one.
His hand comes to his throat, eyes bulging like a bullfrog as he wobbles back and forth from foot to foot, like finding his balance will save him.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out what I rolled for a moment like this. A joint. From his own stash. It's a habit I kicked, but tonight is an exception.
The moonlight shines on him as I flick my lighter, watching more blood pour from his throat. He tries to contain the fallout, but fighting it only makes it worse.
He gargles, gasping as I hold the joint between my lips. I puff, smooth, sweet smoke entering my lungs. It should help the swirl in my stomach as I watch this pathetic fuck fight for his life.
“You caused this,” I say, watching as the confusion on his face starts to dissipate. “You did this. Don’t fuck with innocent women. They don’t deserve that, do they?”
His bulging eyes land on me as blood decorates his bare chest, spurting onto his face and fur coat.
My mouth twists when it splashes over me. My dry cleaner won’t like this.
He reaches out for me.
I take the smallest step back, so he sees that, right now, he has no one.
No loved ones to mourn his death. No one to tell him that passing over will be fine. It’s just him and my smirk as his body gives out and collapses to the ground.
I puff harder on the joint, but it doesn’t help.
My lunch rises to the surface.
I lean over, letting it out.
All over Drey’s lifeless face.
“Ain’t that a way to go,” I mutter, wiping the remnants from my mouth as I continue smoking what’s left of the joint. It helps to soothe the rest of the knots in my stomach, watching as his convulsions come to a stop.
Then I reach into his pocket for his phone.
His eyes still open, I aim the screen at his face, and it unlocks.
Then I look for what I need.
First, his crew.
I find the group chat, titled ‘The Boys,’ and after a quick scroll, I know exactly how he’d text.
Drey: fuck et, u guyz go home im guna get wuts mine
Then I scroll and find her name while I wait for his crew to get the message.
Zee.
I shouldn’t, but what’s a man to do? Curiosity killed the stalker.
Scrolling through their conversation, it’s hard not to scoff at the dead man at my feet.
Who treats someone they love this way?
Drey: ur nuthin
Drey: ur also fat nw
Drey: no1 els wntz u
Drey: shud lef u on the streetz
My eyes narrow at that last text.
The streets? Is that where this fuck found her?
Her sweet voice plays through my head.
“I had nothing.”
This is unusual.
Father’s tasks don't include women from the streets. The Establishment deals with its own. Women like Lola or Olivia. Or men like Konstantin. Heirs and heiresses, groomed for a life of private jets, elite access and ease.
Zee's life isn't easy.
There’s so much I still don’t know about her.
Someone killed her father, and she wants to find out who. So, if she's staying in Eastmount, so am I.
Drey: im dun w u
As I send that text to Zee, Drey gets a flurry of emojis from his crew. Thumbs up, eggplants, the squirty, wet one.
Moving back to my bike, I look over my shoulder at the lifeless fuck.
The Establishment won’t like cleaning this up, but that’s not my job to worry about.
She is.
I look over at the house again, my helmet in hand.
I shouldn’t go in there.
Not tonight.
Not after what I just did.
The lights in the house go out before a shadow moves along the upstairs hallway. To the bedroom.
I should go.
I should call this in.
But I’m an addict.
And sometimes, the addiction wins.