16. Sixteen

The post-kill glow still sang through my veins as Stu drove us away from the strip club, the rumble of the engine vibrating through the seat and into my bones. The night air whipped through the cracked window, cool against my flushed skin. I could still feel the delicious ache of Stu inside me, the sweet burn of the rough brick wall scraping my flesh as he took me, claimed me.

My mind replayed the brutal beauty of Stu's violence on a loop - the savage snarl twisting his rugged features, the hypnotic rise and fall of the blood-slicked hammer, the intoxicating scent of coppery gore. The memories stirred the embers of lust in my gut, stoking them higher despite my body still thrumming with the echoes of release.

I shifted in my seat, trying to get comfortable. My skin felt too tight, electric with unspent energy. The need to hurt, to take, to make some unsuspecting bastard bleed, still clawed beneath the surface. Watching Stu work had only whetted my appetite, not sated it.

But there would be time enough for that later. For now, I let myself bask in the afterglow, my head lolling against the seat as I watched the neon-limned cityscape slide by outside the window. The distant wail of a siren made me smirk. Someone must have found the body already.

My smirk faded as I caught Stu glancing at me from the corner of his eye, his brow furrowed. "What's on your mind, pumpkin?"

I sighed, picking at a spot of dried blood on my jeans. "Just restless, I guess. Watching you work got me all revved up with nowhere to go."

Stu's lips quirked. "Oh, I can think of a few places for you to go."

I snorted. "Besides on your dick again." Though the idea certainly had appeal. "I mean the itch. The urge. Letting off steam with you took the edge off, but..."

"It's never enough," Stu finished, nodding.

He understood. Of course he did. It was the same for him - the gnawing hunger, the thirst for violence. Sating it was only ever a temporary fix before the craving came roaring back.

"Figured we'd lie low for a day or two, let the heat die down a bit before scratching that itch again," Stu said.

I huffed, slouching lower in my seat petulantly. I knew he was right, but patience had never been my strong suit. Especially not when my skin was buzzing with restless energy, my mind spiraling with dark fantasies of making some unworthy piece of shit choke on his own blood. Of opening someone up and playing in their insides until their screams tapered off into wet gurgles .

The neon signs and seedy storefronts blurred together as we sped through the underbelly of the city. My knee bounced restlessly, fingers tapping an erratic rhythm against my thigh. The confines of the truck cab suddenly felt suffocating, the air thick and cloying. I needed to move, to hunt, to feel the flesh yield beneath my hands.

I was debating the merits of just throwing myself from the moving vehicle and finding my own twisted fun when Stu suddenly cursed under his breath, easing off the accelerator. I glanced up, squinting against the glare of headlights to see a sleek black Escalade blocking the road ahead. Several more vehicles were parked haphazardly along the curb.

"The fuck is this?" Stu growled, braking hard. The truck lurched to a stop mere inches from the Escalade's polished chrome bumper.

My pulse quickened, adrenaline starting to hum through my veins. Maybe I'd get my playtime after all.

Car doors opened, disgorging a cadre of hard-eyed men in white tank tops, jeans, sunglasses, and bandanas. They moved with the oiled precision of those accustomed to violence, fanning out to surround the truck.

My pulse raced as I watched the men close in, their movements predatory and purposeful. The glint of gun metal and the coiled tension in their postures set my nerves alight, excitement warring with wariness in my gut. Beside me, Stu gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, his jaw clenched tight.

One of the men, his arms sleeved with intricate tattoos, rapped sharply on Stu's window with the butt of his gun. "Out of the truck, cabrón."

My pulse hammered in my throat as Stu and I exchanged a loaded glance. Fuck. Romeo had found us .

Stu's eyes flashed with barely leashed violence, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. I could practically feel the murderous intent radiating off him, as palpable as the cloying desert heat. My own temper flared to match it, memories of our last run-in with Romeo's goons still vivid and raw.

The blinding pain as a fist cracked against my cheekbone. The copper bloom of blood in my mouth. Romeo's enraged roar as my teeth latched onto his ear and tore, hot sticky crimson gushing over my chin. We'd barely escaped with our lives, fighting tooth and nail, leaving a pile of broken gangster bodies in our wake.

The tattooed man wrenched open Stu's door, jamming the gun barrel against his temple. "I said out, motherfucker. Boss wants a word."

Stu glowered but complied, sliding from the cab with a threatening growl. Another goon yanked my door open, meaty fingers bruising my bicep as he dragged me out.

"Easy, handsome," I purred, stumbling against him. "I like it rough, but at least buy me dinner first."

He sneered and shoved me toward a waiting van, its sliding door yawning open like a hungry maw. A black hood descended over my head, rough fabric scratching my face and muffling my senses. Disoriented, I felt myself manhandled into the van, my shoulder slamming painfully against the floorboard.

Stu grunted nearby, presumably receiving the same treatment. The slam of the door plunged us into suffocating darkness, the air close and humid under the hood. The van dipped and rocked as more bodies piled in.

