8. Eight

Los Angeles glittered before me, a sprawling blanket of lights stretching to the horizon as the semi rattled down the highway. I pressed my forehead to the passenger window, eyes wide as I tried to take it all in.

I had seen cities before, of course. But nothing like this. LA was bigger, brighter, more vibrant and alive than anything I'd ever experienced, hitching rides from town to town, letting men fuck me for a few bills in dark alleys and grungy motel rooms. This city had a pulse, an electric thrum I could feel even from inside the cab of Stu's eighteen-wheeler .

I glanced over at Stu, his craggy profile outlined by the dim glow of the dash lights. One large hand gripped the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift. I wondered how many men those hands had killed. As many as mine? More? The thought sent a dark thrill through me.

Growing up in Bumfuck, Nowhere, population three hundred, I couldn't even imagine a place like Los Angeles existed outside of movies. But here it was, larger than life.

Stu drove the rumbling semi skillfully through the evening traffic as we descended into the valley. I pressed my face to the passenger window, drinking in every detail I could. The soaring skyscrapers of downtown reached to the heavens. Endless urban sprawl stretched to the horizon in every direction, a concrete jungle teeming with millions of lives. Palm trees lined the boulevards, their silhouettes like strange alien figures in the twilight.

The sheer scope of it all made my head spin. So many people, so much happening. All those potential victims, ripe for the taking. My cock twitched at the thought. The possibilities were endless.

Stu glanced over, a knowing smirk on his grizzled face. "Quite the sight, ain't it, kid?"

I grinned back wickedly. "Can't wait to get started. I'm gonna fuck this city raw."

"Easy there, kid. I know it's tempting with all this fresh meat," Stu growled, his voice a low rumble. "But you gotta be smart. This ain't some podunk town where no one'll miss a few drifters. LA's a big city, sure, but that means they got a big police force too. More eyes watchin', more chances of gettin' caught."

I huffed, slouching back in my seat. As much as I hated to admit it, the old man had a point. We couldn't just go hog wild, leaving a trail of bodies from one end of the city to the other. Had to be strategic about it. The thought of restraining myself made my skin itch, but I knew Stu was right. He'd been at this a lot longer than me.

"I've been hauling cargo to LA for years now," Stu continued, guiding the semi onto the off-ramp. "Got a routine, regular pickups and drop-offs. Last thing I need is the cops sniffing around, asking too many questions 'cause some kid couldn't keep it in his pants."

He shot me a pointed look, and I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. No shitting where you eat."

I slouched in my seat, watching the city lights blur by as Stu navigated the tangled web of freeways with practiced ease. We skirted the edges of downtown, towering skyscrapers giving way to sprawling warehouses and rail yards, the beating industrial heart of the city.

Stu pulled off the interstate, steering the semi through the dark, narrow streets of an old manufacturing district. Rows of dilapidated factories and abandoned buildings lined the road, their crumbling brick facades covered in graffiti. A few flickering streetlights cast pools of sickly yellow light, but most had long since burned out or been shot out.

The desolation sent a shiver down my spine. It was the perfect hunting ground - isolated, populated by transients and junkies no one would miss. My fingers twitched, eager to wrap around the handle of a blade, to feel the hot spray of blood. But I restrained myself. Work before play, as Stu would say.

We came to a stop outside a graffiti-covered warehouse with a rusted metal door. Two men with assault rifles slung over their shoulders emerged from the shadows. Lookouts, making sure only expected company dropped by. Stu flashed his headlights twice and the men visibly relaxed, waving us through.

The semi rumbled through the opened warehouse doors, metal rattling shut behind us .

The warehouse was cavernous and dark, lit only by a few bare bulbs dangling from the rafters. Stacks of unmarked crates and steel barrels reached to the shadowed ceiling. Shady men milled about, some loading boxes onto flatbed trucks, others standing guard with hard eyes and twitchy trigger fingers.

Stu killed the engine, and we climbed down from the cab. A wiry man with slicked back hair approached.

"Who's the twink?" he sneered, jutting his chin at me as he traded grips with Stu.

"My new apprentice," Stu said.

The man's lip curled as he gave me a once-over. "He any good?"

I smirked. "I'm a fast learner."

The man scoffed, but stepped aside. Stu led me deeper into the warehouse, weaving between the stacks of contraband. We stopped at a crate marked with Chinese characters. Stu pried it open with a crowbar, revealing neat rows of shrink-wrapped bricks.

I knew better than to ask what it was. Stu had already acted dodgy earlier, and clearly the auto parts were just a front.

