The eyes of a little lamb, the core of a warrior, and the heart of Satan all wrapped in an enticing package. Those were the thoughts I had when handing Megan the blade I used to silence Lucy’s taunt. I should have cut out her tongue before killing her to teach her how detrimental words can be to a person’s sanity when used the wrong way, but her brutal collision with the wall left me short of time—unfortunately. From what I sampled before Megan’s big, consuming eyes secured my attention, her tongue was mighty tasty.

I didn’t take Lucy to my room with the intention of having a threesome with Megan. I wanted Megan to experience the fury I felt when she chose Nick over me, to show her what she missed out on from denying me.

She derailed my campaign in less than a second.

I expected her to pluck the brunette’s eyes out of her sockets with her nails, or at the very least, hide in the bathroom for the next several hours. She did no such thing. She blew my challenge out of the water in a way I never anticipated. She surprised me. My little skitzo isn’t just all shades of fucked up; she makes me use the left side of my brain—the creative, experimental side that hasn’t been exercised in years.

If I didn’t have sirens wailing in the distance and a father demanding a virgin to hunt, mount, then display in his trophy cabinet, I’d be exercising that side of my brain right now. I’m as hard as fuck, the taste of Megan’s nipple in my mouth and her head resting in my crotch equally responsible. Just a couple of inches higher, and her pants of breath would be enough to get me off.

I suggested Megan hide because Lucy’s screams meant meddlesome guests spotted me slipping into my car where Megan was waiting. The authorities are looking for two people, so it was best to keep her hidden.

That issue became non-existent when I swapped my GTO for an old truck some geezer left idling at the gas station two hundred miles back, but since I like having Megan close to me, I made her stay. Sue me.

I travel another hundred miles before the heaviness of my eyelids becomes too great to ignore. I’m cutting it close to thirty-six hours without sleep, but that isn’t the reason I’m pulling over for some shuteye. The vicious twang in my lower back won’t take no for an answer, much less the cotton wool lodged in my throat.

Since he is dead, I’ll never get confirmation, but I’m fairly confident if I hadn’t killed Joseph last night, he would have gutted me like a dog. He wanted Megan, and he was willing to do anything to get her—including drugging me. That’s why my head was so woozy. It wasn’t a mental break or coming face to face with whiskey after a prolonged stint of absence. It was Joseph’s weakness for fair-skinned woman with big, innocent eyes . . . and perhaps the adrenaline little Ms. Psycho’s attention overdoses me with.

Megan is making me unhinged—even more than usual. If I weren’t relishing the high, I’d be pissed. But alas, you can’t be both angry and turned on. Well, normal men can’t be.

“Come on, Megan, I got us a room.”

I dig a room keycard into her thigh, endeavoring to wake her up. She moans before burrowing her head more profoundly into the truck’s bench seating.

“Megan. . .”

I dig the card in harder this time.

Still nothing.

Pissed at the delay, I jog to the passenger side of the truck, hook her ankle, then drag her out of the vehicle. I intend to let her fall to the ground, but before she gets halfway there, my arms dart out to catch her. I still can’t hurt her. I want her to bleed via my knife while lying naked in front of me, not some gravel rash ooze that would only satisfy my craving for a few seconds.

I feel two stitches in my back pop open when I pull Megan to my chest before striding to our hotel. Cautious our truck may have been reported as stolen, I parked several miles away from our hotel to make sure we remain under the radar. Now, I’m wishing I wasn’t so cautious. Megan isn’t heavy, but the weight of her closeness is enough to kill a man.

I want her beneath me, but I’ll be dead if I touch her. One sniff, and my dad will know she isn’t pure. He requested her untouched, which means I must deliver her untouched.

Obeying my father’s command isn’t foreign to me. It is how I survived my last twenty-eight years. But the adrenaline that pools in my brain when Megan is close is just as hard to ignore.

The fiendish glint in her eyes is magnetizing, but the way she looks now—a perfect, limp little doll—makes a switch inside of me flick on. It’s one I haven’t used in a very long time. My impish heart breeds evil faster than it pumps blood, but when Megan is in my arms slows it down.

I buried desires deep inside me years ago thanks to my father’s demands. He was looking out for me, ensuring I saw the world for what it is instead of how it made me feel. It was for the best. The world is brimming with cruel, sadistic people. I’m merely staying one step ahead of the pack.