"Cozy in here," I quipped, my voice slightly muffled. "Someone wanna tell me where we're going?"

A gun muzzle dug into my ribs. "Shut the fuck up, puta, before I put a hole in you and fuck it."

The van jostled over uneven terrain, each bump and pothole jarring my bruised body. The black hood obscured everything, but I could feel the heat of the other bodies packed in around me, smell their sweat and gun oil. My wrists ached where the zip ties bit into my flesh, my bound hands trapped uselessly behind my back.

The suffocating darkness and bouncing of the van disoriented me, made it impossible to track how long we'd been driving or what direction we were going. It could have been minutes or hours, the city or the desert. The disorientation was a tactic, I knew, meant to keep us off balance and pliant. It was working.

Fear and anger warred for dominance in my gut - fear of what Romeo might have in store for us, anger at being trussed up and helpless like a sacrificial lamb. My mind raced, trying to plot an escape, but kept coming up blank. Stu and I were good, but even we couldn't fight our way out unarmed and outnumbered. Not without ending up very dead.

Sweat trickled down my spine, plastering my shirt to my skin. The recycled air grew thick and humid under the hood, each breath a labor. I tried to control my breathing, to not let the panic clawing at my throat take over. I needed to stay calm, stay sharp, if I wanted any chance of getting out of this alive.

The van lurched to a sudden stop, slamming me against the hard metal wall. Before I could orient myself, rough hands were hauling me up and out, dragging me, stumbling into the night.

Gravel crunched under my boots, the dry desert air hitting my lungs in a rush as the door slid open. The gun muzzle prodded me in the back, urging me forward until a boot hooked my ankle and sent me sprawling to my knees. I hit the ground hard, rocks biting into my skin through my jeans.

Beside me, I heard Stu grunt as he received the same treatment, his bulk thudding to the earth. Even blinded and bound, his presence was solid and seething at my side, barely restrained violence roiling off him in waves.

Fingers twisted in my hair, wrenching my head back at a painful angle before the hood was ripped away. I blinked rapidly in the sudden flood of light, momentarily blinded by the stark glare of headlights cutting through the desert night.

As my vision adjusted, I took in our surroundings - a lonely stretch of arid wasteland, the lights of the city a distant glow on the horizon. Sagebrush and scrub dotted the barren earth, silhouettes stark and twisted in the harsh illumination. The air was sharp with the scents of dust, creosote, and gun oil.

The armed men fanned out in a loose circle behind us.

Romeo himself emerged from the shadows, the stark headlights casting his angular features in harsh relief. His eyes glittered cold and black in the unforgiving glare, his mouth a grim slash. The left side of his head was a ruined mass of scar tissue where his ear used to be, the ragged flesh a vivid reminder of our last bloody encounter.

He moved with the lazy grace of a predator, all coiled menace and leashed aggression. The desert night wrapped around him like a cloak, the darkness clinging to his frame. Even the dry desert wind seemed to still in his presence, as if the very earth held its breath.

His men parted before him, averting their eyes in deference and fear as he stalked toward us. The gravel crunched beneath his boots, each step slow and measured, ratcheting up the tension. My pulse pounded in my ears, fight-or-flight instinct screaming through my veins .

But there was nowhere to run. Not with my hands bound and a small army of heavily armed men at my back. Even if we somehow fought through them, there were miles and miles of desert between us and the safety of the city.

He stopped before us, looming. Up close, I could see the scars on his knuckles, the prison ink snaking up his arms. The scent of his cologne mingled with the sharp tang of gun smoke and the coppery undertone of blood.

Romeo stared down at us with those cold, dead eyes, his ruined face impassive. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by the soft whisper of sand across stone. Beside me, Stu was a coiled spring of barely contained violence, the muscles in his arms bunching and flexing against his bonds.

I licked my lips, tasting the grit of sand and the coppery tang of my own blood. "Romeo," I purred, forcing a smirk despite the hammering of my heart. "Miss me already? If you wanted to get me on my knees, all you had to do was throw me a fifty."

Romeo's eyes flashed, his jaw tightening. I braced myself for the impact of his fist, but it never came. Instead, he crouched down until we were at eye level, his scarred visage filling my vision. This close, I could see the puckered ridges of scar tissue where I'd torn away his ear, the twisted flesh a macabre reminder of our last bloody tango.

"Still got that smart tongue, I see," he growled, his breath hot against my face. His hand shot out, fingers sinking into my hair and wrenching my head back. I hissed in pain, tears springing to my eyes. He drew a knife and lightly ran the tip along my throat. "Maybe I'll open up your throat and pull it out through the slit. You know what they call that? A Columbian neck tie, ese."

The knife blade pressed into my skin, a stinging kiss that promised blood and pain. My breath hitched, pulse fluttering wildly beneath the cold steel. Romeo's eyes bored into mine, fathomless pits swirling with dark promises. In their inky depths, I saw my own death reflected back at me, bloody and agonizing.

