Eyes on hers, I shove my hands up under the towel, and every drop of blood rushes straight to my dick the moment my rough fingers meet her creamy, soft thighs. Spongy, wet curls dance over her shoulders, as she tips her head, watching me. Toying with me. “Did you find what you’re looking for?”
Teeth grinding, I snatch the bag of pills and step back from her. I scan over the small, blue tablets, and I can at least rule out the fentanyl-laced variety that were going around a couple months back. Those had an ‘M’ etched into the surface, no doubt distributed by the Diablos, and were more rounded, while these are oval-shaped.
“Where’d you get these?”
“Far, far from here.”
“Good. Don’t buy anything from around here. Not unless you want to end up in the emergency room, coding.” Tossing them back to her, I try to ignore the lingering sensation of her skin against my fingers, and how fucking sweet those thighs would feel at either side of my face.
“A hundred bucks says you dream about me tonight after this.”
“As I understand, you don’t have a hundred bucks to spare.”
“I don’t. You do, though.” As soon as she crosses her legs, my dick practically leaps out of my zipper, and I’m backing myself to the door. “Goodnight, Thierry.”
Closing the door behind me is all the control I have right now around this crazy little cock-tease, who’s snaked beneath my skin like a bad rash. I’ve had women flirt with me, but nothing like her. It’s telling, the way she suddenly took interest the moment I backed off. She seems to like a chase when she knows it’s nothing but a long stretch of empty road. Nothing to tie her down, or up, for that matter. Not that I blame her, seeing as I’m not one for commitment myself. She’s like a compact dose of chaos that I want to detonate, just to see how it feels to explode with her.
I won’t, though.
Slipping out the chip I dug up from her bag earlier, from my pocket, I stare down at it. Things stopped adding up for me the moment Julio told me to scope out that house without killing anyone. Someone encroaching on Matamoros’ turf would’ve been killed instantly. Yet, Julio wants her alive.
He wants to observe her.
And I intend to find out why.
Having poured myself a drink, I sit down at the desk in my office and flip open my laptop. After sticking the chip into the USB drive, I wait for the outdated technology to catch up, as it spins and spins, opening files at a snail’s pace. A single folder, labeled Antitheus, pops up on the screen. A quick search of the word results in one who pretends to be God; the devil. A Greek translation of the word spits back, godless. Glancing toward the door and back, I turn down the volume and click on the curious file from the chip. More files pop up on the screen, one of which is a video titled Ritual of Sire and Sacrifice.
When I click on it, a dark screen flicks to a dim, pixelated scene. The hazy silhouette of trees and brush against a dark sky in the background suggest it was taken out in the woods at night. Light flickers from a bonfire set off at the edge of the frame, just outside of a circle of figures standing shoulder to shoulder, wearing what looks like long-horned goat skulls over their faces.
Pausing the video there, I study the skulls.
It’s been years since I read of the Magnolia Lane murder, but one detail I do recall was that those who committed the murder were seen on security camera wearing goat skulls. The media turned it into some dog and pony show that resulted in a number of unwarranted attacks on the few locals known to practice voodoo.
What happened at that Estate that night was not rooted in voodoo, something that was later explained in a special news report that described evidence of what was deemed part of satanic rituals, determined by an expert from the university. It turned into some cautionary tale to stay away from these extreme religious groups.
Unpausing the video, I tip back a sip of my drink, while the cameraman circles the group, capturing small details from the surroundings, like objects made of sticks hanging from tree branches. What looks to be an inverted ‘A’ within a