Soulless (Lawless #2)(32)

Rage was the complete opposite of the one other person I knew who always wanted to watch. Besides Pancakes.

He had watched because he was curious too, at least it started out that way, but his curiosity was definitely sexual in every way.

Well, sexual…and violent.

Preppy.

He was a depraved little shit.

You’re no Disney princess yourself, shit bag.

I liked porn as much as the next guy, but the shit Preppy was into didn’t get my dick hard as much as it made my nuts want to retreat back into my body and hide out until the coast was clear.

A depraved little shit…who I’d give either of those nuts to have back.

I reached behind my neck and rubbed the PREP tattoo King had done for me. It always seemed to burn when I was thinking about him.

It burned especially hot when I thought back to the first night I’d realized that violence and sex went hand-in-hand for Preppy.

And sometimes, knife-in-hand.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN




Bear

Eighteen years old…


There was a party.

There was a party every night.

If not at the compound, then at King’s house. The three of us, me, King, and Preppy were always down for a good time and when the sun went down we partied until it came back up. My club was always welcome, the liquor was always flowing, and the girls were more than willing.

“Hey, pretty girl,” I said to some chick I’d never seen before with long brown hair and dark, almost black, eyes. She was dressed conservatively for one of our parties, and what I mean by conservative is that she wasn’t topless or in the middle of playing a game of finger cuffs with the boys by the bonfire. She was probably a spring breaker. Her tanned skin the first giveaway. Most locals, even if they worked outside, weren’t tan unless they were born with it. This girl had a glow about her that said she’d been lying in the sun all day, the tip of her nose slightly reddened. Yep, visitor. Which was great for me because that meant she’d be doing my second favorite a bitch does without much argument or hassle.

Leave.

She was definitely venturing out on the wrong side of the causeway, but it didn’t matter because her skirt was short, her legs were long, and in all honesty, my checklist for who I stuck my dick in during those days wasn’t much longer than that.

Actually, that was it.

“Hey there,” she said, taking a sip from whatever drink was in her red plastic cup. I hoped she hadn’t gotten it from Prep, ’cause if so there was so telling what the f*ck was in it.

“I got a room here,” I told her, cutting to the chase and because I’d never had to put any real effort into talking a girl into f*cking me. “Wanna see it?”

“Lead the way,” she whispered seductively. I grabbed her hand and dragged her toward my apartment. I laughed under my breath as she struggled to still look sexy while walking across the uneven grass in six inch heels. I walked her into the garage and stopped just short of the apartment door. I hoisted her up onto of the toolboxes in the garage. My favorite toolbox. It was the perfect height for what I needed it for.

“I thought you had an apartment?” she asked.

“I do, it’s in there,” I said pointing to the door that was so close I could reach out and touch the handle. “But I couldn’t wait, baby,” I lied, saying the same thing I’d told countless other girls who wondered why they were being banged on top of a bunch of greasy rags in a dark garage that smelled like oil and rust.

Chicks never made it further than the toolbox, and in some cases, never further than the dock, or even that one patch of clearing in the woods. I nuzzled her neck and did the minimum foreplay required not to piss off a chick before sleeving up my dick and shoving on home.

Spring Break Chick was good. Not great.

Great wouldn’t come to me for years.

For those days though, she was as good as I got it, although she’d tried to kiss me which wasn’t my deal. Making out was for f*cking teenagers. I was eighteen and well into my stick-my-dick-in-it or nothing stage.

That night wasn’t the first night I felt like I was being watched while I was with a girl. I looked out the garage window to the party-goers and knew for a fact that the people by the bonfire couldn’t see in. I always made it a point not to turn the lights on, but still, the feeling wouldn’t go away.

“What are you looking for?” Spring Break Chick asked, panting like a small hairy dog left out in the hot summer sun.

“Nothing,” I lied. I was looking for something, all right, but it was more like a someone. I closed my eyes and pushed hard into her, trying to concentrate. She moaned and put on a good show but I was still distracted by the uneasy feeling that someone was there. I was growing bored of the girl and tired of my half assed attempt at f*cking her. I picked up the pace so I could just come and be done with it.

That’s when I learned Spring Break Chick was a screamer.

Over and over again she bucked against me when I hit bottom and it rallied me on. It wasn’t too bad over the top fake shit, which I’d seen my share of, especially with the BBBs. This girl was honestly getting off by riding on my cock and, I was feeling it.

“You gonna come, pretty girl?” I asked, not because I thought she was really that pretty, but because I had no f*cking clue what her name was.