After two painful hours of trying to hack into an overseas bank account the local Don Leon Cartel has been using, I’m still no closer. This cafe’s shitty Wi-Fi connection makes it damn near impossible to run the programs I need to crack the codes and follow the wire transfers. Add in the fact that my head is pounding and every time the small bell on the door chimes, signaling someone is coming or going, or the hissing sound of steam meets my ears, the gnawing feeling in my brain only gets worse.
Leaning back in the wooden chair, I watch the traffic drive by the large window beside my table. My midnight black 750 GSXR sport bike is parked across the street in front of my apartment, and it stands out like a sore thumb in this dull town, but I never go anywhere without it. That’s my baby.
Grabbing the small ceramic mug from the table, I inhale the aromatic scent of premium dark roast before bringing it to my lips. I swirl the steaming black coffee around my tongue, savoring its roasted taste before swallowing it. This shit is better than a bottle of aspirin, which is unexpected in a little farm town like this one.
I wasn’t happy about being sent here. Small towns aren’t my scene, and Hallow Grove is as small as they come. There’s nothing here for me, just endless fields of corn and air that stinks of animal shit, but after a few days here, I can see why the Don Leon Cartel has made this their new headquarters. No one would think to look in some tiny town in the middle of nowhere while searching for them.
No one except me, that is.
There is no place on Earth these fuckers could go where I wouldn’t follow. My sole mission in life has been to destroy the entire operation and kill their incompetent leader. After all, a life for a life is fair, and he took my father’s life, so now a debt is owed to me. The only saving grace I’ve had for the last week is this goddamn café and its black coffee, but that’s partially bittered by just how bad the Wi-Fi is here. It might as well be dial-up with how hard it is to stay connected long enough to actually get anything done.
I down the last of my coffee and place the empty mug on the table before running my inked hand through my hair, pushing it back from my face as I glance around the café. It’s pretty busy this evening; there are more people out and about than usual. Some are dressed in costumes, others in regular attire, all wanting their caffeine fix before tonight’s festivities—Devil’s Night.
Back home, this night would be spent with teens trashing people’s yards, tossing eggs at houses and hurtling toilet paper over trees. It’s a pastime I may have indulged in once or twice in my youth, but I don’t expect that to happen here, not in such a small, tight-knit town.
With my coffee gone and the Wi-Fi as useless as it could possibly be, I begin packing my belongings back into my duffle bag so that I can return to my apartment across the street.
The bell on the door signals another customer has entered the café, and at first, I pay no mind to it, continuing to sort my things away, but when a soft laugh meets my ears, the world seems to freeze for everyone but me.
Lifting my eyes from my laptop, I’m met with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Long, dark hair flows behind her as she trails behind her redhead friend to the counter. I watch as they order their drinks, and the moment she smiles at the barista as he hands her coffee over the counter… something deep inside me stirs.
All it takes is one look, a split second where another man holds her attention, to send me into a downward spiral of jealousy and rage. I never want her to smile at anyone else like that again, unless it’s me.
Oversized coffee cups in hand, they make their way down the narrow aisle beside me, passing tables full of people. As she passes, I catch a glimpse of the paper cup she’s holding. Her name is scribbled on the side in a black marker: Cara.
A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. I can’t help but run my eyes across her perfect, supple body, from her black boots to her perky tits she keeps hidden behind a tight leather jacket.
“Does this work?” The redhead asks, getting no response from my new fixation. I’m met with her ghostly grey eyes as I reach her face, and her piercing gaze sends a chill down my spine.
Fuck, she caught me.
Women in these small towns are different, more reserved, and uptight. They usually call me a perve or tell me to fuck off when they catch me eye fucking them, but not her.
No, she’s different.
She’s special, she sees me.
Accepts me.
Instead of telling me off, she catches me off guard, keeping her eyes locked with mine, challenging me as she pulls her plump bottom lip into her mouth, sucking it between her pearly teeth. I flash her a coy smirk that she promptly returns with a flirty little smile.