Stu grabbed one of the bricks, using his pocketknife to slice a corner of the plastic. He dipped a finger in, rubbing the white powder between his digits. Seemingly satisfied, he tossed the brick back into the crate.

"Unload these into the truck," Stu ordered gruffly. "I'm gonna go settle up with Romeo."

I nodded, grabbing a brick in each hand. The weight was substantial. Whatever this shit was, it had to be worth a pretty penny. My mind reeled at the thought of how much cash was sitting in these crates.

As I worked, I couldn't help but scope out the other men in the warehouse. Sizing them up like pieces of meat, imagining how they'd look split open and bled dry. There was one in particular, a beefy guy with prison tats, who kept eyeing me as he loaded his own truck. I shot him a wink and a lewd grin. He scowled and spat on the floor.

I chuckled under my breath. He'd be a fun one to carve up. The fighters were always so much more satisfying to break.

I heaved the heavy shrink-wrapped bricks up into the truck where the men from the warehouse were sliding them into the hidden compartments built into the walls of Stu's trailer. Kilo after kilo disappeared behind false panels and into the ribbed steel lining, the payload vanishing like a magician's trick.

Stacks of crates filled the rest of the trailer, stuffed with genuine auto parts - filters, gaskets, crankshafts, spark plugs. All totally legitimate on the surface. But every third crate had a false bottom concealing even more of the product. Layers upon layers of misdirection.

I had to admire Stu's thoroughness. This shipment was damn near invisible. Even if we got stopped and searched, it would take dogs to sniff this shit out. And based on how the guards had waved us through earlier, I had a feeling Stu was greasing the right palms to avoid that kind of scrutiny.

Sweat trickled down my back as I worked, stacking and securing the crates. The warehouse was stifling, no air flow, the corrugated metal walls trapping the day's heat. It smelled like oil and unwashed bodies.

I glanced over to where Stu stood with another man who must've been Romeo. They spoke in low, terse tones I couldn't quite make out over the clatter and thump of crates being moved. But I could read the body language well enough. The stiff shoulders, the tight nods.

Romeo clearly wasn't happy about something. His face pinched as he hissed at Stu, stabbing a finger at his chest. Stu just stared him down, unflinching, his craggy face carved from stone. He said something back, a short bark that made Romeo flinch and take a step back.

The weaselly man collected himself, then gestured sharply to one of his men. The tattooed bruiser I'd winked at earlier lumbered over, a large duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He dropped it at Stu's feet with a heavy thud, then crossed his arms, biceps bulging.

Stu crouched down and unzipped the bag partway, just enough to peer inside. I caught a glimpse of green - stacks of bills. More cash than I'd ever seen in one place. Stu zipped it back up, giving Romeo a curt nod. They shook on it, some unspoken agreement sealed.

As Stu hefted the bag and turned back towards the truck, our eyes met. There was a gleam there, a hungry light I recognized all too well. The thrill of violence sated, at least for now. It sent an answering shiver down my spine.

I hopped down from the trailer, boots thudding on the oil-stained concrete. Stu tossed the bag into the cab, then slammed the trailer doors shut.

Stu swung up into the driver's seat and I climbed in beside him, the duffle bag of cash nestled between us. The familiar rumble of the diesel engine turning over vibrated through my bones as Stu put the eighteen-wheeler in gear.

We rolled out of the warehouse into the murky LA night, leaving Romeo and his goons behind. I glanced back to see the metal door rattle shut, men scattering into the shadows of the alleyways like roaches when a light flicks on.

"So, what was that about?" I asked as we turned onto the main road, surrounded by the anonymous faces of motorists just trying to get where they were going. "Seemed like Romeo wasn't too happy."

Stu's hands flexed on the wheel, his knuckles prominent. "Prick was trying to short me. Thought he could skim a little off the top and I wouldn't notice." He snorted derisively. "Fifteen years I've been running product for him and the fucker thinks he can screw me? I don't think so."

I nodded, eyeing the duffel bag. I didn't know exactly how much was in there, but it had to be a hefty sum. No wonder Romeo had looked so pissed.

"Guess he thought wrong," I said with a smirk. The fact that Stu had stood his ground, put that weasel in his place, made something hot coil low in my gut.

Stu grunted in response, eyes fixed on the road ahead. We merged onto the freeway, the downtown skyline glittering in the distance. Traffic had thinned out, but the city still hummed with restless energy. Billboards for liquor and strip clubs flashed by, the winking neon promising all manner of sins and vices.

