Chapter Text
September 20, 2017
Lucas threw his sneakers up on the passenger seat, cushioned the back of his head with a bent arm and rested his laptop over his stomach, watching the unflattering view of her getting changed. Based from the bottom view he had of her chest she’d put her phone on a dresser, or a chair... something that didn’t matter because he watched with a lazy grin as she reached around to unhook her bra. Lucas had his toes curled in his shoes, ready to get another eyeful of tit but she walked outta sight at the last second…
“Gaww’damn it…”
If only he’d had the balls to install some cameras in her place while she was out instead of relying on erratic iPhone angles. The half-hard dick pushing up against the crotch of his pants was left to deflate when she finally picked her phone back up, wearing an oversized sweater.
“What ah’ damn tease,” he mumbled, kicking the car door with a throaty growl. He needed to jerk off - had to get a good look at her while he squeezed a load outta his cock at the very least. What he really wanted to do - what he wasn’t gonna do - was tail her to her next pitstop, play along with her little game and get her back to her place so he could turn the tables on her. Let her try and hack him up into little pieces… let her kiss him and suck him off and take up that razor blade with the darkest of intentions. Something suicidal in Lucas wanted to go out with his dick in her mouth as his throat wept blood.
Wanna die spurtin’ a load in her mouth , he thought as his cock throbbed at the thought.
‘Course it’d be better just to get in her good graces and have one of them soul-sucking blowjobs without gettin’ gutted, but Lucas wasn’t averse to laying there as her phone’s camera went dark and imagining all sorts of disgusting outcomes. It didn’t get him off, but it was it’s own reward knowing all he knew about her already.
Over the past week Lucas found out that Quinn, when not dressed to impress, liked to walk around her house in a Metallica shirt and stretchy yoga shorts. Those shorts could have been painted on for all the good they did covering up the crease of pussy between her thighs and that lip of bubbled flesh where her ass met the backs of her thighs.
She liked playing mobile games on the toilet, naked, before her morning shower which had already fueled at least two cum stains in the VW so far.
Aside from what his dick liked about her, which was everything - including her normal looking face with some of the softest lookin’ lips Lucas had ever seen, she also had good taste in music. The industrial metal she had on like white noise was interesting. The clean, but sparse home was noteworthy and everything, even down to the way she talked to herself about bullshit, got him excited.
Sometimes she'd get angry and break somethin’ but she hadn't done that for a couple days now.
Only thing Lucas didn't like was this asshat that kept calling her. She had an ex-boyfriend or cousin… or someone that kept wanting her to come back home for a wedding. The guy sounded like every half-wit he’d gone to school with. Not a single word left that idiot's mouth without it sounding part-laced in alcohol.
Quinn should just gut him, Lucas thought as he stuffed chili-cheese fries in his mouth, sitting in a fast food drive thru with his laptop on the passenger seat. He was kicked back, looking at his laptop with three screens pulled up: two for each camera on her phone and a third for the phone screen. She was looking through IMDB on her phone while the glow from the tv melded with the yellow light from her phone, making her look like some plastic mannequin in a shopping mall.
Still hot, though, he had to admit.
For someone who liked to pick up assholes, kill ‘em, then burn the evidence, she didn’t leave the house often. Lucas had tailed her to a grocery store the other day, pretended he was carrying a shopping list he couldn’t figure out as he filtered through aisles, brushing past her once or twice. Part of him wanted to take her elbow and throw her face first into the freezer doors, crack her nose or temple maybe, and feel how hard she could punch back.
The last time she left the house was to pick up her dog from the vets in the next town over.
Lucas didn’t have a problem with dogs, but a big hound like the one she had would make his life harder… and if she was gonna be his girlfriend then he couldn’t kill the dog. Had to improvise. Finding her dead mutt on her lawn might put her off. She was an animal lover and Lucas knew what she did to assholes who abused ‘em. ‘Sides, Lucas liked hounds… used to have one awhile back before Eveline did what she did best to it.
No killin’ the dog, then. He'd have to stop at the grocer and buy some fried pig fat to keep it busy once he finally got the balls to invade her physical space. Until then he was content to jerk off in the back of the car and figure her out a bit more. Quinn did a good job pretending she was just an average chick in some tight jeans and a baggy shirt, but he knew better. What everyone else saw was only the tip of the iceberg. She was something unique and shiny.
