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1
Camdyn
“Keep dancing like that; I’ll shred the dress from your body for all these rich motherfeckers to see,” I grit out, seated wide legged. Knuckles tight, I clutch the glossy blonde hair at the nape of Cheerleader Barbie’s neck, reining her farther back. Blue strobe lights cut through the dim warehouse, gliding over her lithe body. Music jumps through the speakers, pulsating the brown liquor in my Solo cup. It doesn’t get any classier.
A silver spoon was stuffed in Barbie’s mouth as a kid, and because the blue-eyed girl can purchase anything she sets eyes on, she’s bored to tears—when I’m not around. So, the thrill I give her and her type . . .
That amuses them.
I hold her in my hands like an eager mouse to pet, play with. She’ll get her kicks; then I’ll grind her bones into mush.
That amuses me.
While she twerks in my lap, the little ass she has spills from her tight pink tube dress. A seductive smile tugs the edges of Barbie’s lips. She’s game with me fucking her before the audience of DuPont Academy seniors. I chew my bottom lip, twisted mind at work. I edge her from on top of me, removing a switchblade from my jeans pocket. My hand travels around to her breast.
“What’s that?” Barbie asks, her sparkling eyes peering down between her breasts. With the knife sheathed, she groans as the shiny, gray handle skates down the center of her skimpy dress.
“Keep working your arse. I’ll show you.”
With her head cradled at my neck, she shifts to lock eyes with mine. A sloppy grin on her lips, she slurs, “M’kay.”
At her belly button, I press the switch on the side of the handle. With accurate precision, the shiv rockets out. The flat of the sharp knife presses against her trembling body.
Barbie tenses, missing the tempo. While the hairs on her neck lift off, my voice is smooth as honey in her ear. “Don’t stop dancing.”
Did I sense her wrong?The subtle grasp of depravity I felt stirring in her soul. I’ve gotten to the point where I couldn’t give a fuck about a girl’s limitations. The right ones flock toward me in droves and will obey my every command.
I press the button again, and the knife sheaths itself. Still fisting the handle, I continue my pursuit down her body.
Once my hand trails beneath her dress, Cheerleader Barbie sputters, “Cam...”
“Tell me to stop.” The gleam in my eyes dares her. A simple word, all of four letters, and I’ll set her free. She went commando tonight. That’s a sign. She’s begging to be fucked, and I’ll oblige her. The smooth handle of my switchblade strokes across her clit. I guide the slick handle into her eager pussy, working the cylinder until it’s pressed against her g-spot. I’m half-mast now. While I get her off, she’s almost returned the favor, but not yet. A cascade of her blonde hair flows over my shoulder as Barbie’s head drops. She writhes, mews, and twirls her cunt on the smooth switchblade.
“Harder, fuck me harder.” Barbie turns her head again, hot breath fanning over my jaw. When her mouth seeks mine, I remove my knife from her dripping cunt and shove her forward.
“Motherfecker,” I grumble, watching the blonde topple into the backs of a trio of gyrating chicks, clambering to anchor and steady herself. How unfortunate. If she liked the knife, she would’ve loved this dick.
Barbie finds her equilibrium, turns around, and flicks her eyebrow upward. “Cam?”
Her timid, sapphire eyes question why I pushed her. The music’s loud, so I cock my head. Her tongue dips out in trepidation, swiping across her bottom lip. When she tiptoes closer, I warn, “Don’t put your fecking lips on me unless I say so. Got that?”
A hesitant smile plays at Barbie’s lips. “Okay.”
I’m all for fucking. Kissing has never appeared on the itinerary of shit for me to do on a Friday night—or any other night on any given week. Even when both my hands are fisting through the hair of two chicks and I’m getting double the head, I’m strapped. Safety first. The fuck knows where these bitches’ mouths have been.
Another blonde, Courtney, stands across from me. While others dance around her, she patiently waits for my attention. Wire-rimmed prescription glasses frame her brown eyes. She wears matching polo shirts and Crocs, basically her personal uniform, to every function. Now her, I will never fuck. She’s the only girl I kiss—on the forehead, though—after a brilliant scheme. I place my knife in my Solo cup to give it a quick rinse. Lifting my chin, I call Courtney over.
“Lane’s here,” she monotones. “Riv—”
“Here?” I gesture across the massive room. She’s a beast at counting numbers and pissing on fires. But with a case of Asperger’s, I often have to toss her socially awkward ass into the pack of wolves. Of course, she’s granted a weapon to fight back, though—MacKenzie. No one gives her shit but me.
“Court, This is an eight-thousand-square-foot warehouse, sweetheart. Where. Is. Lane?”
Courtney’s stony façade never alters. She’s immune to my bark, my bite, and most other social cues. “I asked him to come to you, Camdyn. But we’ve another pertinent issue. River’s not here. He’s our main event.”
“No, the Green Room is our main event.” Though,River is our best fighter, unpredictable motherfucker. I arise abruptly.
“But,” Courtney sputters, “do you think Riv—”