After gripping Megan’s ass with one hand, I wave a hotel keycard across our room door. After kicking the heavily weighted door shut, I merge deeper into the affluent-smelling space. The hotel clerk had to shuffle reservations to grant me the room I requested. A double would have been adequate, but a king deserves to sleep in surroundings matching his reign. That’s why we’re not staying in a standard dime-a-dozen motel on the side of the highway. We’ve got the presidential suite. It’s the least I can do considering this weekend will be Megan’s last with a pulse.

I lay Megan on the massive bed in the left wing of our suite before tugging off my boots, shirt, and jeans. Once I am naked, I set to work on undressing Megan. I want her scent imbedded in my skin even more urgently than I want to sink my cock into her fragrant, enticing cunt.

“Shh,” I tell Megan when she slaps my hands away in the process of removing her blood-stained shirt from her body.

It’s not her blood. Its Lucy’s blood that Megan removed from the razor blade before cradling it in her palm like a precious gem. Since she is without the floral dresses she donned every day the past two months, the razor has become her security blanket. It makes her feel safe. I’m glad. I doubt she’s felt safe in years.

Once I have Megan’s shirt and panties removed, I attempt to pry open her fingers so I can dump the razor on the bedside table. Her grip is so rigid, if I weren’t afraid of having my eyes gouged out in the middle of the night, I’d leave it in her hand.

“Megan, it’s Dexter, open your hand.”

My veins double their thickness when her hand pops open without delay.

Smirking at her submissiveness, I pluck the knife from her palm, dump it with her clothes, then jog to the other side of the bed to dive beneath the sheets. Dissatisfied that I’m on one side of the bed while Megan is on the other, I drag her to my side by her elbow. She releases a frustrated groan. My body hears it in a completely different light.

“Sleep,” I instruct her when my cock bracing against her curvy ass rouses her more than our three mile hike through the woods. “You need your rest. You have a big day on Sunday.”

The hum she releases thickens my cock, but she does as instructed.

Her training is going well.

Three hours pass and I’m still awake. It isn’t Lucy’s final plea for clemency ringing in my ear that has prevented sleep, nor is it the throb in my lower back. It is the ache in my cock. Megan’s hair is overdue for a wash, so her fruity scent can’t override the delicious smell of her cunt.

It’s teasing me, taunting me, begging to be consumed.

If I trusted myself, I wouldn’t hold back.

I don’t trust myself.

Rightfully so. That’s like asking me to claim someone’s life but not watch their soul fade from their eyes. It is never going to happen.

I want to put my tongue on every inch of her before smearing her virginal blood on the walls of her pussy with my cock. My cock roars to life just at the thought of her staring up at me as I claim her as she’s never been claimed. I might even give her a taste, make her lick her blood from my cock.

She’d do it. She’s a good girl who would always put my needs before her own. If I told her to jump, she would always ask how high.

It is a pity I can’t do the same for her. There is only one game master. In this game, it is neither Megan or me. It is my father.

Realizing I’m never going to sleep with a raging boner, I slip out of bed. I could tiptoe into the bathroom to rub one out like a true psychotic, but all the inspiration I need to take care of my dilemma is right in front of me.

I’d be a fool not to take advantage of the situation.

After wrapping my hand around the base of my cock, I lower my eyes to Megan’s pert nipple. It is budded and hard, as if aware of the scandalous situation occurring. I do a long stroke, sending a zap of pleasure down my back for a change instead of the constant throb of pain.

Pressing my thumb against the vein feeding my cock, I quicken my pace. My eyes scan Megan’s naked body as crazily as my hand pumps my shaft. I imagine her lying before me, her hazel eyes shining up at me, her mouth open and ready to catch my spawn. She’d be wet—absolutely saturated with need. I’d gather up her excitement with my tongue, flicking and biting the tight bundle of nerves between her thighs with the reverence of a starved man. When she comes, she’d call my name. It would be a husky and raw cry, her throat clutched by the throes of ecstasy.

I can hear it now, her quickening breaths, her frantic gulps. It’s as if she’s kneeling before me, waiting for my cum to slide down her throat. She would struggle to swallow everything I offer her, but she wouldn’t spill a drop—she’d consume every last one. She’s a good girl like that. She follows instructions well.

“Don’t you, my little pet?”

As the urge to come overwhelms me, I close my eyes and flop my head back. My active imagination continues inspiring my pursuit to release. Shockingly, not one of my visuals include my mother. This beauty’s hair is lighter, more mousy-brown than a dark storm cloud. Her eyes are flecked with gold and green, and her body is so compact, I can palm her entire breast with just one hand. She’s a pretty little thing, a doll who likes her coffee as sweet as mine and her lifestyle just as dangerous. She would let me kill without regret. She may even encourage it.