Fuck. This girl wants me.
The metal barb of my Jacob’s Ladder piercing rubs against the confinement of my tight black skinny jeans as my cock hardens at the subtle, but incredibly sexy gesture.
She wants to play.
It takes everything in me not to turn in my chair and watch her as she leaves my sight.
“Does this work?” The redhead repeats again with a louder tone this time.
“Yes,” my girl quickly answers, trying to seem like she isn’t completely consumed by me.
My heart races at the sound of the wooden chair legs scraping against the floor beneath the table directly behind me, signaling where they plan to sit. Lowering my eyes to the floor, a coy smirk forms on my face knowing full well her silence is a direct response to our little moment. I can’t blame her for being so speechless after locking eyes with me. I know I’m good-looking and taller than most men, a feature I can thank my late father for; add in that all of my free time is spent in the gym, where I work hard to maintain my well-toned body, and it doesn’t take much for women to swoon over me.
I’ve always said there are two types of women in this world: The ones that take a single look at a guy like me and run, and those who fantasize about having me buried deep between their thighs.
As for ones who fall at my feet with just one look, I’m usually more than happy to give them whatever they want, to bring any fantasy to life, especially when it saves me from having to scroll through pages upon pages on Pornhub before finally finding something I can actually stroke my dick to.
I’ve stuck my dick in more women than I can count, but that’s all it’s ever been. Fuck, chuck, and onto the next. Not with this girl, though. She’s something else, something new and interesting, and from the moment I saw her, the moment our eyes locked and she bit down on that goddamn plump lip, I knew that one fuck would never be enough.
It’s clear she sees me for me and accepts who I am. No one has done that since my father died. No one has looked at me in the same way she did and seen me as a person, until her. This need to own her has taken root in the deepest parts of me, instantly sealing her fate to mine.
Even with my devilishly handsome good looks, this pretty little thing is still too perfect for me. If I want to keep her, she needs to be marked and broken, and when she locked eyes with me, I knew she wanted it to be me who ultimately ruins her. In those few seconds, her ghostly eyes told me all the things her mouth couldn’t, and I’ll spend the rest of my days watching her, touching her pristine inked skin, and claiming her, whether she allows me to or not.
She’s mine.
They continue their conversation as they sit down, and I adjust myself in the wooden chair. Opening my laptop, I pull a binder and pen back out from my duffle bag, trying my best to blend in and not seem suspicious as I listen in on their exchange of words.
“So listen, I know you’re nervous about tonight, but I really think it’ll be good for you to get out. You can’t hide out in that creepy, old house forever. It’s bad for your health to spend so much time alone,” her friend explains with a tone filled with concern and with a hint of desperation.
“I don’t know how I feel about seeing Jonah at the party. I’d rather stay in and watch a horror movie,” my girl responds. My blood instantly boils at the sound of another man’s name slipping from her lips.
Who is Jonah, and why does my girl want to avoid him?
“You’re coming with me. We already have the perfect costumes picked out, and I can’t show up alone knowing Alex will be there,” her persistent friend pushes.
The pressure she’s placing on my girl leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but the thought of seeing my girl dressed up for me, well, that sends all the right signals straight to my dick.
“Fine, but you’re driving. I hate driving to the Miller house at night. The gravel roads are too narrow going around the lake,” she gives in with a sigh, and it’s clear she isn’t excited about this party.
I slide my iPhone from my pocket and quickly type in the four-digit pin to unlock it. Opening my browser, I bring up satellite maps of Hallow Grove, Iowa, and begin my search for lakes in the area. Finding only two, I close in on the first one, small and secluded, with no buildings in the area or any marked roads.
Not the one I’m looking for.
I zoom out and slide my finger across the screen until I reach the other lake. Zooming back in, I find what appears to be a narrow, one-car-wide gravel road wrapping around the north side of the lake leading to a massive, secluded property.
