Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Ezra

I feel so dressed down this morning, but riding a horse in khakis and a stiff dress shirt isn't exactly comfortable. Then again, wearing jeans in eighty-degree weather won't be fabulous either, but here we are.

I rap my knuckle against Kindra's door, but she doesn't answer. She's going to kill me. The sun is hardly peeking over the horizon and I'm trying to drag her out of bed.

After a few minutes, I turn to leave, but the door whips open and Kindra stands in the doorway. Her palm grinds into her left eye as she tries to adjust to the sunshine. Black hair pokes in all directions from her head, and her cheeks are puffy from a terrible night's sleep.

"Why the fuck are you here at..." She leans back and looks at a clock on the wall, but I don't think she can read it. "The exact time doesn't matter. It's early as shit."

"Horseback riding on the beach awaits, pet."

"I'd rather die, thanks."

"I promise it will be better than eating butt cheek by candlelight. Just give it a shot." I hold my hand out to her, but she shakes her head. "Come on, Kindra. Let's go have a bit of fun. We're killers, and we came here to kill."

"You already got a kill in," she says through a yawn. "And if you don't leave right now, I'm going to get a kill in. Which I should do anyway, after what happened last night."

"I didn't bring the fork to your pretty lips. Can't you let it go?"

"Absolutely not. You didn't feed it to me, but you didn't stop me from eating it, either. And I don't think anyone can truly ‘let go' of becoming a cannibal against their will."

"You aren't a cannibal because you ate a person one time."

"How many times makes you a cannibal, Ezra? Two? Four?"

"It has nothing to do with frequency and everything to do with desire. You didn't enjoy it; therefore, you are not a cannibal." I spare a glance at my watch. If she doesn't dress soon, we'll miss the ride altogether.

I push my way inside her villa. A blanket and pillow lie on her couch, and the cushions appear rumpled.

"Do you have a visitor?" I ask. An odd pang of jealousy hits me in the face.

"Shh, you'll wake it."

"It?"

Kindra points toward her bedroom. "Cat."

"Why is Cat in your bed?"

"Because she's too scared to stay in her own villa. She's one step up from a child."

"Can't someone else babysit her?"

"Unfortunately, she's my responsibility."

Bennett should be the one shacking up with her, not Kindra, but those two can't seem to get past their menial differences. Having Cat in Kindra's villa poses problems for me, though. She's a cockblock. That's if Kindra wasn't already blocking my cock herself.

Kindra plops down on the couch with a yawn, and I walk over to the coffee pot and begin brewing a cup. Maybe it will give her the strength to face the day.

"Thanks," she says as I slide a warm mug into her hands. "How'd you know what I like in it?"

"You seem like a cream and sugar kind of girl."

"What's that?" she asks, pointing to the manilla folder rolled up in my back pocket.

"The Cattle menu."

I pull it out and place it on the table in front of her. She flattens it with her palms and opens it. The Cattle are listed based on jumpsuit color, and it even lists their crimes.

"What is this for?"

"We need to pick who we want to drag behind our horses."

Her eyes land on a circled mugshot in the pink category. Paul J., a fifty-three-year-old pedo from North Carolina. He murders his small victims, and I can't wait to murder him.

Kindra flips the pages and drags her finger along the paper until she finds a red she likes. She taps her finger on George S., a thirty-two-year-old with multiple rape charges against adult victims. One of which was an incapacitated adult. Good choice.

"I'll call up to the mansion and let Jim know," I say. "He'll send down our chosen targets."

"I still can't believe I'm doing this."

Once she's had a few sips of coffee, she rises from the couch and goes to the bathroom to dress, carefully tiptoeing past the bed in her room. I stay in the living room.

I'm surprised when she emerges only fifteen minutes later. Like a butterfly, she's managed one hell of a metamorphosis.

She tamed her hair into a high ponytail and traded her baggy t-shirt and sleep shorts for a snug green blouse and a pair of jeans. Her ass looks good enough to eat, though I withhold the compliment. The fewer reminders about last night's meal, the better.

We exit the villa, and Kindra yawns beside me as we walk toward the beach.

"Were you up late?" I ask.