The visual of Megan’s approving eyes when she handed me the razor to end Lucy’s life pushes sperm up my shaft. I continually pump my hand, not caring where my spawn lands. They can have my DNA; it won’t pin me to anything. I’m cautious like that. I didn’t wipe every inch of Lucy’s mouth, body and cunt with bleach for no reason. Only Megan makes me heedless. Only she compels me to swap the pieces on the chessboard for a more stacked deck. Just the thought of mixing things up has my strokes quickening.

I nearly come for the second time. The only reason I don’t is because Megan isn’t the only one who should be reserving energy. My dad invited me to his stables. That means only one thing: he wants me to hunt Megan with him. He doesn’t hunt for an hour or two. He likes to draw out the game, easily making it a three-day expedition.

When my cock goes limp in my hand, my eyes pop open to survey the damage. There isn’t any. Not an ounce of my spawn is splattered across the bed. It’s pooled in a puddle in the middle of the bundled-up shirt Megan is holding under my half-masted cock. She caught my sperm as rapidly as the sadistic thoughts streaming from her eyes snagged my attention weeks ago.

“Did you like that?” I ask before I can stop my words. “Did you enjoy watching me stroke my cock?”

She nods without shame, her eyes widening with lust.

Her pretty hazel eyes aren’t the only things gleaming uncontrollably. Her pussy lips are drenched, and her widely spread thighs ensure I can’t mistake the cause of the seductive scent filtering in the air.

“Lie back,” I demand, my voice rough with ecstasy.

Like a good little pet, she does as requested without protest. My cock twitches with eagerness for a second round when my eyes absorb her bare mound. She is so wet, evidence of her excitement pools in the crevice separating her ass from her cunt.

“Join your feet together at the base, then fan open your knees.”

When she does as instructed, I touch her before I can stop myself. It is only brief, but long enough a dangerous switch inside me turns on. She is a virgin as claimed, her attached hymen ending any doubt I never truly had.

I’m tempted to defile her right now, to rip the little strip of membrane stopping me from claiming her altogether. The only reason I don’t is because of him—my father. If it weren’t for him, I’d be dead. I most likely wouldn’t have left my mother’s womb breathing, much less survived my first two years.

Even after years of allegiance, my father rarely seeks retribution, so the least I can do is give him this. He let me track Shelley across the country without a single gripe, and he didn’t voice concern about the long game of cat and mouse I played with Cleo, as he knew it made me happy, so how can I deny him this?

I return my eyes to Megan. She is watching me eagerly, trying to read me as adroitly as I read her. “Are you saving yourself?”

She nods without pause.

I should shut down our conversation. I should fuck a thousand women in front of her, but since I’ve always been as inquisitive as I am fucked up, I ask, “Who are you saving yourself for?”

Her lips twitch, but not a word spills from her mouth.

I work my jaw side to side before grinding out, “Are you saving yourself for Nick?” My words are practically growled, my body announcing there is only one answer to my question.

My head slants to the side when Megan shakes her head. I am equally pissed and relieved. She better not be lying to me.

“Then who are you waiting for?”

Panicked by the fury slicking my words, her heart rate quickens. I see her mind race a million miles an hour before the faintest squeak parts her lips. “You.”

I take a step back, certain I heard her wrong. She doesn’t speak. She’s mute. But I swear that was the word I heard.

“Me?” I confirm, my tone half-wrathful, half-hopeful.

She pauses long enough the tick in my cock extends to my jaw before nodding. She didn’t delay because she is lying; she’s terrified about my growing hesitation. She should be. I’m torn between wanting to slit her throat and kiss the living shit out of her.

Every alpha wants to bang his chest and claim his prize when he is chosen as the cream of the crop. I am no different. I want to devour her until she is dripping with cum and blood. I want to throw her against the wall and fuck her until every grunt she releases sounds like howls of pain. But I can’t.

I’ve only known her a few short weeks. I can’t put her above my father. She is a woman. She will never outrank a standard man, let alone one as powerful as my father.

The gleam brightening Megan’s eyes dulls when I say, “Close your legs and get under the covers.”

Tears well in her eyes as she scampers up the bed, but she remains as quiet as a church mouse. She’s a good girl like that. She does as she’s told even if it kills her.

Because she is so tiny, the duvet hides her seductive curves within seconds. It doesn’t douse the fire roaring in my gut, but it stops stacking it with additional wood.

After dumping the DNA-riddled shirt into the lit fireplace at the side of our suite, I return to my side of the bed. My hands itch to return Megan to my side, but a new voice—one I’m certain I’ve never heard before—stops me.

It is the voice of reason.