3. Three

The sun rose higher as we drove, the AC working overtime to combat the desert heat seeping into the cab. Jamie fiddled with the radio, flipping through staticky stations until he landed on one playing classic tunes. The opening chords of "Stuck in the Middle with You" by Stealers Wheel filled the cab. I looked over at him with a raised eyebrow, but the kid wasn't paying me any mind, instead lighting up another cigarette. Now that he'd gotten his rocks off, he was cool as a cucumber.

I, on the other hand, was wound up tighter than a rattlesnake at the roundup. Problem was, I wasn't sure if I wanted to kill Jamie or fuck him. Maybe I'd get the best of both worlds and fuck him to death. I didn't know if that was possible, but my cock sure as hell wanted to try.

"You ever hear that joke about the guy who picked up a hitchhiker on the side of the road?" he asked.

"Probably," I muttered, but he didn't seem to have heard me.

Jamie gestured widely to the open road. "So the guy sees this kid on the side of the road with his thumb out. They're out in the middle of fuckin' nowhere, and I mean nowhere, and it's like dark and shit, right? Real fucking creepy. Anyway, the kid gets in and he's all like ‘Thanks, bro.' Driver's like, ‘No problem." They're driving along and, after a while, the hitchhiker turns to the driver and says, ‘It's real nice of you to pick me up and all and I don't mean no offense, but it's kinda dangerous. How do you know I'm not a serial killer?' Driver looks at the kid and says, ‘What're the odds of two serial killers being in the same car?'" He cackled like a madman.

"I imagine it's slightly better odds than two good men being in the same car," I replied, and Jamie's laughter died.

He looked over at me, sucked on the filter of his cigarette, and said, "How do you figure?"

"The FBI's official records say that there are only about thirty serial killers active in the United States at any one time," I replied. "But most analysts believe there are as many as two thousand. Now, there are about thirty-three million people living in the USA, and of those thirty-three million, only about twenty-four million are licensed to drive. Thirty-six percent of all licensed drivers drive every day, meaning there's eight point six million people on average on the road every single day in this country."

"Jesus, you've really thought about this," he said .

"How many of those people," I continued, "do you suppose are good people?"

He shrugged. "Depends on how you define good."

I thought for a minute. "Let's say good means they haven't killed anyone. Yet. What percentage would you guess?"

Jamie took a long drag on his cigarette, pondering. "I don't know, man. Seventy percent? Eighty? Most people are just trying to live their lives, you know?"

"So let's be generous and say ninety percent are 'good' by that definition. That means there's still over 860,000 people driving around every day who have blood on their hands." I glanced over at him meaningfully. "Statistically speaking, the odds of two killers crossing paths on the road are a lot higher than you'd think."

A slow grin spread across Jamie's face. "Well, well. And here I thought this was going to be a boring drive."

"Careful what you wish for, kid."

"Who's wishing? Maybe this is exactly what I was hoping for when I climbed into your truck." Something dark shimmered in his eyes, and he was wearing the same look I'd seen on his face at the rest stop.

I shot him a sharp look. "Is that so? And what exactly were you hoping for?"

"Someone like me." Jamie's voice dropped to a husky purr, and he leaned in closer. "Tell me, Stu. How many have you killed?"

My grip tightened on the steering wheel as Jamie's question hung heavy in the air between us. The kid was playing with fire and he didn't even know it. Or maybe he did. That glint in his eyes suggested he knew exactly what he was doing.

"More than you," I replied gruffly, keeping my gaze fixed on the road ahead.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Jamie drawled. "I'm pretty good at what I do."

"And what exactly is it that you do, boy?" I asked, even though I already had a pretty damn good idea.

He flashed me a wicked grin, all traces of the nervous kid from the rest stop gone. "The same thing you do, Stu. I hunt."

A chill ran down my spine at his words, followed by a rush of heat to my groin. Christ, what was wrong with me? Getting turned on by this psycho kid. But I couldn't deny the twisted thrill of finally meeting someone like me. Someone who understood the dark hunger that gnawed at my insides.