Fear clawed up my spine, sharp and visceral, but I shoved it down ruthlessly. I would not give this scarred bastard the satisfaction of seeing me cower. Lifting my chin, I met his gaze with a defiant smirk.

"Go ahead, papi," I taunted, my voice steady despite the knife's sting. "Slice me open, paint the desert red with my blood. You might get your rocks off, but it won't change what I did to you. How I marked you. How I made you scream like a bitch when I ripped your ear off with my teeth."

Romeo snarled, the knife digging deeper, a hot trickle of blood snaking down my neck. I didn't flinch, holding his gaze, daring him to do it. In that suspended moment, I saw my own feral hunger reflected back at me, the dark craving for violence that sang through my veins. We weren't so different, Romeo and I. Two rabid dogs chasing oblivion at the end of a blade or a bullet.

"No," Stu's gruff voice shattered the tension. "Let the kid go, Romeo. He doesn't know shit. I'm the one who can rat on you to the cartel. I'm the one you want. Not him."

Romeo's eyes flicked to Stu, considering. I gaped at my partner, shocked. Self-sacrifice wasn't exactly Stu's style. He met my incredulous stare with a steady one of his own, something unreadable flickering in those icy blue depths. An apology, perhaps. Or a farewell.

"You expect me to show mercy, cabrón?" Romeo laughed, harsh and bitter. "After he bit off my fucking ear?"

My mind raced, trying to figure out Stu's play, but coming up blank. His face betrayed nothing, that grizzled mask as inscrutable as ever. Was he trying to save me? Distract Romeo? Some desperate gambit to buy time? I didn 't know, and that scared me more than the knife at my throat.

Romeo's cold eyes flicked between us, calculating. The seconds stretched, filled only with the hollow whistle of wind over sand and the rapid thud of my own heart. Finally, he took a step toward Stu.

I let out a feral growl, fighting my restraints. "You fucking touch him, I'll eat your entire fucking face!"

Romeo paused, lip curling into a cruel smile. "Well, ain't this a fucking treat? Gentlemen, these two are in love! Is there anything sweeter than two fucking bloodstained killers in love?"

Romeo's mocking laughter scraped against my nerves like rusted barbed wire, fanning the flames of rage in my gut. How fucking dare he twist this thing between Stu and me, this blood-soaked and broken bond, into something as saccharine as love. What we had was so much darker, more primal. An unholy communion of gore-splattered souls, recognizing the monstrous kinship in each other.

Romeo's eyes glittered with sadistic glee as he savored the anguish twisting my face. "Ah, don't look so sad, amigo! I'm going to give you lovebirds a chance to really express your... devotion. You see, I'm a romantic at heart. Ain't nothing that gets me more in my feels than a good old-fashioned tragic love story." He gestured languidly with the knife, encompassing Stu and me in its deadly arc. "So that's what you two are gonna become. You two are going to fight, right here in this lovely patch of desert. A duel to the death, mano a mano, for my entertainment. And to make things interesting, I'll even let the winner walk away. Scout's honor."

I gaped at him. He couldn't be serious. This had to be some sick power play, a mind game to torture us. But the cruel mirth dancing in his eyes told a different story.

Stu met my eyes. "No," he said. "I won't fucking do it. "

Romeo cocked his gun and pressed it to the back of my head. "Yes, you fucking will or I'll blow his brains out right fucking now and then I'll take my time with you. I always wanted to skin a man."

My mind reeled, scrabbling for a way out of this nightmare, but the cold press of the gun muzzle against my skull scattered my thoughts like frightened birds. Romeo's finger tightened on the trigger.

"Wait!" Stu's voice cracked out like a whip, stilling Romeo's hand. "I'll do it. I'll fight."

I stared at him in mute horror, uncomprehending. He met my gaze steadily, something like regret flickering in them. No. No, he couldn't do this. He couldn't make me...

"Stu, don't..." My voice broke, shattering like sugar glass. "Don't make me do this."

"It's this or we both die." His words were leaden with grim acceptance.

Tears burned my eyes, blurring my vision. This couldn't be happening. The desert spun around me, the stars wheeling overhead in dizzying arcs. I wanted to scream, to beg, to rage against the twisted unfairness of it all, but my throat closed around the howl building in my chest.

The zip ties bit into my wrists as Romeo's men cut them free, the sudden rush of blood almost painful. They did the same to Stu, shoving us roughly to our feet to face each other.

Romeo held out his knife between us. "Make it look good, gentlemen. I want a real fucking fight. I want entertainment! Fail to entertain, and you both die. Make one move I don't fuckin' like, you both die. Try to run…You. Both. Die. Understand?"

Stu's eyes met mine, icy blue and unfathomable in the harsh glare of the headlights. I searched their depths for some flicker of the connection we shared, that dark understanding forged in blood and brutality. But his gaze was shuttered, unreadable.

"May the best fucking man win," Romeo shouted and dropped the knife into the sand between us.