Chapter Eight
Dexter
When my hand darts up to switch off the drill pounding my skull into the next century, a soft moan makes me freeze midair. Against better judgment, I snap open my eyes. Mousy brown hair is fanned across my chest, and a cushiony ass is nestling my stiffened shaft.
Pain flies through my body when I scoot backward, lost and confused as fuck.
Where the hell am I? And how the fuck did I get here?
It takes me several minutes of scanning the dingy space to gather my bearings. I’m in a cabin my dad uses for hunting. Not the hunting you’re thinking, but that’s a story for another day.
You are probably also thinking,How convenient you happen to own a cabin a few miles from the psych hospital you were admitted at.
Once again, it’s not what you’re thinking.
My father owns many cabins, more than four in each state. When you hunt as regularly as he does, you take advantage of any location you can get. The closer, the better. That means his arsenal of properties is well into the thousands. Not all of them are as rundown as this cabin, but he doesn’t need comfort for what he is doing. He needs seclusion.
Ignoring the throb shooting through my back, demanding I remain still, I slowly rise to my feet. The world spins around me as the contents in my stomach threaten to spill at any moment.
While tugging on a pair of discarded pants dumped near the bed, my eyes drift to my sleeping companion. The scent of her hair already gives away who she is, but the impish thoughts drifting through my mind triple its guarantee. Even with my brain back to standard working order, my cock still wants to sink into Claudia’s heat.
Or should I say, “Wants to sink into Claudia’s heat again?”
Did we fuck? Is that why I’m so sore?
To say my mind is hazy would be an understatement. I have no clue what happened last night. I assume since I am sleeping in my dad’s cabin that Claudia and I escaped Meadow Fields, but how we got here, and why we’re naked are complete blanks. The last thing I recall is biting Lee. I assume that’s why my mouth tastes like garbage?
My confusion deepens when my eyes stop tracing Claudia’s curves at the lower half of her body. She’s wearing panties. If we had fucked, they’d be shredded on the floor like her dress. I don’t like panties. They represent the very essence of why I hunted with my father.
I love the smell of a woman’s cunt. It is as enticing to me as the scent of her blood. Even now, though doubtful her near-unconscious state is from me fucking her brains out, I can smell Claudia’s seductive scent. It’s as alluring as the aroma of fresh blood filtering through the air.
Casting my gaze down, I discover the cause for the cock-thickening scent. A t-shirt is crumpled at the side of the bed. It’s the same style all the male patients at Meadow Fields wear, it just has an added accessory: a large circular hole in the bottom left hand corner surrounded by a ring of blood.
What the fuck?
I take off for the attached bathroom, my body screaming in pain with every step I take. After clearing away the gunk from the mirror with my hand, I twist around to face the cracked shower stall at the back of the dingy space.
Fuck it.I’m too short to see the area throbbing in pain.
After throwing down the filthy toilet lid with my foot, I balance on the rim of the seat. This is no easy feat with how woozy my head is, but it gives me enough leeway to see a line of stitches in the lower quadrant of my back. If I had to guess, I’d say there are fifteen to twenty butterfly knots holding together a recent bullet wound.
I jump down from the toilet, hoping a few minutes of silence will ease my confusion. All it gives me is a truck-load of pain.
I’m the most lost I’ve ever been. I’m also in the most pain.
Did Claudia shoot me? If so, why stitch me up? I couldn’t have been shot by a guard; otherwise, how did I get to my cabin? It’s miles away from Meadow Fields. Claudia is a little firecracker with more gusto than her demure mousy composure displays, but she struggled carrying two logs of wood last night. She’d never manage a man of my height and frame. . .
I freeze, stunned. That was a memory. It was as worthless as a stripper who doesn’t give extra services when you hand her a hundred, but a memory all the same.
Realizing there is only one person who can give me answers, I charge back to the main area of the cabin. My steps aren’t as thunderous as my earlier ones, weighed down with both confusion and pain.
Claudia rouses when the mattress dips under my frame, but she remains asleep. Even with her back facing me, I can tell her chest is rising and falling in rhythm with mine. I’d even go as far as saying her breaths are just as regular. Her hair is tousled from a restless night, and her face is void of makeup. She looks peaceful. So much so, I almost feel bad sneaking a peek at her breasts.
For a lady with a fucked-up head, she has a nice rack. Her rosy pink nipples sit high on her chest, as puckered and inviting as her ruddy lips. She is more attractive out of her clothes than she is in them. I’m not surprised. Lee didn’t have her on his radar for no reason. Her tempting body was the second thing I noticed after her virtuous eyes and face. Her fantastic tits were most likely the first thing Lee noticed.
I remain rooted in place for the second time when another memory breaks through the fog in my head. It is of Lee and his soulless eyes. Not the lifeless ones he generally carries. Soulless—soulless. As in dead.
I killed him. He’s dead because of me.