Opening another browser window, I bring up the county assessor website, typing in several codes to get me past their weak firewalls and into the content not accessible to just anyone. Being a white hat hacker for the CIA has its benefits. Even if my hacking gets flagged, they won’t be able to do anything about it. When it comes to breaking into websites or files, I’m basically untouchable.
Sure enough, the deed on the county website shows the house belongs to a Brandon Miller.
Bingo.
I close the tab and reopen the satellite map, marking the lake house with a pin, and then I save it directly to my iPhone.
“Deal,” her friend says excitedly. “You need to get laid tonight. It’s been too long, and your vibrator is going to give out soon if you don’t give it a break.”
I smile, saving the directions to the party to my phone as the sounds of my girl trying to shush her friend hit my ears.
Don’t worry, little nightmare, you won’t need that vibrator. Not after tonight.
Lucky for her, the café is loud, and I doubt anyone else heard her friend’s little remark, although I’m happy I did.
“We’ll see what happens, but I make no promises. It depends on who shows up and how much alcohol I need to ingest before any of them become tolerable enough to fuck,” my girl says loudly, almost like she wanted me to hear.
It’s an invitation to show up. It’s her way of telling me she wants me there. Little does she know I was showing up regardless of her invite.
I know what she needs, what she wants.
Her friend’s laugh rings out across the coffee shop, “That might be the most relatable thing you’ve ever said. This is why we’re best friends. I love your fucked up sense of humor.”
“I know,” my girl laughs.
Her laughter is alluring and soft, almost ethereal, like sparks from a roaring fire floating up to the night sky. My skin burns for her, and even though I know nothing about her, I have to have her. She wants me too; I can see it in her eyes and hear it in the tone of her voice.
I will have her.
I sit up straight in my chair, confident in the bit of information I’ve gained from their short conversation. My body is pumping with adrenaline and anticipation for tonight. I’ve always loved surveillance and the thrill of seeing people when they think they’re unseen. The shit people do when they think no one is watching is fucking surprising, but this already feels different than the people I watch on a daily basis. She feels different. Something about her has me fully enthralled. One look and I’m completely obsessed.
They talk for a bit more, and I listen in here and there, easily picking up any relevant information regarding my new obsession. I find out she’s a tattoo artist, the best in Hallow Grove, too, by the sound of it. I’ve also come to learn that her friend loves to gossip, and being a hairstylist apparently means she gets the lowdown at work of all the shady happenings in this shit hole. Thankfully my girl doesn’t seem to care much for the drama, but gives her friend her best attempt at a genuinely shocked reaction to the town’s latest scandals.
After a while, the scraping of chairs moving against the floor meets my ears again, letting me know they’ve risen from the table behind me. Her friend walks past me first, her long red hair flowing down her back as she struts down the aisle carrying an empty cup. She places it in the trash bin beside the register before chatting up the same barista as before, making sure to push her large tits together between her arms as she leans over the counter.
I know her type, the tryhards with low self-esteem, who flaunt what they have to get what they want, and if you refuse, they try harder.
Shuffling behind me pulls my attention as my girl leaves the table and walks down the aisle next to me without glancing back. I don’t take it to heart. I know she’s trying to ignore the fact that we had a moment. She’s playing hard to get, but we both know what she wants. I watch her perfectly tight little ass sway with her hips as she walks, leaving a scented trail of cinnamon and vanilla behind her, silently calling my name as she joins her friend at the counter.
As she reaches her redhead friend, she slowly turns to face me, bringing her cup to her lips and taking a sip as pumpkin sweet cream drips down her lips. She raises her eyes to mine, keeping them fixated on me as she wipes the cream from her lip with her finger, and sucks it off. My cock twitches at the sight of her with cream dripping down her luscious lips. I sit forward, entranced by this risky game my girl is playing in a place as public as this.
It should be my cream dripping down her.
She wants it to be my cream.
