4. Four

I stared out the window of the rumbling truck, watching the endless expanse of red desert and towering mesas roll by under the scorching Arizona sun. I could feel Stu's eyes boring into me from the driver's seat, the intensity enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and my dick twitch in my shorts.

The taste of him still lingered on my tongue, but now a new tension hung heavy in the air, coiled tight as a rattlesnake ready to strike. Two predators trapped in a small hotbox never turned out well, and we were about to turn up the heat.

The truck rumbled towards the border patrol checkpoint, a squat concrete structure rising from the shimmering haze of heat like a mirage. My heart pounded against my ribs as I caught sight of the uniformed agents, their hands resting on the butts of their holstered guns. Stu seemed utterly unfazed, one hand draped lazily over the steering wheel as he guided the truck towards the checkpoint with easy confidence.

"You got anything to worry about?" he drawled, those piercing eyes flicking over to pin me in place. "Any warrants out there with your name on them? Trails of breadcrumbs you forgot to sweep up?"

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly bone dry. Images flashed through my mind - crimson stains on the motel carpet, vacant eyes staring into oblivion, the cold weight of a knife in my hand. Had I slipped up somewhere along the way? Left some crucial piece of evidence for the cops to sniff out like bloodhounds?

"Nah," I replied, trying to force a casual tone. "I'm clean as a preacher's sheets. You?"

Stu's lips curled into a razor-edged smile. "Clean as a whistle. Ain't nobody connecting me to a thing. I'm a goddamn ghost."

He sounded so certain, so completely self-assured. I envied that unshakable confidence, the way he seemed to glide through the world without leaving a single ripple.

As we pulled up to the checkpoint, a stern-faced agent in mirrored sunglasses stepped up to Stu's window, one hand resting on his holstered sidearm. "Afternoon, gentlemen. Citizenship?"

"American, born and bred," Stu replied easily, flashing the agent a disarming smile. He handed over our IDs with a steady hand.

The agent studied the cards for a long moment, his eyes flicking between the photos and our faces. I could feel sweat beading on my upper lip, my heart thudding like a war drum against my ribs.

Finally, the agent handed back the IDs. "Where you headed?"

"Los Angeles," Stu said.

The agent nodded, his gaze drifting to the trailer hitched behind us. "Cargo?"

"Just a load of auto parts," Stu replied smoothly. "Picked 'em up in Oklahoma City, headed for a distributor in LA."

The agent's expression remained inscrutable, his jaw set in a firm line. "I'm gonna need to take a look in the back. Standard procedure."

Stu shrugged, the picture of easy compliance. "Sure thing, officer. Lemme just grab the keys and I'll pop it open for ya."

Stu obliged, sliding out of the driver's seat with fluid grace.

I remained in the cab, my palms slick with sweat as I gripped the worn upholstery of the seat. The sun beat down mercilessly through the windshield, the air inside the truck thick and stifling. I could feel rivulets of perspiration trickling down my back, soaking into my already damp shirt.

Outside, I heard the metallic groan of the truck's rear door sliding up, followed by the heavy tread of boots on gravel. Muffled voices drifted through the thin metal walls of the cab - Stu's easy drawl and the clipped, official tone of the border patrol agent.

I strained my ears, trying to make out their words, but the pounding of my own heart nearly drowned out all other sounds. My mouth was dry as bone, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. I tried to swallow, but my throat constricted painfully.

In my mind's eye, I could picture the scene unfolding behind me with dreadful clarity. The agent rummaging through the cargo, his keen eyes scanning for any hint of contraband. Stu standing nearby, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp and watchful. The glint of sunlight off the agent's mirrored shades, the slight bulge of the gun at his hip.

Every fiber of my being was coiled tight with tension, ready to snap at the slightest provocation. My leg bounced restlessly against the mudflap on the floor.

After what felt like an eternity, I heard the sound of the truck's rear door slamming shut. The crunch of gravel under boots signaled Stu's return, and a moment later he was swinging himself back up into the driver's seat, a triumphant grin on his face.

"We are cleared to go," he announced, his voice brimming with satisfaction.