He watched her login into her online banking account as he slurped on a frozen soda. Girl had money somehow. Most chicks her age didn’t have over three-hundred grand in their savings account, but this one did. Explained why she didn’t work, but not how she came across all that money. Lucas figured a relative died or she got lucky in some settlement. After all his snoopin’ he couldn’t figure that one out yet, but it didn’t really matter all that much in the grand scheme of things.
Quinn transferred five-hundred bucks into her checking account and laid the phone there on the sofa for the next hour. It was just enough time for Lucas to drive himself back to her street, park beside the crossroad and watch her step out her front door. She blew a kiss inside and locked up.
Sometime in the evening…
She was getting sloppy. There was no planning behind this one and that was what got people caught by the cops - locked away in a padded cell.
If she was gonna see number twelve, then this couldn’t happen anymore. One time thing. Just this once, she told herself as her heart lurched. She’d be better at controlling herself after this guy was gone. A promise to herself and to Jimmy. What would happen to Dixon if she got incarcerated?!
“Never again…” Quinn whispered as she entered the flat dirt roads outside of Ashdown, cutting off her headlights.
The moon was out enough that she wasn’t driving blind, but there was something about driving so close on the tailend of a killing that cut her focus down by half. Even if she’d had her high beams on her cordination would be fuckey, it was only more apparent now as she skidded over some uneven terrain, trying desperately not to do anything more stupid than what she’d already done. Quinn had to calm herself; had to take deep, gentle breaths and calm… the… fuck… down.
Like Pavlov's dog she felt her panties soaking against the car seat. That hard, glorious pulse of blood between her thighs digging desperately into the edge of the seat. Her hands were locked on the steering wheel and the blood that had sprayed out of fuckface’s throat was already drying down the side of her face.
The smells… the excitement of it all was her biggest enemy right now. Quinn tried not to think about it, but every inhale forced her hips down; dry humping the useless edge of the soft seat cushion. Every other minute she was debating whether she had the time to pull over and shove a hand down her pants. It wouldn’t take long. All she’d have to do was unbutton her jeans, throw a foot up on the dash and rub her clit just how she liked it - wouldn’t take but a minute or two, and it’d feel good.
Oh fuck, yes it would. With her eyes hot on this bastard… with the laceration weeping from his throat to his navel. All that blood.
“...fuuuu’uck, god fucking damnit,” she whimpered, tossing her hips down, churning her cunt as pleasure and sick bliss swam up. Color dotted the outskirts of her vision as she took a hard right down an unmarked road. She wanted it so bad she could feel her pulse in her cunt.
Licking her lips, Quinn spared the dead guy a quick longing look, mashing down in her seat with a heavy, long lasting groan. This was getting of hand, a part of her brain realized, but an even greater portion was begging her to stop the car and fuck herself.
Nameless asshole lay slumped in the passenger seat, shoved down so his head wasn’t above the dash. She drove carefully, taking the deadest route she could think of as she headed down to the old bromine factory. Not even horny teens went there anymore. It was devoid of anything valuable and it reeked… perfect for burning miscreants. She’d burnt her first and third there.
The ends of his shirt had ridden up over his lower back, exposing the ends of a back tattoo. Even now, as reckless as it’d been, she didn’t regret this one. Could be he deserved it more than some of the others but still, it had been stupid of her. Smartest thing to do would have been to flirt with him, get his number and meet up somewhere so she could do this privately instead of in a fucking drugstore parking lot. What if they’d had cameras?!
Oh fuck...oh’fuck’oh’fuck… she was so fucked. She’d never felt so out of her mind as she did now. Between the unquenched arousal and the panic Quinn barely made the turn down the old factory road.
Sweat started to run down her forehead, thinking about her game being up and over - about spending the rest of her life in some prison cell while the world kept puking out scum that got away. It was almost enough to make her laugh. Sure, she liked adding a dash of glitter and sprinkles to what she did, but the truth was she got off on it. Killing got her wet - made her cum so much harder than anything ever had before and it didn’t matter how many bastards she killed, she still did it for herself. Quinn could tell herself she was doing the world a service but it was all about the reward at the end.