My jaw clicks with excitement. A genuine smile forms on my face as I shake my head at her. She returns my smile, and I nod slightly in her direction, ensuring she knows I see her, too. Her face flushes a gorgeous shade of pink, and she quickly turns her eyes away, grabbing hold of her friend’s arm. My girl is embarrassed easily.
Oh, this is going to be fun.
I watch, keeping my eyes fixated on her as she patiently waits for her friend to finish harassing the barista before they open the café door, setting off the familiar bell sound and heading outside.
I waste no time shoving my things back into the duffle bag, eager to get the night started, to find out who this Jonah fucker is, and to see my girl again, only this time all dressed up and ready for me to ruin.
With my things all packed away safely secured in my duffle bag, I lift my now numb ass from the wooden chair as my large frame pushes the chair backward. I stretch my arms out above my head; the action has the front of my shirt lifting a bit, giving the older women at the table next to me a nice view of the v-cut above my jeans. They gasp with disgust, shaking their heads at me with disapproval but deep down, we all know they secretly love the little show they’re getting. They’ll be running home to their husbands, all hot and bothered for the first time in probably months. I give them a good smirk, making a point to show them I’m happy to help give their practically dead libidos a much-needed kick-start before grabbing my bag and tossing it over my shoulder.
They quickly turn away, shielding their eyes as they act repulsed, pretending that looking at me might bring them shame in such a small town, which makes me smile more. People care too much for what others think of them, and it’s amusing to me how they can spend their lives shoving down parts of themselves, keeping them hidden to please others.
Growing up, I was picked on and bullied. Kids always thought my obsession with watching people and my love for tech and computers was weird and made me a nerd, but my father taught me not to care, and to not let the thoughts of others dictate how I choose to live my life.
“A lion does not lose sleep over the thoughts of sheep,” is what he used to tell me, a quote he’d learned earlier in his life, and he was right; since that day, I’ve not lost sleep over anyone.
Until now.
I can already see the signs of how my new obsession, Cara, will be impossible to shake from my thoughts. It’s unusual how intrigued I am with a girl who hides behind the sweet small-town girl façade and what truly lies in the depths behind it. To some, she may be the girl of their dreams, the perfect girl next door, but to me, she is the monster under my bed, the thing that keeps me up at night.
My little nightmare.
I cross the room to the front of the counter, handing my empty mug to the barista who exchanged smiles with my girl earlier.
“Thanks so much for visiting Rustic Roast. Hope we see you again,” he says with an overly cheerful smile.
I return his thanks with a stern look while I picture how good it would feel to filet the smile from his face. As if sensing my tension, he turns pale and heads back to his register, where he continues to take orders from the never-ending line of people.
Returning my thoughts to my mission, I head to the door, push it open, and quickly head out into the cool fall night. I pull my cigarettes from the pocket of my leather jacket, placing one between my lips, and tuck the small pack back in my pocket. Reaching my other hand into the opposite pocket, I pull out a sterling silver zippo lighter, the only thing I have left of my father, and flick the lid back before striking it, lighting my cig. I inhale, letting my eyes fall closed as my lungs fill with tobacco and nicotine, calming myself.
When I open them, I scan the still busy streets until I see a small cart outside a clothing store across the street. The cart is full of Halloween costumes, and it just so happens that I’m in need of one if I want to meet my girl at this party. Looking both ways, I quickly jog across the street, reaching the cart and the older woman running it.
“Everything is half off, dear,” she explains as I browse the masks.
Clowns, ghost faces, weird ones with huge noses, all overused and don’t give off the impression I want to make. I scour the racks of masks over and over until, finally, I find the right one. A scarecrow, perfect for a town like this, and just the right amount of eerie I need.
I toss the woman a fifty, telling her to keep the change, and quickly make my way back up the street to my apartment to ready myself for tonight.
I am a predator unwilling to share his prey, and by the sounds of their conversation tonight, someone else thinks they have a claim to what’s mine. Tonight, I change that and make sure she knows who she belongs to.
My little nightmare is mine, and only mine.
