The One That Got Away

1 - Elijah

THE PAST

My hand came down swiftly across the ass of Becky... or Bonnie... or Betty. Something that starts with a B. It's not important.

She's not important.

Her yells echoed off the walls of the nearly desolate room while wiggling against my dick as she sprawled out across my lap.

"Perfection," I groaned, knowing that now it was time to have a little fun. I'd been a good boy for two weeks as I stalked and plotted, and now my plan was coming to fruition. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, causing my head to go dizzy with anticipation.

Inhaling deeply until the cherry of my cigarette glowed an angry orange, I pulled it from my lips, smiling at her as she looked over her shoulder at me in what I guessed was a seductive manner. Her bottom lip was tucked between her teeth.

I told her to stop doing that.

Pressing the fire end against her ass, an agonizing scream ripped from her chest, releasing her lip as she struggled to free herself from my grip. Embers scattered across her milky flesh, and she began to buck wildly. I laughed before finally raising my arm and letting her scurry across the room like a feral rat, slamming her body against the door as she twisted and pulled at the knob while sobs wracked her petite frame.

Reaching behind my neck, I grabbed my t-shirt and tugged it over my head, watching as her eyes skated down my inked chest. I let her covet me, knowing it was the closest she would get to seeing Heaven tonight. That's not where I was sending her.

I cocked my head to the side, admiring the thick black streaks that lined her face, like a broken clown, the tears still clinging to her trembling chin. My dick grew harder with each violent rapture of her body. Pushing from my seat, I began to slowly cross the room, not because I didn't want her to panic, but because fear makes time slow. I wanted this moment to last a lifetime for her. I wanted her heart to give out from the sheer panic that widened her eyes.

"Please... please... please... please..." was all she kept repeating. It was... odd. No prayers to God, no begging me, the executioner, for mercy. Just, please. Please, what? Please hurry up and kill me already? Do whatever it is that pleases you?

Cracking my knuckles, I stopped just before reaching her, tapping the heel of my motorcycle boot against the concrete floor. Then, when her head dipped to look at my foot, I swung, connecting the toe to the bottom of her chin and sending her sprawling backward, her head bouncing off the steel door. Blood sprayed from the split in her chin, painting my jeans like a Jackson Pollock.

I shook my head as I sank down on my haunches, flipping her burgundy hair from her face. She looked peaceful as she slept before me. Where was the fun I that?

"Wake up," I growled as I slapped her cheek, the sting biting the flesh of my palm. She stirred, mumbling incoherently before her eyes shot open, and she began to hyperventilate.

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

"B-B-B-Becka," she stammered, and I chuckled as I pulled my cigarettes from my jeans pocket, lighting one with my Zippo. Her eyes widened as she watched the cherry glow.

"B-B-B-Becka?" I teased. "I was close." Blowing out a plume of smoke in her face, she coughed, waving her hand frantically to get some fresh air. "There are a lot worse ways to go than second-hand smoke."

"Please don't hurt me. I'll do anything you want." She reached out, running her timid hand over my thigh. My, she was a brave little thing, but I wasn't interested.

"Sorry. You're not my type," I sneered, pushing to my feet as I took another drag of my smoke. Leaning back against the door, she held her palms out toward me, trying to offer herself some protection, but it wouldn't do her any good. B-B-B-Becka was going to die tonight, and I was going to enjoy her suffering.