Gun Shy(82)

Two birds and one stone.

That’s how Ray and I approached the problem with Teresa and Leo. Except neither of them fucking died, did they? It was always a risk, doing something so messily. But Teresa’s survival was probably a good thing, in the end. It kept Cassie locked to me, to the house, to her mother. She was too guilty to leave, even after all the things I did to her. I would say with her, but it was pretty apparent that she was not a willing party to our relationship. Not at first, anyway.

We managed to get rid of Leo for eight years, though. God, was that fucking blissful. By the time he was up for parole, I was dealing with another problem: a problem with a tight pussy and a mouth like a Hoover.

Jennifer Thomas.

What an injustice. Getting out after less than half of his sentence had been completed? Before I’d managed to get Cassie pregnant with my baby, ensure she’d never leave? I mean, eight years goes past in the blink of an eye, and I should have moved faster, focused on the task, hell - even moved her and her vegetative mother out of town where Leo Bentley could never find us. But I was greedy. I wanted it all. I wanted my town and my stepdaughter and Jennifer’s golden pussy. And I never, not in a million years, thought that Leo’s parole would go through so soon.

Leo fucking Bentley. I should have killed him the first chance I got. I should have worked harder to pin Karen’s murder on him. It was all set up so damn perfectly. She was in his well! He would have gotten death row, or at the very least, life without parole.

But I was soft. I faltered. I saw how much Cassie loved him, the way her eyes went soft every time she looked at him. Like he was the sun. I should have blacked out the sun and kept her in the dark, with me.



I use peoples’ weaknesses against them.

Leo’s was alcohol. Cassie’s, her mother.

Everybody has a weakness waiting to be exploited.

I tried to do it to Jennifer, but it doesn’t work on everyone. Sometimes people aren’t damaged enough to fall for the bait, and other times, they’re too far gone. I should have known that when Jennifer sat on my desk, spread her legs, and told me she’d always wanted to be fucked by a police officer. She had me wrapped around her little finger. Bitch.

Occasionally, people just can’t be blackmailed. Most of the time, though, they can. I should know. I was taught by the best. My self-proclaimed father, the one who raised me from perdition. His words, not mine. The one who stole me from everything I’d ever known and then turned me into the thing that I am.

“I need five hundred dollars,” Jennifer said to me, and then I finally had a weakness to exploit.

Jennifer, sixteen-year-old Jennifer fucking Thomas, needed five hundred dollars.

Because she was pregnant.

With my baby.

And she needed me to pay for an abortion.



Ray was there, as always, his thirst for bloodletting second only to his loyalty to me. I told him my problems, my two threats, and he sat back in his recliner. “Two birds and one stone,” he said.



The thing is, I don’t even like brunettes.

But Jennifer fucking Thomas swore black and blue that she was a natural blonde, and when I wouldn’t believe her, she sat her ass up on my desk and spread her legs, no panties, cheerleading skirt hitched up around her hips, and that girl was telling the truth. She used L’Oreal to make the hair on her head a glossy brown, mascara to turn her blonde eyelashes a plump black, and my desk to prove that she was lying about it all. I always found it strange; I mean, the girl was smart. I think that was her whole problem with being blonde, though. She knew she was smart, and she wanted everybody else to notice, too. Hence the L’Oreal and the Max Factor mascara. I know the brands because she had them both with her when I took her. Who packs a box of hair dye to touch up their roots when they’re going to get a fucking abortion?

I had some giant fucking warning flags when it came to Jennifer fucking Thomas. I didn’t choose her. She chose me and pursued me, and that should have been my first warning to stay away. I should have known better. But the cock wants what the cock wants, and when what the cock wants is presented on a silver platter — or a Formica desk, as it turns out — the cock takes.

She was a virgin. That surprised me. I didn’t find that out until I was balls deep in her and she started crying. That really pissed me off, you know? You want your first time to be special. My first time with Cassie was special. My first time with Jennifer was decidedly not special.

Warning signs. Fucking neon signs. The girl was unhinged. But she was persistent. She chose me, is what she’d said. I already had Cassie, but I could see that Cassie was struggling, and I’m not a total asshole (even though you think I am). I fucked Jennifer on the side, it gave Cassie some breathing room, and things were going swimmingly well.

But here’s the problem with someone pursuing you. When someone chooses you, it inevitably ends up on their terms. That’s why I chose Cassie, see? I chose her.

My rules.

My terms.

My needs.

My wants.

Jennifer fucking Thomas.

Pregnant. The bitch told me she was on birth control, and of course I believed her. Another warning sign. I came in that girl so often, I’m surprised there wasn’t a whole litter of babies up in there. I think that thrilled her a little bit, to have that power over me. To have a part of me inside her. If we’re talking about sociopaths, let’s talk about this baby sociopath, this teenage fucking dream. Let me tell you right now: she sucked dick like a champion, but not enough to make me forget that she was not the girl I really wanted.