"What's your weapon of choice?" I asked, morbid curiosity getting the better of me.

Jamie flicked out a switchblade, examining it.

I grunted. "That pig sticker even big enough to do the job?"

"It's not the size, dammit. It's how you use it." Jamie twirled the switchblade between his nimble fingers, the sunlight glinting off the polished steel. "I like to get up close and personal with my victims. Feel the warmth of their blood on my skin as I slide the blade in nice and slow." His voice was a sensual purr that sent shivers down my spine and blood rushing to my cock.

I shifted in my seat, trying to find a more comfortable position as my jeans grew increasingly tight. "Sounds like you enjoy playing with your food before you eat it."

"Not really. That part's over pretty quick. It's the parts leading up to the killing that are the most fun. See, I like to find the desperate ones. The lonely truckers and traveling salesmen starved for any scrap of human connection. It's so easy to bat my eyelashes, flash a coy smile, and have them eating out of the palm of my hand. "

He took a long drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke curl slowly from his lips. "I spin pretty tales of all the nasty things I'll let them do to me. How I'll wrap my lips around their cocks and suck them dry. How I'll let them bend me over and fuck me six ways from Sunday. I paint vivid pictures with my words until they're panting with need, their dicks throbbing and leaking in their pants."

Jamie's hand drifted down to palm the bulge in his own shorts as he spoke. "By the time I get them alone, they're so fucking desperate they'd agree to anything. I tell them I like it rough, that I want them to choke me while I ride them, that I want them to shove their tongues down my throat like they fucking own me. And that's when I strike. One hand snakes down to grab their cock while the other slides the knife from my pocket. They don't even realize what's happening until they're bleeding out." He considered the knife. "Surprisingly, some of them even stay hard after. It's fucking wild."

"Terminal edging," I said with a grunt.

Jamie fucking lost it. He laughed so hard it left him gasping after. "Fuck, I am so stealing that. You should put it on a fucking t-shirt." He smirked and took a long drag, staring at me. "What about you? How do you do it?"

"Hammer," I managed. "Sometimes a tire iron."

Jamie let out a low whistle. "Blunt force trauma, huh? I like it. Messy, but effective." He took another drag, eyeing me with a newfound respect. "Let me guess. You prefer victims you can overpower physically? Probably get off on the fear in their eyes when they realize they're totally fucked."

I shrugged, trying to play it casually even as my heart raced. "Something like that. I find hitchhikers too. The desperate kind no one will miss. Sometimes I even let them think they have a fighting chance, just to make things interesting."

"God, that's hot," Jamie groaned, palming himself through his shorts more insistently. "Do you like when they beg for their lives? Or scream?"

"Begging's pathetic. I prefer when they try to bargain. Offer me anything, everything. Money, drugs, their bodies..." I trailed off, the implications heavy.

Jamie's pupils were blown wide with lust. "And do you ever take them up on that last one? Bend them over and give them one final fuck before you end them?"

"Once or twice. When they're especially pretty. Like you." I met his heated gaze. "But I ain't a monster like you, Jamie. I like my boys to come before I kill ‘em."

"How noble of you," he drawled sarcastically. "A true gentleman killer."

I clenched my jaw, knuckles going white on the steering wheel. "Watch it, boy. I ain't above teaching that smart mouth of yours a lesson."

"Promise?" he purred, tongue darting out to wet his lips. The little tease was playing with fire and he knew it. He leaned in closer, hot breath ghosting over my ear as he whispered, "Maybe that's exactly what I want, Stu. For you to put me in my place. Show me what a big, bad killer like you can do."

I growled low in my throat, desire and bloodlust swirling into a heady cocktail in my veins. In one swift motion, I pulled the truck over onto the dusty shoulder and slammed it into park. Before he could speak, I grabbed him by the back of the neck and crashed my lips to his.

Jamie groaned into the fierce kiss, his lips parting eagerly to allow my probing tongue entry. Our mouths moved together hungrily, devouring each other.