My leg bounced, my whole body practically vibrating with pent-up adrenaline. The rush from moving that much product, the thrill of violence crackling in the air back at the warehouse, Stu's display of raw power - it all had me amped up like I'd mainlined a speedball. I needed a release.

"Surprised you let Romeo walk," I said, trying to keep my voice nonchalant despite the dark impulses clawing at my brain. "After the shit he tried to pull? Fucker disrespected you."

Stu cut his eyes at me, his stare sharp as a blade. "Oh, he'll get what's coming to him eventually, but not from me. Men like Romeo, their life expectancy is pretty low in the business. Might be next time I come around here, someone else is running things. I'm not gonna blow up my whole operation over a few measly grand. Gotta play the long game. Romeo's replaceable. I'm not."

His hand drifted from the gearshift to my thigh, calloused fingers digging into my inseam. My cock throbbed at the unspoken promise in that grip. Stu had the self-control of a monk, but when he did let loose?

I groaned low in my throat as Stu's hand inched higher up my thigh, his fingertips brushing the growing bulge in my jeans. He kept his eyes on the road, but I could see the smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. The sick fuck got off on teasing me, keeping me on edge.

My hips canted up, seeking more friction, but Stu just squeezed my thigh punishingly and moved his hand away. I bit back a frustrated whine.

"Stu, come on," I gritted out, my voice rough with need. "I'm dying over here."

"Patience, kid." His gravelly baritone sent shivers down my spine. "Good things come to those who wait."

I huffed, slumping back against the seat. My skin felt too tight, my blood electric, every nerve-ending raw and sparking. I needed to hurt someone. Needed to slice into yielding flesh and watch the life drain from fear-blown eyes. Needed to make some pathetic piece of shit choke on their own blood.

The image flashed vivid and gory behind my eyes. My cock ached, trapped behind denim.

Stu's hand landed heavily on the back of my neck, fingers curling into the damp hair at my nape. My breath caught.

"I know what you need," he rumbled. "But now that we've got hot cargo in the back, we have to be all business for a bit. I promise, once we finish this delivery, you'll get what you need."

I exhaled harshly through my nose, trying to will my erection away. The phantom sensation of hot blood splattering my face, the imagined screams reverberating in my skull, made it nearly impossible. Stu's fingers flexed on the back of my neck before he withdrew his hand, and I immediately missed it.

I watched the city scroll by beyond the windshield, endless miles of asphalt and concrete bathed in the harsh glow of streetlights. All those dark alleys and seedy motels, ripe with victims. My leg bounced restlessly.

"Where's the drop?" I asked, more to distract myself than anything.

"San Diego. I've got a buddy with a salvage yard who can break everything down, make it untraceable. He'll take all the product and flip it, get it in the right hands."

I side-eyed the duffel bag of cash pointedly. "And the money?"

Stu smirked. "That's my payment for a job well done. Minus Romeo's little 'skimming fee'."

I eyed the duffel bag, the possibilities swirling in my twisted mind. That much cash could set me up for a long time. No more turning tricks for pocket change, no more relying on anyone else. I could go wherever I wanted, do whatever I wanted.

Buy a slick ride, designer threads, all the best drugs. Splurge on the honeymoon suite in ritzy hotels and lure in the most prime, clean-cut marks. Real American Psycho shit.

My gaze flicked to Stu, his weathered profile underlit by the dash lights. He was the only thing standing between me and that bag. The only loose end.

My cock throbbed at the thought, blood-drenched visions flickering through my head like a gory film reel.

But killing Stu…There was a part of me that didn't want to do it. A part of me that had gotten attached to him.

What if this was some sort of test? What if he was expecting me to try to kill him and take the money?

I forced myself to take a deep breath, unclenching my fists. No, I couldn't kill Stu. Not after everything we'd been through together. He was the closest thing I'd ever had to a real partner, in crime and otherwise. The way he understood my darkness, even shared it - I'd never find that twisted connection with anyone else.

Besides, I had a feeling Stu was just cagey and lethal enough that trying to take him out would be a fatal mistake on my part. The old man hadn't survived this long in the game by being careless or easy to catch off guard. He probably had contingency plans for his contingency plans.

I exhaled slowly, reining in my more impulsive urges. The money was tempting as hell but not worth blowing the good thing I had going with Stu. I needed to play this smart, stick to the plan. There would be plenty of time for gleeful carnage once we got this payload delivered.

I leaned my head back against the seat, trying to will my stubborn hard-on away so I could focus. It was gonna be a long drive to San Diego and an even longer night of resisting the cravings for blood.