She swiped away a line of sweat with the back of her hand, tried to ignore the burning between her thighs as she made the journey to the black monument of chemical worship. The factory was a pitch stain on the horizon, darker even than the night sky. As always, it was deserted but she couldn’t pause to fuck herself yet, even if her guts were writhing for it.
While she hefted number eleven out of the car, she worried that, given enough time between killing him and disposing of him she’d lose that tangled lust she loved so much. Maybe burning him in an old shipping drum would bring some of it back if it started fading too quickly.
God, she fucking hoped so.
It took twenty minutes of dragging dead weight, haphazardly wrapped in a thrift store jacket so the blood didn’t seep onto the concrete floors, before she left him to stink up the joint while she headed back outside. The plan was the same as if she’d been prepared. Her trunk was always filled with a spare can of gasoline and a roadside emergency kit, which worked wonders if one knew how to use it right.
Halfway through the darkness Quinn paused with her heel on the floor, frozen in place. Something breathed. She blinked within the empty black. The factory floor was an open and sprawling plan in the light of day but at night it felt like she might as well have been floating in space. The sound of that hard breath in the distance made the walls wedge into her skin. Someone - something…
It felt like a solid fifteen minutes that she stood there, searching blindly. Her ears lay strained for any sound but nothing came. A thousand eyes were on her - something hungry and deadly stalking her. This was what a jack rabbit felt like in a clearing with hawks poised, circling at night, seeing the furry morsel’s little heartbeat skip and skip and skip… and skip.
“... No,” she sounded. It was nothing - it was just-
Something scuffed the ground to her right, nearly pulling a fucking scream from her throat, but it could have as easily been a rat as it could a maniac. Another ten minutes passed with no sound, so Quinn resolved herself and trekked out of the Factory, knowing a knife in her back pocket would make her feel less vulnerable.
The plan. It was all about getting rid of the rapist over there. Step one: get the fuel.
She had the lighter in her front pocket for igniting the blaze. There was a plan in her head - foggy though it was - despite the suddenness of the kill this time and the phantom sounds in the darkness which more than likely were a product of her own frantic mind. She’d actually begun to feel a bit less shocked by everything by the time she reached the doors but right there, under the pale glow of the moon, cast in black and blue, was another car parked beside her own.
Quinn stood there, paralyzed with a spur in her throat.
She didn’t know how long she stood there… or how long her heart went without beating, but after a while of no monster springing from the night, she took a step forward and then another and another still until she was circled halfway around the strange car, seeing enough inside to note that it was driverless.
That breathing in the factory, her mind supplied. That warm, muggy feeling along the left side of her arm. Someone had been there - was still there!
Shit! She twisted hard into the dirt, checked the perimeter, her own car and saw nothing. No driver meant someone had parked and followed her inside. She hadn’t heard anything - hadn’t heard or seen anything! Had she been that brain dead to not notice a fucking car following her?!
This was a prime reason why Jimmy, despite being an idiot, was right once in awhile. She should have gotten a gun, just in case. Sure - it was easy killing orgasm-fucked guys who didn't see it coming, but in this situation? Someone was here and they knew what she was up too… or they knew enough to be dangerous. Hell, somehow this person had been scant inches from her back there. Whoever it was, they'd seen her in the black nothingness between Nameless and the front gates.
Quinn decided right then that she'd leave.
Fuck it, she thought, so close to getting in the car and peeling off before the stark remembrance of her jacket underneath Nameless assaulted her. It had her own blood on it from a month ago, back when she'd nicked her palm while wearing it. Her fluids were mixing with his in that well-worn flannel fabric. It was a death sentence. If this person who’d tailed her was out to turn her in, all they’d need was that jacket and a DNA test.
For the first time in a long while, she stood there not knowing what to do. The darkened landscape offered no advice and the knives in her car offered little security. Still, what choice did she have? There were no two ways about it, she had to go back inside and get that jacket back.
She took a few minutes to pump herself up; whispering quotes from Rocky and anything else she could think of until she was bouncing on her heels with her Dad’s tactical ten-incher in her left hand. Ready as she was ever gonna be, she took her first silent step into the factory, inhaling the stench of bromine and blood.
Followed the wrong woman, asshole, she thought.