"Cat showed up, and then I tried to get some me time in so I could fall asleep, but she heard me and interrupted that. So no, I didn't sleep well."

"Brave move to use that toy with her there. Did you hear how it rattled an entire 747?"

She swipes her hand across her face. "I almost forgot about that. Thanks."

"I'm sure the priest is kept up at night thinking about it."

She socks my bicep. And I deserve it.

We step onto the beach and follow hoofprints to the ocean. A chill nip hides within the breeze, and it seems to have kept other retreat participants from going on today's ride. They've probably opted for one of the many indoor activities.

The stable master holds a rein in each hand. One attaches to a stunning black Percheron gelding I rode a couple of times last year. I walk over and stroke his big head, and he nickers softly in shared recognition. Kindra's horse is a stout white mare. She must be new this year.

"What's her name?" I ask.

"Sophia."

"Is she a safe ride? The lady here isn't familiar with?—"

Kindra stomps her way over to me. "Bold of you to assume I've never ridden."

"She isn't Fynn, but she's a good mare," the man says.

I turn toward Kindra. "Please take Fynn."

"I'm fine with Sophia."

"Fynn is a safer ride."

"No."

Before she can hop on, I grab the saddle horn, put my foot in the stirrup, and hoist myself onto Sophia. The horse's muscles tighten beneath me, and she takes off, ripping the reins from the man's hands. I'm stuck atop a bucking bronco, and I'm too English for this very American sport.

I'm flung forward and backward as I grip with my thighs and try to stay atop the bloody psychopath. I'm in the air as all four feet rise with every pissed-off buck.

Just when I think all my years of riding have made my rear sticky enough for a rank little mare, I fly over her shoulder and land on my back. The mare stops bucking the moment I come off, and I lie in the sand as I struggle to catch a breath. All the wind has vacated my lungs.

Kindra comes over and stands above me, and now my dignity hurts more than my body.

"You can have her," she says with a smirk. She reaches toward me and helps me to my feet. If looks could kill, Chuck would be dead.

"That could have been her!" I say, pointing to Kindra.

The stable master slips Fynn's reins into my hands, grabs Sophia's, and leads her back to the stable. He returns with Aspen, a dead-broke gelding I'm actually familiar with. Regardless, I hand the reins of my beloved Fynn to Kindra. He'll take care of her like he takes care of me, and I can trust the big gray quarter horse to behave when I'm on his back.

A masked man leads our selected Cattle toward our horses. My selection wears his pink jumpsuit, and Kindra's wears red. They squirm and try to scream, but the sound is a muffled plea barely heard over the crash of water against sand.

Plus, their mouths have been sewn shut.

The masked man takes out their knees and wraps a chain around each of their legs. The chain connects to the saddles via a special hook system so that the restraints don't impede or injure our horses. The Cattle, however...

We mount up, and it's much less eventful this time. Kindra looks like a natural seated atop Flynn. With her dark hair and dark eyes, she looks like she was made for that horse.

I look behind us and smile. Our Cattle strain and writhe against the restraints as the whites of their eyes show within widened pink lids. I hope they suffer worse than their victims.

"Ready?" I ask Kindra.

She nods, and I squeeze Aspen's sides. The horses take slow, even steps while the Cattle bounce behind us. Kindra and I laugh at their muffled screams.

They'll fall silent soon enough.

"Can we trot?" Kindra asks.

"We can do whatever you want, my pet."

Kindra squeezes Fynn, and he steps into a trot. Aspen, afraid to be left behind, begins that pace on his own. Kindra posts the trot, lifting herself out of the saddle with each rise of Fynn's massive shoulder. She looks incredible, and I've never wanted to be a four-legged creature more in my life.

Our baggage bounces and spins, their bodies banging against every ridge of sand or rock we fly over. My Cattle rips the stitches from his lips by straining his jaw as wide as it will go, and his screams ring out among the clop of hooves on sand.

It's delicious.

A sign with an arrow guides us down a path. Logs lie along the trail. I turn to ask Kindra if she's ever jumped, but she flies out ahead of me. Fynn effortlessly leaps over the logs, and Kindra's Cattle flails through the air before crashing down on the forest floor. I follow her, my own Cattle becoming a projectile with every jump.