I let out a breath, my shoulders sagging with relief. "Jesus Christ, Stu. You had me sweating bullets over here."

Stu chuckled, low and easy. "Relax. I've done this dance a hundred times before. Ain't nothing gonna trip me up now."

He turned the key in the ignition and the truck roared to life, the vibrations thrumming through my bones. As we pulled away from the checkpoint, I caught a glimpse of the border patrol agent in the side mirror, watching us go with an inscrutable expression.

The road stretched out before us, an endless line of sun-baked asphalt cutting through the heart of the desert. As the miles rolled by and the border checkpoint faded in the rearview, I found my curiosity getting the better of me. Stu was an enigma, a puzzle I couldn't quite piece together. The easy confidence, the unflappable calm… I wished I had that sort of bone deep cool.

"So," I began, trying to keep my tone casual, "you've done this kind of thing before?"

Stu glanced over at me, his eyes glinting with amusement. "You mean delivering auto parts? Sure, lots of times."

I shook my head. "No, I mean... the other thing. The killing."

A slow smile spread across Stu's face, his features sharpening into something predatory. "Ah. That." He turned his gaze back to the road, his fingers tapping an idle rhythm on the steering wheel. "First time was a long time ago. I was nineteen. Just a kid, really."

I leaned forward, my heart quickening with a mix of fear and morbid fascination. "What happened?"

Stu's eyes took on a faraway look, as if he were gazing into the distant past. "Well, far back as I can remember, I was always curious about it. What it felt like. My daddy worked out on a ranch. I remember watching him put down bulls. Mean sons of bitches, big as fucking barns and just bashed in their fucking heads with this hammer. Made this perfect sound." Stu's voice took on a dreamy, almost reverent tone as he spoke. "It was like...like a watermelon splitting open, but deeper. Meatier. The crunch of bone giving way, then this wet, pulpy sound as the brains turned to mush. And the beast would just drop, all that meanness and fury snuffed out in an instant by a little of steel and force. I couldn't take my eyes off it. The way their legs would kick and shudder, the light fading from their eyes. It was almost peaceful, in a way. Like watching a storm roll in, all that raw power and then…stillness."

The way Stu talked about it was the way a junkie might talk about their first high - a formative moment, the genesis of an all-consuming obsession, one I understood all too well.

"So, when did you..." I trailed off, not quite sure how to phrase the question. "When did you try it for yourself?"

Stu's grin widened, his teeth flashing white in the desert sun. "Not long after. Started small, worked my way up. Took out the neighbor's nasty little chihuahua first. Yappy little shit had it coming. Then a few strays, a coyote or two. But it wasn't enough. I needed something bigger. Something…"

"More challenging," I finished.

Stu nodded. " Exactly. So one night, I picked up this drifter outside a truck stop. Strong looking young man. But not too strong. Just big enough to put up a good fight."

My breath caught in my throat. "And did he?"

Stu's laughter was low and dark. "Oh, he tried. But in the end, they all go down the same. That perfect fucking sound, like a ripe melon bursting open. God, the rush of it. Better than any high."

I understood that feeling all too well - the intoxicating surge of power, the knowledge that you held a life in your hands and could snuff it out on a whim. It was like mainlining pure adrenaline straight to the heart.

"After that first one, I thought I could stop," Stu continued, his voice rough with remembered pleasure. "But it's like a hunger that never goes away, always gnawing at your guts. You gotta feed it, or it'll eat you alive."

I nodded slowly, my mouth dry. "I know what you mean. It's like... once you get a taste, everything else seems so fucking bland. Pointless."

Stu glanced over at me, his gaze sharp and assessing. "What about you? How'd you get started?"

I leaned back in my seat, the cracked vinyl upholstery creaking beneath me as I considered Stu's question. My first kill. The memory rose, vivid and inescapable.

"It was a few years back," I began. "I'd just hit the road, trying to make my way across the country. Figured I could turn a few tricks to get by, you know? Thought it'd be easy money."

I paused, my throat tightening as the images flashed through my mind - the dimly lit interior of a truck cab, the stale stench of cigarettes and sweat, the rough hands pawing at my flesh.

