Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 176345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 882(@200wpm)___ 705(@250wpm)___ 588(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 882(@200wpm)___ 705(@250wpm)___ 588(@300wpm)
I’m so glad Irina and Brooke don’t seem the least bit scared of all of that. Too bad they can’t follow me everywhere.
When the night falls, and all the Beta Pi sorority girls are fast asleep, I’m still scrolling on the web, determined to find my next target. The kind of place I want to go to is not one to look for during the day, and especially not on any regular website. This Tor Browser allows me to search through directories, watching, lurking, and waiting for bait.
And when I finally have it, a wicked smile forms on my lips.
I type out the words I know will cause a ripple in the pond and press send.
Now it’s time to move.
I open my closet and take out my bag that I keep for special occasions such as this one. I check if I’ve got all my gear before I sling it over my shoulder and walk to my mirror. I put on the red ribbon and tie it firmly into my hair, along with some red lipstick and the highest laced booty heels I can find in my closet. Then I grab the black kitten mask and tuck it into my bag.
I’m so glad my dad got me a room without any roommates. The privilege of being rich sure comes in handy when you have nefarious plans.
I smile at myself in the mirror before I strut out the door, putting my bag over both shoulders. I head straight out the back door, worried someone might still be awake. My motorcycle is out front, and I jump on and put on my helmet and gloves, and insert my earbuds, then race off into oblivion.
Violent music blasts through the earpieces as I veer left and right across the road and head for the gates that lead off the compound. My mind goes a million miles an hour, and the bike can’t keep up. I need to go faster, harder, louder.
Where I’m going, there are no tears of happiness, no smiles of bliss, not even an inkling of emotion except rage.
Straight into hell’s mouth.
Down, down, down, I go along the mountain and into the bustling city, where white collar business and crime go hand in hand. But I’m not looking for a butt-clenching crook, nor have I hooked a big fish. I’m headed into the outskirts of Crescent Vale City, going for the lowest of the lows. Where pure scum live in houses not even a roach would touch.
I park my motorcycle outside the most repugnant house I’ve ever seen, barely staying upright with crooked wooden beams and taped-off windows. The stench of drugs meets my nostrils halfway across the street.
Taking off my helmet, I fish my kitten mask from my bag and slip it on.
I clutch my bag close to my shoulder as I head into the house without a second thought.
The putrid smell of pot makes me recoil, but I continue through the narrow hallway littered with fast-food packages. In the far back, a loud television blasts, the sounds of squealing women faking orgasms drawing me closer.
In front of the screen is a big red chair covered in stains, inside a man with a potbelly, wearing only a pair of underpants and a shirt that’s too small to cover his body.
The floor creaks under my foot with my next step, and I freeze.
The man turns around and looks at me over his chair.
“Oh, you’re here,” he says.
I don’t respond.
He gets up and pats down his chest, crumbs of old pizza falling to the floor. I look around at his miserable life, wondering how a person can live like this and be content.
But the smile on his face gets me the most.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asks.
“No, thanks,” I reply, staying put.
“C’mon, c’mon,” he says, beckoning me to a couch to the left. “Let’s sit over here and chat.”
I swallow and stare him down as he flops down and pats the fabric, seemingly oblivious to my revulsion.
He grins at me with bits and pieces of food still stuck to his gums. “I won’t bite.”
Doubtful.
“You … are the girl I spoke to, right?” he asks, frowning when I don’t come near.
I nod silently.
“Then there’s no need to hesitate,” he says, rubbing his thigh.
In my high heels, I step closer and lower my bag.
“How often do you do this?” I ask.
“With other girls? Never,” he replies.
“Don’t lie to me,” I say.
He sighs. “If I answer, will you sit down?”
I nod.
“Sometimes,” he says after a while.
“Same age as me?” I ask, tilting my head as I zip open my bag.
“Of course,” he replies, and he puts his hand on my leg to pull me closer. “I like my girls young … beautiful, like you.” He smirks. “You didn’t tell me you were into masks.”
“Young …” I repeat, my eyes twitching. “Too young to say no.”