The darkness felt ten-thousand times more oppressive than it had when she was convinced it was empty and the shadows - what little there were thanks to the dull blue raining down from the busted skylights - were playing tricks on her. More than once she cut her tongue on her teeth trying to stifle a scream of terror at nothing but her own cast-off. Her brain supplied strange noises so easily that she wasn’t sure what was an auditory hallucination and what could have been the last sound she heard before some asshole gutted her dead.
Never, not in her whole life, had Quinn felt so helpless and naked as she did now. It would have been shameful how hard she was panting - how scared she felt - if she’d had much room for anything but all the potentials lurking in the shadows.
Just please, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut and swallow a tang of bile - just let her get out of this unharmed and she’d never be this reckless again. Never this sloppy ever again.
Smoke infiltrated the reek surrounding her and the closer she stepped the more she smelt it. A crackle like fire reached her ears and suddenly her heart was pounding again; bouncing back and forth inside her ribs until she thought the stench of burning fat and boiling bile would send her under. There, in the middle of the processing floor was Nameless, alight in flames. He billowed smoke up to the high heavens, making dense storm clouds that rolled and waved before sliding out through the busted windows. The floor pulsated yellow light, exposing support beams and old debris not even the homeless had taken. Everything was either pitch black or doused in gold.
Against the crackling casting of flames, Quinn stepped forward and saw the outline of a hooded man with a can of gasoline resting against his thigh.
Something like binoculars hung around his throat. No, night vision goggles, she realized, blinking. Now that she was staring at the man who’d breathed on her in the darkness, whose car was parked outside beside her own, she felt less victimized. If he tried anything, she’d at least see him before he did it.
Only once had she been in a position where surprise hadn’t won out first. Her fifth guy wasn’t as thick-headed as she’d hoped and he’d struggled, smashed her nose in with his forehead before she’d gotten a hook in his spine; paralyzing him.
Phantom pain ran up the bridge of her nose as Quinn blinked away the sting of smoke and stared coldly at the man across from her, nothing but a burning body between them.
Quinn scrutinized the gray smoke that coated the pronounced highlights of his body and face. This whole thing reeked of folly, but to hell with it. He had doused her victim in petrol and set him on fire for her. For whatever reason, this person had set the evidence on fire! The poor outline of her jacket was noticeable enough under the blackening corpse.
She gave the sizzling flesh a good once over, feeling her stomach flutter in pleasure before looking back through the licking flames at her mystery man. The fire reflected off his teeth as he grinned, looking like something out of a biblical etching; demonic and malicious. He reminded her of that creep she’d seen in the grocery store a couple weeks ago. Could be the same guy, which only raised more questions.
He chuckled - the sound bouncing off the steel walls and beams, rattling her skull like bone-chimes in the wind. Quinn watched him lift a finger to his lips before pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket, waving it like a white flag before laying it on the ground under a fat rock. In a blink of the eye, he was gone, faded like a Cheshire cat into the darkness where the firelight didn’t dare touch. That grin of his lingered, not before her eyes but behind them.
Quinn stood there feeling like someone had rearranged her bowels and organs; feeling used without ever being touched. She watched the shadows surrounding the blaze with her knife in hand, waiting hours until Nameless was nothing but a charred husk before stepping carefully over the embers, picking up the note and leaving the factory. There wasn’t a single prickle of eyes on her the whole dark walk back.
She wasn’t surprised to find her car alone, nothing left of the other car but tire tracks in the dirt.
Maybe this was how serial killers met one another? Not that… well, guess she was one of those after all. It felt odd labeling herself as such, but Quinn couldn’t spare the time to sit there in her car and think. The sun would be coming up in a couple hours and she was pent up, hungry and tired and mentally drained. She folded up the note and stuffed it in her pocket before cranking the engine and taking off.
Millwood Lake swallowed up another car; second one that year and it was a long walk back to Ogden, but she’d made the trip on foot before. The blood Nameless had spilled in the car was too much to clean up before morning and, well… she’d hated that car anyway.
After bathing her face in tarnished water, stuffing her blood stained long sleeve and jeans into her backpack, Quinn spared the car a few minutes just to make sure it sunk all the way down this time. The backpack hung heavy over her naked shoulder, filled with everything she couldn’t stand to lose from the trunk - mainly her knives and all the fake papers from the registry and shit like that. She’d burn the title and anything else that might come back to bite her in the ass later, but the rest could sink only to be replaced by one or two trips into Tex. Not that she’d go anywhere tomorrow.