"I was young and stupid," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. "Didn't know how to pick my Johns right. Got in with this trucker outside of Detroit. Mean looking bastard, all muscle and tattoos. Should've known better, but I was desperate."

I could feel Stu's eyes on me, his gaze intense and unwavering. He didn't say a word, just waited for me to continue.

"Things started off okay," I said, my fingers picking restlessly at a loose thread on my shorts. "But then he got rough. Wanted things I wasn't willing to give. When I tried to leave, he... he grabbed me. Pinned me down. I fought back with everything I had, kicking and clawing, but he was too strong. I screamed, but there was no one to hear me, no one to help. He took what he wanted from me, and then he kept fucking taking. Fucker kept me chained up in the cab like a fucking dog." My fingers flexed into fists. "From Detroit to Denver and down to Houston, he kept me like that and took what he wanted, when he wanted it. But he got careless. Lazy. One day, while he was taking what he wanted, I took what I wanted from him. His miserable fucking life."

I licked my lips and met Stu's eyes. "After being powerless for so long, trapped and used, killing him... God, it was like a revelation. I felt strong for the first time in my life. Invincible. Like I could do anything, take on anyone. And I knew right then that I needed to feel that way again."

Stu nodded slowly. "It's intoxicating, isn't it? That rush of power, of total control. Knowing you can decide who lives and who dies."

"Exactly," I breathed. "It's like a drug. I tried to chase that high any way I could at first - picking fights, taking stupid risks. But nothing came close to that first kill. So I started hunting."

"Now that's a sport I can get behind," Stu said.

"You get it," I said, my voice hushed with a sort of reverence. "Most people, they don't understand. They think it's sick, twisted. But you and me, Stu... we're cut from the same cloth."

Stu reached over, his calloused hand coming to rest on my thigh. His touch was electric, igniting a fire beneath my skin. "Damn right we are. Two apex predators, at the top of the food chain. This world is ours for the taking."

I leaned into his touch, my breath coming faster. The air between us was charged, crackling with a dangerous energy. I could feel the heat of his body, the coiled strength in his muscles. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to devour him, to consume and be consumed.

"Be honest with me," I said, licking my lips. "When you picked me up…You were going to kill me, weren't you?"

Stu's hand tightened on my thigh, his fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to bruise. His eyes burned into mine, dark and intense. "Yes," he said simply. "I was."

I should've been afraid. I should've been fucking terrified. But instead, a thrill raced down my spine, electric and addictive.

"And you were going to kill me," he added.

I smirked. "How long did it take you to figure me out?"

Stu's lips curled into a wicked grin. "Not long at all. I know a hunter when I see one. It's in the eyes, that sharp, hungry look. Like a wolf scenting prey."

His hand slid higher up my thigh, his fingers brushing the growing bulge in my shorts. I sucked in a sharp breath, my body responding instantly to his touch.

"So what stopped you?" I asked, my voice rough with desire. "Why didn't you make your move?"

"Because I wanted to see what you'd do first. I wanted to see if you had the balls to take your shot." His hand cupped my crotch, squeezing firmly.

I groaned, my hips bucking up into his touch. "Fuck, Stu..."

"Admit it," he growled. "The danger turns you on. Knowing I could end you at any moment, and you could do the same to me. It's the ultimate thrill."

He was right. The fear, the risk, the razor's edge between pleasure and pain, was intoxicating. I'd never felt so alive as I did in that moment, with Stu's hand on my cock and death lurking just a heartbeat away.

Stu's hand retreated, and I almost let out a little whine at the loss. "Gotta say, it's a damn shame we both had the same idea. Would've been one hell of a fight."

"Who says it still can't be?" I suggested. "Just because we're not trying to kill each other doesn't mean we can't... wrestle a little."

Stu's eyes flashed with hunger, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Oh, I like the way you think, boy. Been a while since I've had a challenge."

"What do you say we find somewhere to stop over for the night, get us a room, and see where the night takes us?"

Stu flashed me a wicked grin. "Sounds like a plan to me. Let's see if you can keep up."