Vicious Punks by Madeline Fay

Cruz

“Dance.” I lean back in the motel chair and order the second prostitute I’ve had this week to dance a dance only one woman seems to know.

I take in the hooker I found hanging around the corner of the motel. Skimpy clothes that hang off her skinny body, and the sunken way her cheekbones make her brown eyes look too large for her face. She could resemble Tillie, but she’s not her. Fear shows on her face, instead of burning hatred, and she does whatever I say without even pausing to think about it. I like my girls to fight back, rebel against me.

“Ho-how do you want me to dance?” she stutters, not looking me in the eye and scratching at the track marks on the inside of her elbow.

“Take your clothes off and move seductively. Seduce me with your body,” I order, snapping my fingers as I grow impatient and she just stands there.

At least the last hooker knew how to take an order before I strangled her. Staring at the one before me, her face transforms for a split second into high cheekbones, plump pink lips, and scared brown eyes that widen every time I’m around. The image blurs and I rub my eyes as the hooker starts taking her clothes off, slowly moving her hips from side to side. It’s all wrong, everything about her keeps reminding me that no woman will ever measure up to my Tillie. I see the greed in her eyes, looking for her next hit, and she will do anything for it.

“Stop. Get on the bed.” My voice comes out harsh as she quickly climbs onto the bed naked. She lays down facing me while I stand at the end of the bed.

I’ll never find someone to replace that void Tillie left behind, she’s the only one that satisfies my thirst. I want to mark the rest of her body, carve her up with my name so that anyone who looks at her knows who she belongs to. I crawl over her body, not bothering to get undressed as I unbuckle my belt and lower my zipper. This hooker has needle marks on her pale skin, but that’s about it. She should be covered in scars to resemble my Tillie.

“Tell me you love me,” I order, fisting my cock as I stroke it to get hard.

“I, uh, love you,” she quickly answers, and I close my eyes on a deep inhale, trying to picture Tillie saying that to me and I feel my cock twitch at the sound of her voice echoing in my head.

The hooker tries to wrap her arms around my neck but I shove them above her head with one hand, squeezing tightly. I don’t bother with knowing her name, where she’s come from, who’s loved her in the past. She’s here for one thing only, and she’ll learn that very soon.

I shove her thighs roughly open with my knee and plunge into her without any foreplay, her dry pussy making her scream at the invasion. I enjoy the pain filled cry she lets loose. She struggles against my grip on her body, which helps get my dick fully hard. I fuck her hard into the mattress while she’s bone dry, as I picture another face, and look above her head as she starts to cry, begging me to stop.

“P-please,” she sobs, tears running down her cheeks when I glance down at her makeup smeared face.

“This won’t do. She never begged me to stop, she accepted her fate,” I continue slamming roughly into her and bring my other hand up to her neck as she starts trying to get out from under me.

Squeezing around her throat, I watch her eyes widen, her face turning red as she opens her mouth to draw in a breath. I cut off her oxygen, watching as she tries to put up a fight, but her struggles cease when she takes the last breath she’ll ever have.

“Tillie,” I whisper as I speed up my thrusts, splashing ropes of cum inside the still warm pussy, as I pretend it’s my dancer instead.

Breathing hard, I pull out and sit back on my heels to study the dead body in front of me. I think she would be prettier with my signature on her pale skin. I pull out my knife and get to work. I flip her limp body over, laying her on her stomach, so I can make a start on her spine.

Time passes by and the sound of my phone ringing distracts me from my masterpiece. Moving away from the bed with my hands covered in blood, I answer and put it on speaker without bothering to look who’s calling.

“What?” I walk to the bathroom and turn on the faucet, watching the thick color of red swirl down the drain.

“The trucker is here,” Nix says impatiently and hangs up without another word.

Grinning, I walk back to the bed and flip her back over onto her back, so when the cops investigate her body, they will be in for a surprise once they turn her over.

“Now you're pretty. Gotta go. Sweet dreams.” I chuckle down at her unblinking eyes and move the stray strands of hair out of her eyes, while roaming my gaze over her naked body that's now covered with the letter C from head to toe.

Stepping outside the door, I close it behind me. I know she’ll be found in the morning by a cleaning maid, but I’ll be long gone from here. Even if she was just a nobody, the police won’t bother putting much time and effort into the death of a hooker in a run down motel when there are other more important crimes to solve. The neon sign blinks on and off over my head as I whistle a tune, moving across the parking lot to the semi-truck.

Yesterday, Tillie’s bike was called in. I went out to the desert to figure out where her head would be. I searched in the baking sun for hours, knowing she wouldn’t have walked into the desert just after escaping the compound. She’s a fighter, I’ll give her that. It didn't hit me until I watched a lone semi-truck drive past. She must have hitched a ride. It was easy enough to track down any semi heading this way by calling a couple of trucker companies. It led me to this moment, three days of waiting for him to show up at the motel room he rents out every time he passes through town. I’m getting closer to finding her, that thought alone makes my eyes roll in the back of my head.

I approach behind the trucker as he climbs out of his cab, watching as he swipes a plaid jacket off his seat, and slides his fingers through his dark hair before turning around. He jumps in surprise and eyes me warily.

“You Adam?” I question, feeling my heart racing because this trucker is going to help me find my missing property.

“Yeah, who’s asking?” He looks me up and down, pausing to glance at my cut with the Demon Jokers symbol embroidered on the front.

“Perfect. I lost something of mine and I’m going to need your help getting it back.” I step closer, drawing my knife out from behind the back of my jeans as I keep repeating the same thing over and over again in my head.

She’s mine. She’s mine. She’s mine.