Quinn decided her feet would be too sore and her mind too mushy to do much else but bathe, eat some delivery and watch tv. She needed to hide in her house and forget about how close she’d come to getting royally fucked.
Lick her wounds, as some would say. Tonight was, if nothing else, humbling. For awhile she was feeling invincible. No, she had to be cautious. This wasn’t a game someone played doing shit like she had tonight. Tomorrow she’d have to sit down and have a long talk with herself.
A few trucks honked at her as she dragged herself home in her boy shorts and tanktop, but none of them stopped to bother her. The little earbuds stuffed in her ears, blasting metal, muffled the catcalls she got from the drivers on their way to work. She half expected to get stopped by the cops, but one trooper just passed her without even slowing down - it was lucky, but the lack of concern left a bad taste in her mouth.
She got home in a little over an hour but it might as well have taken all fucking morning for how she felt after finally stepping through her front door.
Dixon barked, jumping on his back legs with his paws clawing at her hips and ass. Quinn booped his nose before crumbling to the floor, feeling her carpet leave rug burns in her shoulder as she slid into a lump on the floor; tired as fuck.
A warm, flat tongue bathed her face in kibble-smelling saliva, but she was too exhausted to do more than turn her face away, shoving her nose down into the carpet with a groan.
She could still smell the bromine, cooked asshole, and runoff as she lay there soaking up the bliss of inactivity. It was there she laid, falling asleep long enough to wake up to bright light streaming in through her windows. Dixon was sleeping against the small of her back, snoring - a protective heat she didn’t want to remove, though she did anyway.
It would take a hot shower, a plate of spaghetti and pesto sauce with a bottle of water before she was coherent enough to sift through her backpack, placing everything in a neat order on her dining room table - and it was only when she was digging the crap out of her jean pockets, ready to bleach the fuck out of her clothes, that her fingers crinkled down on the note…
Bleach assailed her nostrils as the washing machine filled up with hot steamy water. Somewhere in her house, Dixon barked and she started to sweat. Quinn stared at the soot-covered note, felt the night come crashing back and very slowly - imagining a fat poison-laden spider with a flame-touched grin hiding under the folds - opened the note.
October 2, 2017
“Listen, you stupid shit! You - you owe me big time and this, what I’m asking, doesn’t even come close to making us square.”
Lucas chewed on the end of the dixie straw in the corner of his mouth, watching his laptop with rapt attention. Quinn was pacing in her kitchen, in perfect line of sight of her inlaid webcam, completely unaware of Lucas and his view of her kicking her heels into the tile floor; snarling against her phone. Her shrill, angry voice not only ran through his speakers but also through the walls of her house. He could hear her shouting from his stolen ride, which made his gut turn in giddy joy. This girl of his really was somethin’. Even hotter when she was spitting vitriol at this dope of hers.
With a quick key command, Lucas tapped into her phone’s microphone, ran it through an external application and narrowed his eyes at the crackle of audio. The dude on the other end was silent as she shouted, but Jimmy-boy made the mistake of trying to get a word in as she inhaled between insults.
Oh, yeah… Quinn was havin’ none of that. Lucas grinned, kicking his heels back against the passenger car door like he was ready to ride a fucking roller coaster. Never a dull moment with her. No sirreeee!
“Shut your fucking mouth!” she shouted, “I want overnight delivery and if you send me a little pea-shooter-”
“I won’t - I won’t, jesus Quinn… I’ll ship it off tonight but it’s gotta go through the right channels, ‘aight. Won’t be there until the end of the week. Just stop yelling at me, please.”
Pussy… the dampening of Jimmy-boy’s voice through the phone didn't lend the fucker any sympathy, either. The guy sounded like a dumb bitch more so than actual dumb bitches. Lucas would have been jealous of a man in Quinn’s life she hadn’t yet killed, but this asshole was still another mystery of hers. Who or what he was, Lucas didn’t know, but the more he talked the more Lucas wanted to see him strung up like a flayed calf… organs sluiced out in a bucket while his blood drained.
