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And those photos—fuck me, so different from the childlike ones in Douglass’ home.
Older. More mature.
Stunning.
Naturally sensual in a way most women her age hadn’t acquired.
It made my cock hard every time I fantasized exploring every inch of her skin, and I despised myself for it.
Sucking taut and pebbled nipples.
Luscious lips wrapped around my dick.
My cock slamming against the back of her throat. My hand fisting her hair.
And yet, what kind of man daydreamed about fucking his best friend’s daughter?
A sick and depraved fuck, that’s who.
And yet, I was that man.
Because I wanted to tie her to my bed and fuck her until she screamed my name.
Gritting my teeth, I wrestled with my thoughts. Forcing myself to focus on my purpose—my whole reason for living.
I was here for revenge.
To kill Saul and move on.
With this thought, anticipation surged through my veins, an electrifying mix of excitement and satisfaction. The moment to avenge my grandma's death was here.
As the seconds ticked away, I thought of the day my nana had come into my life.
The night had been stale and hot, as often the Vegas nights are, unlike the sweaty humidity of the South. As soon as I'd heard the male voices coming from the living room of our trailer, I'd dashed from the bathroom to my room, locking the door behind me.
I'd learned the hard way that men and women, drugged out on both heroin, alcohol, and other things, sometimes stumbled into the wrong room, looking for the bathroom.
I'd opened my window, hoping it would cool the heat blazing through our metal trailer, but it had only let in the sounds of the night. The drunken party next door, the annoying yip from the Chihuahua tied to their front porch, a couple arguing up the street. So I’d shut it, along with my curtains.
Then the booming sound of music from my living room was the only thing I could hear for the next four hours.
I crawled in my bed, pulling my only blanket over my head, wishing I had those fancy headphones that would block out noises, knowing I wouldn't get much sleep.
And yet, somehow I did, waking up a few hours later, needing to pee.
However, the radio was still blasting, and I shifted uncomfortably for the next two hours, trying my best to hold it in.
When I couldn't wait any longer, I crept towards the door. Finally relieving myself, I noticed a bright light coming through the small bathroom window.
It was day time.
I scowled, flushing the toilet and washing my hands with cheap, dollar store soap.
Usually by now, my mom and her friends had all fallen asleep, someone usually turning off the radio some time during the night.
As I opened the door, peeking through it, my heart began to tumble in my chest.
I had a bad feeling that something was very wrong.