I fisted Jamie's silky chestnut hair, yanking his head back to expose the pale column of his throat so I could nip and suck at the tender skin there. Breathy sounds of pleasure spilled from the younger man's lips, and I wanted to swallow them whole.

I pulled back from the brutal kiss, my chest heaving. Jamie looked up at me with lust-blown eyes, lips swollen and slick. "Get those pretty lips wrapped around my cock. Now."

Jamie scrambled to obey, nimble fingers making quick work of my belt and zipper. He tugged my jeans and briefs down just enough to free my aching erection. I hissed through my teeth as the hot desert air hit my sensitive flesh.

"Fuck, you're huge," Jamie breathed, staring at my thick length with something akin to awe. He wrapped one hand around the base, barely able to close his fingers all the way. His pink tongue darted out to lap at the bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip.

I groaned at the teasing contact. "I thought I told you to suck it, not play with it," I snarled, pushing his head down.

Jamie let out a muffled moan as I forced his mouth over my cock. His eyes fluttered shut in bliss as he started bobbing his head, taking me deeper into the wet heat of his mouth with each pass.

"That's it, there's a good boy," I praised, guiding his movements with the grip on his hair. "You like having a real man's cock in your mouth, don't you? Not like those pathetic fucks you slice up."

Jamie hummed his agreement around my thick shaft, sending delicious vibrations straight to my balls. He looked up at me through his lashes, pale blue eyes glinting with mischief as he took me all the way to the back of his throat. The kid had no gag reflex to speak of.

"Shit, just like that," I grunted, fighting the urge to thrust into the tight heat of his throat. Jamie's mouth was sin incarnate, his wicked tongue tracing patterns on the sensitive underside of my cock as he sucked me like his life depended on it.

He pulled off with an obscene pop, a string of saliva connecting his swollen lips to the flushed head of my erection. "You taste so fucking good," he purred, voice already raspy from the abuse to his throat. "I want you to come in my mouth and hold me there. Make me swallow every last drop."

"Keep sucking like that and you'll get your wish real soon," I growled, pushing his head back down. Jamie eagerly complied, relaxing his jaw to take my thick cock down to the root. My hips jerked forward of their own accord, fucking into his willing mouth.

Jamie moaned as I used his face, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. He palmed himself through his shorts, hips rutting against his hand, desperate for friction. The sick little fuck was getting off on being used.

"Touch yourself," I commanded gruffly. "Get that dick out and stroke it for me while I ruin your throat."

Jamie hastily yanked his shorts down, sighing in relief as he pulled out his dripping cock. He fisted it roughly, twisting his wrist on the upstroke just how he liked it.

He stroked himself frantically as I fucked his face with increasing abandon, chasing my release. The cab was filled with the obscene sounds of slurping and choked grunts, filthy wet noises that only spurred me on further. I could feel my orgasm building, my balls drawing up tight.

"I'm gonna cum in this filthy smart mouth of yours," I growled, tugging Jamie's hair. "You're going to swallow it all like a good little whore or I'll bash your fucking brains in. "

Jamie moaned around my cock and his hips jerked. His cock twitched, and he came all over the bench seat, making a complete mess everywhere.

Watching him pushed me over the edge. With a guttural groan, I held his head down and spilled straight down his throat. He swallowed convulsively, drinking down every drop just as I'd ordered.

I held him there for a few moments after I finished, his nose pressed against my pubic bone as he struggled to breathe. Only when his face started turning red did I finally release my grip, allowing him to pull off with a gasp.

He looked up at me with glazed eyes, lips swollen and slick with spit and cum. A few pearly drops had escaped to dribble down his chin. He looked thoroughly debauched.

"Fuck," he panted, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. "If you fuck half as good as you face-fuck, those corpses of yours must die happy."

I tucked myself back into my jeans with a dark chuckle. "Lucky bastards." I grabbed a rag from the glove box and tossed it to him. "Clean yourself up. We've got a long drive ahead of us."

Jamie wiped the cum from his face and hands, then shimmied his shorts back up over his hips. He leaned back in the passenger seat with a satisfied sigh, looking like the cat that got the cream. Which I suppose he had.