Quinn took a hard breath, holding her elbow as the phone squished against her cheek; standing right in the middle of the kitchen. The way she angled her arms made her tits push together in a high line that made Lucas’ lips feel chapped. He’d had a nasty little daydream the other day about sliding his dick between those tits until he spilled a load over her face. She’d had a long, black tongue in his dream - one that slid out to clean away all his slimy cum off her cheeks… it was damn weird but still got him as stiff as a week-old corpse.
It was hard to remember what got him turned on before Eveline played pinochle with his brain, but Lucas got the feeling it wasn’t too different than what got his dick hard now. Blood… gore - something brutal and morally wrong but always taken with a smile. He remembered this old porn clip he used to play on a loop with this one petite little redhead who spent all five solid minutes of the clip getting throat fucked so hard she puked, only to smile and say thanks at the end.
“You’re fuckin’ useless,” Quinn cursed, then in a softer voice, Lucas watched as she hugged herself and asked, “You gotta make sure it’s easy to use, you know I’ve never shot one before.”
“I got uh... got me two Glock nineteens here. I’ll send you one of ‘em. A four-year-old could shoot someone with this,” he sounded pretty smug about that for some reason, but Lucas wasn’t worried about getting shot in the face. If Quinn wanted a gun after taking his little note then whatever… wasn’t exactly the reaction he was hoping for but he couldn’t blame a girl like her for getting more than a little spooked. She'd been at her game, alone, for so long, that Lucas shouldn't have expected any different.
“And plenty of ammo,” Quinn added, demanding with a hard look at her laptop.
For a second Lucas’ skin prickled. It wasn’t like she saw ‘im, but that look got his heart racing with excitement - it was the same feeling when he’d been tracing her footsteps in that ol’ factory last week.
The way she’d stopped after hearing his groan at the green-lacquered sight of her through his night-vision goggles. She’d been too tasty to hold that noise back. Watching her while she thought she was alone - it was different than seeing her through her camera's. Lucas had been so close he could smell the sweat and blood caked on her - got a whiff of something like spices in a root cellar and that sweet tang he assumed was natural to chicks.
No one could smell as mouth watering as Quinn did though, ‘specially not that night and ‘specially not once all the crispy smoked meshed into her clothes. Lucas should have gotten closer before he’d left her his note. He’d never seen anything so perfect as the way she’d looked staring at him through the flames that were bubbling the fat on skewed Mr. Fuckface that night.
Lucas realized then, as she hung up her phone and proceeded to make herself lunch, that if he was gonna get fucked up by her he’d much rather it be by a blade. Bullets weren’t terrible but they didn’t have the same intimacy to ‘em… nor did Lucas’ favorite fantasy involve picking bullets out of his chest. He wanted to cum in her mouth with a knife sticking out of his neck, or some other equivalent.
She was 30.c… not some regular cunt that liked to shoot people. Knives were her style, not guns.
He’d gotten her well and truly scared, though. Lucas wasn’t sure how much he liked the look on her. On one hand, hearing her reading his note over and over again with increasingly breathless slips of the tongue had given him a major boner, but seeing her sit at her dining room table with his note held in her hands and something like a tremble on her mouth wasn’t gratifying. Lucas wanted her spitting anger and curses - wanted her slicing into his belly with a shark-like grin.
Maybe it was time to properly introduce himself. He could show up with a new jacket to replace the one he burned and some of those cherry pies he saw her eying hungrily at the grocer that one day. Some ice cream and a bottle or rum fer her too.
Yeah, Lucas realized some part of it was a bit lovesick, but shit - who was he foolin’? He was in too deep by now to start feelin’ all ashamed of himself. If he had his way, he’d have Quinn taking him for a ride, fucking him and killin’ him in the morning only to turn around and hack some dumbass off the streets; throw ‘em in a pit of Lucas’ design and watch the game unfold. He pictured cut marks in bellies with flies laying eggs inside weeping flesh. Lucas closed his eyes and imagined the screams and the begging, watching shitheads claw at their cages and Quinn sawing into throats with ever increasing laughter.
She’d be enough to rival him, stab for stab and laugh for laugh.
And now… now his dick was hard again.
“Well, Quinn,” he growled; panting at the image of her laying his note down on her dining room table, staring off into the distance with an open mouth frown.
“Whata’ya say, baby? Hmm? Ya ready to get this party started? ‘Cause ah sure as shit am.”