"Oh god, please, stop!" he yells behind me.

"I'm sure your victims said the same thing!" I shout. "And you didn't stop, did you?"

The path takes a sharp turn, and the Cattle bash into trees and rock ledges as we round the bend. Mine hits a rock pretty hard. His body audibly scrapes the hard surface, which creates a lovely background accompaniment to his screams. Moments later, he goes quiet.

Damn. I was really getting into the music.

We reach a clearing that opens onto a private corner of the beach. A large red-and-white blanket lies on the crystal sand, with a basket sitting in its center.

"Is that a picnic?" Kindra asks as she brings Fynn to a stop.

"It appears so."

I dismount and offer my hand to Kindra, but she hops down without accepting my assistance. I need to remember she neither likes help nor wants it, but it's hard to stop myself from offering. I've never wanted a woman to find me useful, aside from my ability to give toe-curling orgasms, but Kindra is slowly changing my mindset.

Before we check out the picnic, I stroll to the back of the horse to observe what's left of my Cattle. It's not a pretty sight, which is marvelous.

At first glance, he looks dead, but his bloody lips move, forming circles as he tries to speak. Blood weeps from innumerable gashes and scrapes on his body, made visible beneath what's left of his jumpsuit. Twigs and leaves poke from his skin, and his right eyeball has vacated his head. He must have caught it on a branch. I hope it hurts terribly.

"Mine's dead," Kindra says, nudging the body with the toe of her shoe. "I was hoping I'd have a chance to take a stab at him." She draws her knife from her hip, and I nearly come in my pants at the sight of it.

My urge to kill is strong. Stronger when a man such as this is at my feet. But my need to let her kill is even stronger.

"Mine isn't gone yet. He's all yours."

I step back and watch the excitement creep over her expression. Her smile is worth giving up the kill.

She hurries over, as if she fears he'll expire before she can get to him. With a gleeful laugh, she plunges the knife into his abdomen and rotates the blade inside him until I'm sure she's nicked every organ at least once. Her hands hover over him like she's fighting an urge, but instead of doing more, she just tugs her knife from his gut and heads toward the water to rinse off her blade.

I don't get in her way. There's a certain high you get just before, during, and right after a good kill, and I let her have that dopamine hit while I tie up the horses and head for the blanket.

She bends at the waist and rinses her blade, then stares at the ocean for a long moment before she joins me on the blanket and peeks inside the basket.

"Please tell me Chef Dahmer didn't prepare any of this?" she says with a grimace.

"He doesn't make turkey sandwiches, so we're good. But don't take his cooking classes while you're here."

Kindra pulls a sandwich from the basket as if it's unexploded ordnance. She lifts the bread, smells the meat, and takes a bite.

"Does he actually teach people how to cook...other people?" she asks through a mouthful of turkey.

"That he does. He also has a YouTube channel called ‘Crazy Cooking with Chef Maurice.'"

We eat in stifled silence as we listen to the nearby gulls squabbling over a discarded bit of bread. By the time we've finished eating, we've hardly said more than a few sentences. I search my brain for something to talk about, but this is new for me. It isn't often that my love interests and I do much talking.

As we unhook the literal deadweight and mount our horses, a topic finally comes to me.

"Did you know I'm obsessed with a killer too?" I say. "Albeit for different reasons."

Kindra pulls a bottle of water from the saddlebag, then pauses before taking a sip. "Who?"

"Don't laugh at me, but I'm on a mission to find the Heartbreak Killer. I really admire them."

Kindra chokes on her water, her hand wrapped tightly around the flimsy plastic bottle. "I've heard of them," she finally spits out.

"Do you think it's a man or a woman? My brother insists it's a man."

"I think HBK is a woman. She's too good at what she does to be a man."

"Thanks a lot."

"You're welcome." She nudges the horse forward, ending the conversation.

We ride back to the pavilion, and I'm surprised to see Bennett in the same vicinity as his arch nemesis. He and Cat stand under the shade as they seem to discuss something rather amicably. Maybe they're turning a corner and becoming friends.

We hand off the horses to one of the workers and approach the pair. As I draw closer, their conversation reaches my ears, and hopeful thoughts of friendship evaporate.

