𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐘 (+𝟏𝟖)

CH. 12: SLEEPING BEAUTY

H U N T E R

I gaze intensely at the camera feed on my phone, watching her sleep soundly in bed. She's even more beautiful, if that were possible, in this serene state.

Wearing nothing but her Paramore band crop top and delectable black lace panties, she unconsciously suckles her thumb — a habit she always fell into an hour into REM sleep. I've never used this adjective to describe any woman but she was... adorable.

A memory of sable doe eyes and perfectly plumped lips invades my thoughts. The way she anxiously bit her bottom lip during the interview, unaware of how the innocent gesture hardened my dick like black quartzite. How her eyes met mine with a burning intensity that left no room for misinterpretation.

Watching her sleep, I'm reminded why I detached our hands when we touched earlier. It was only 4.3 seconds; a millisecond longer, she would've on my desk spread like a feast as I devoured the shit out of her like she was my last meal before execution.

The only thing more adorable were her cute but flawed security measures to keep me out of her apartment. Before she went to bed, she placed a chair under the knob of her locked front door and triple checked to see if she locked the fire escape window.

My brave girl even slept with her hand tucked under the pillow, gripping a 1911 Ronin 9mm handgun gifted by her best friend. Smart, though it wouldn't serve her well given that she's a heavy sleeper—a potentially exploitable vulnerability, if I actually planned on murdering her like she fears I would.

In the back of her mind, she knows this is all in vain and that it wouldn't keep me from getting to her. It's why my poor little Bambi stayed up until 3 AM, trying to keep herself awake and occupied with her school work and rather interesting erotic literary choices like Stalking Adelaide or Ice Planet of Blue Himbos.

She was also spooked by a text message she received after leaving the mansion thirteen hours ago. I found out by eavesdropping on her phone call with Celina through the spyware I installed on her phone.

Was it an invasion of her privacy? Yes, absolutely.

But did I give a fuck? No, not really.

While scaring her with ominous messages is on brand for me, I didn't send the text. There was an uninvited player in my game of Cat and Mouse and I didn't like it. But that was a hole to be filled in later.

I switch off the camera feed, my focus shifting to the task at hand. I sit in my black car, parked just outside the gated estate of my next victim, Shane Cuskey.

His South Hampton residence looms in the distance, shrouded in darkness — a gaudy and ostentatious pile of shit, just like the fucker who owns it.

He was a liaison of Dominic and the new co-CEO of The Wall Street Journal. He attended my past charity galas as he was the co-founder and benefactor of the Girls' Haven Initiative— a non-profit organization he started to help young girls experiencing child abuse, poverty, and homelessness find homes or schooling.

The perfect cover for a fucking pedophile.

Through my connections, I found out the geriatric cocksucker had been exploiting his position to fuck on homeless girls no older than eighteen, coercing them into sex with threats of not finding a home. 

And the bastard did all this before and after the co-founder, his wife, was buried in the ground.

But I'm not here to judge him; I'm here to ensure the shitstain doesn't see the light of day but rather the distant glow of Heaven out of reach as he chokes on his blood— After I get some information, of course.