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The neighborhood wasn’t a good one, and I liked the feeling of knowing my house wouldn’t be unoccupied when I came home. Especially with all the rapes that had been occurring during the night.
Who would have thought that a serial rapist would show up in this small town?
It all started about six months ago with a young teenager, arriving home after a night of partying with her friends. She’d pulled her car in the garage, shut it off, and got out before she closed the garage door. Then she set the alarm and went to bed. Which was a serious mistake.
According to the news feed from the security cameras, the man had bypassed the security system by unknown means, and rearmed it once he was inside. From there everything looked fine on the outside, while inside a young girl was getting her innocence stolen from her, and then drugged to make her forget.
Since then, there’ve been nearly nine other victims, and they can only remember that they were fine before they got home. The first one was the luckiest since they’d installed cameras after the home was built. The others hadn’t been so lucky. They only woke up confused, beaten, and raped with nothing to remember about how it happened.
Walking outside, I made it to my car, keeping my head down as I went.
It wouldn’t do to see my neighbor. My hot, sexy, drug using, badass neighbor.
It was inevitable though. I was drawn to the man like the crops need the rain. He was like an incandescent star in a pitch-black sky to me. No matter how hard I tried, my eyes always strayed his way. The way he watched me unnerved me, but it also set my blood on fire.
Hell, I was a 26-year-old woman. He was a hot male in his prime, despite the baggy gangster clothes that covered an extremely muscled body. His hair was about three inches too long and shaggy blonde. When he looked at me, he always had a couple strands in his steel blue eyes, only adding to the appeal.
“Hey, sis,” Andrew called. “Can you pick up some dinner on the way home from work?”
He didn’t wait for the reply, which wasn’t surprising. He didn’t care that I worked until nearly three in the morning. All he cared about was getting a hamburger and fries. Did it ever cross his mind that I didn’t have the energy to do that after I got off? I had to be at school at nine tomorrow morning.
When I turned back around, I saw my neighbor shirtless, bending over the hood of his newest acquisition. A 1970 Plymouth Barracuda that I was just dying to take a ride in. In fact, I would kick my brother out right now if he gave that car to me.
It was loud. So loud that it made my heart race. The color could use some work, but the engine was sound. With all the work that the man put in it over the past three weeks, there was no wonder.
Did he even work?
I’d seen him outside on my way to work the last three days, and he’d still been there when I’d gotten home.Although it was nearly seven at night, and I was gone the entire day, he was out there. In the same spot he’d beenin when I left. He could work sometime in the interim, yet I didn’t think he did.
I couldn’t wait to see what color he painted it.
“Hi, Channing!”
I screamed loudly and turned, finding my next-door neighbor, thecreepy as fucknext door neighbor to my immediate right. Varian Strong.
“Umm, hi, Mr. Strong. How are you?” I asked, backing away toward my car.
He smiled at my retreat, knowing what he did to me.
My heart raced.
“I’m fine, sweet thing. Going to work?” He asked with feigned concern.
I nodded emphatically. “Sure am. Have a good night!”
I dropped down in my car, then locked it as inconspicuously as I could before starting it and backing the fuck out of my driveway.
I freakin’ hated my neighborhood.
Mostly.
Mostly, because I liked the way that my neighbor was watching me drive away, and the way his eyes narrowed in Varian’s direction once he saw me pass him.
I’d known he was paying attention. He was a smart man. He knew the neighborhood was just as dangerous as I did. Although he wasn’t a scared little rabbit like I was.
I’d grown up in a suburb in New Orleans before the levees collapsed. My mom had died in the floods shortly after, and my dad’s shrimping business had gone under as a result. We’d never done badly for ourselves, but with the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, there was nothing left for us to go back to.
We’d survived, but only just barely.