"Doing different MOs makes you not even seem like a serial killer," Cat says. "What's the point without notoriety?"

"Because it makes me impossible to catch. What's the point of being a notorious serial killer if I'm in prison? I don't think you've ever killed a damn thing in your life. You shouldn't even be here." Bennett folds his arms over his chest.

"You don't even know me," Cat snarls.

Bennett turns toward Kindra. "Is Cat a killer?"

"In training," Kindra answers.

"See! She should be taken off the?—"

"Piss off, Bennett," I say. "We all get our start somewhere."

Cat sits back in her chair and crosses her arms, mirroring Bennett's posture. I bet those two would have amazing hate sex.

"Why don't we all go for a round of mini golf?" I regret making the invite as soon as it leaves my mouth. Spending an hour with them would do my head in.

"Pass," Cat says. "I planned to take Chef Maurice's cooking class."

Kindra's back stiffens as if she's just been thrust into a war scene in her mind. The Battle of the Buttocks, perhaps?

"Chef Maurice cooks people!" Kindra blurts.

Much to her dismay, Cat doesn't react. "I know."

"You knew?"

"I've eaten human flesh before, Kindra. I once went on a few dates with a self-proclaimed cannibal."

"Weren't you worried he'd eat you?" Kindra asks.

"Oh, he ate me all right." Cat flicks her blonde hair over her shoulder and smirks. "No one eats human flesh like a cannibal, that's all I'm saying."

Bennett's cheeks flame a shade of red I've never seen. "Instead of listening to the gross sex life of a wannabe killer, let's go play some golf."

Kindra stares at me for a moment before dropping her gaze. "I'm actually pretty tired. Mind if I head back for a nap?"

"Of course not." I'm sure she wants alone time away from her friend. And by alone time, I mean time to bang one out with her toy.

God, I want to be that toy.

There has to be some way I can win her over before the end of this trip. Even though I murdered her brother, whoever he was, I can't deny the driving urge to hear her speak or see her face in moonlight. I'd also like to have her beneath me just once more.

Who am I kidding? Once more would never be enough.

As the ladies wander toward their villas, my brother and I head toward the mini golf course behind the mansion. We grab our balls and driving irons and head to the first course.

I set up my ball and smack it down a thin alleyway. It loops around a windmill and comes to a stop about six feet from one of the heads buried in the sand. The setup is pretty perfect. I'll probably knock out at least three of the Cattle's teeth when I make my next putt.

That's the goal of the game, after all. Sure, there are holes to putt toward, but battering the Cattle heads poking from the hot sand is the real reward.

"I'm glad the girls didn't come. I'm kind of sick of them." Bennett lines up his shot.

"I think Kindra would've had fun." Though I know she's probably having fun by herself. With that buzzing between her legs. Those vibrations. Her moans...

"Did you hear me?" Bennett says.

"What?"

"I asked why you're so hung up on Kindra. She doesn't want you, dude."

"Oh, she does. But she's got too much on her mind."

Bennett hits the ball. It goes through the windmill and thwacks flesh on the other side. Based on the yelp, it was a nice hit.

"You mean finding her brother's killer, right? Need I remind you that you're him? How do you think this is going to go, Ezra? Do you think dicking her down will be enough to make her forgive you?"

I could only wish that was enough.

Without answering him, I head around the windmill to find my ball. Bennett's blue ball rests just beside the bruised head. Five of the Cattle's teeth sit beneath his mouth on the green. He begs and pleads, blood dripping from his lips, but I ignore him as I line up behind my ball, swing my arm back, and blast the purple ball forward. It collides with a satisfying thunk , right between his eyes.

"Ignore it all you want, but you're wasting your time with her." Bennett lines up his shot. "There's no future there. You murdered that option when you murdered her brother. And the longer you go without telling her, the worse her reaction will be."

"I'm going to tell her, Bennett."

"When?"

"The last day of the retreat. I'll tell her on our last day together."

I speak before I even know what I'm saying, but now that I've said it, now that I've put it into the universe, it just makes sense. On the last day of the retreat, regardless of how things go with Kindra from this point forward, I have to tell her the truth.