Love me to death

It was all bullshit.

Brad would simply speed up the inevitable. He’d paid a hooker the day after he got out of prison, but he wasn’t doing that again. He’d been counting on Tanya to show, and he would have his turn with her soon. She’d regret standing him up.

He’d had a lot of experience slipping drugs into his dates’ drinks. It had become harder as some bartenders watched with eagle eyes, but in a bar this crowded he could manage, no problem.

She said something, and he pretended he couldn’t hear over the noise. She leaned closer. “Are you at GWU, too?”

He shook his head. “American U.”

“Grad school?”

He should be in grad school by now. All because of those lying bitches, he’d had two years of his life stolen. He lied and said, “Law school.”

She was impressed. “Wow. I’m only third year. Still don’t know what I want to do, but there are a lot of options in D.C. with a public admin degree, don’t you think?”

While she was talking, he brought his own drink to his lips, sipped, then as he brought it down he used a finger to squeeze the teeny vial of Liquid X that he’d pressed against the side of his glass. Several drops fell into her margarita, which she held at chest level. Even if she was watching his hand, she wouldn’t have been able to see anything. If she saw the drops hit her drink, she might assume it was condensation from his glass.

“You have plenty of time,” he said. “You should have fun. It’s college.”

She smiled and took a long swallow of margarita. “You’re absolutely right.”

“Do you want to go outside?”

“It’s freezing.”

“They have heaters on the back patio. It’s hot in here.”

“Sure,” she said and smiled brightly, sipping her drink.

“Want another?” Brad asked.

“I’m good-I don’t want to get too drunk!” she giggled.

Too late for that.

Brad led her out back, his hand rubbing her shoulder.

It was fucking cold outside, but the snow had stopped and the heat lamps took the chill off. Ashley slipped on her coat, however, and said, “Are you sure you’re not cold?”

“Naw,” he lied. He wasn’t planning on staying here long.

There were a few other people outside, but not many-mostly people coming out for a quick smoke before heading right back in. Brad watched the blonde finish her drink, hiding his smile. She staggered a bit, and he put his arm around her waist.

“Whoopsie,” she said and giggled.

He kissed her hard on the lips, and she froze. He didn’t let her first reaction stop him, because he knew women. They always played these fucking games. He reached up her shirt and squeezed her breast-dear God, it felt incredible. He wanted her, he wanted her now, but he’d get her back to his apartment. Or at least to his car. No, dammit, he had the Porsche tonight. She could give him a blow job, then he’d take her home for a good fuck.

His cock was already hard, but at the thought of her mouth on him he groaned and pressed his body firmly against Ashley’s so she’d know exactly what he had in mind. She could say no, right now, and he’d walk. He smirked as he bit her lip. She wouldn’t say no. He could practically feel the drugs coursing through her body. She was hot, she’d do anything. He was ready for anything.

“Let’s go,” he said.

She hesitated. “I don’t know-it’s so fast-”

“Come on. Just a blow job. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”

She didn’t say anything, her face confused, and he took her hand and led her out the back gate of the club into the alley. He’d parked half a block from the rear exit, and in five minutes her tongue would be doing anything he wanted …

“Ashley!”

Brad hesitated, then kept walking. He didn’t want to get into a confrontation, but dammit, he wasn’t letting the bitch just go back to her boyfriend when she was all primed to be fucked.

“Ashley, dammit!”

“My boyfriend,” she said, slurring her words.

Fuck fuck fuck.

He stopped and turned around.

The prick who’d walked out on the blonde nearly an hour ago didn’t take his eyes off him, but said, “Ashley? What’s going on?”

“Go away,” she said.

Brad quickly assessed the boyfriend as harmless. He said, “You left; she wants to come with me.”

“Not anymore, buddy,” the prick said.

Brad’s jaw tightened, and he said to Ashley, “You want to go with him?”

“No.”

“I don’t want trouble,” Brad told the guy, “but the princess doesn’t want to go with you.”

“Ashley,” the guy said, his voice stern, “you come with me right now or I’ll tell your dad about your fake ID.”

“Excuse me?” Brad said.

“She’s seventeen.”

“No way.” He dropped his arm from around the girl and stared at her. No way she was seventeen. But … he wasn’t certain. He didn’t care how old she was-she was definitely old enough to screw-but now the situation was fucked. Her boyfriend could identify him.

“Ashley?” he questioned.

She pouted, but didn’t say anything.

Brad wanted to strangle her. “You can have her.” He pushed the bitch toward her boyfriend. “Fucking tease.”

“Jerk,” Ashley said, but Brad didn’t know if she was talking to him or her boyfriend, and he didn’t care. He wanted a warm body to screw, to do exactly what he told her to do, and he was going to have to find a hooker, because no way he was going to jerk off.

He barely heard Ashley arguing with her boyfriend as he walked down the alley toward his car. Damn fucking jailbait tease.

SEVEN

I am the teacher. The master. The keeper of truth, justice, and the American way.

Silently, my laugh cuts into the night as I wait, watching the dark house. Superman? Yes, I am a superhero. I do what no man has the balls to do.

I educate females, as much as the stupid, vacuous, weak creatures can be taught.

Females disgust me.

Foul, pathetic things, they lie as easily as they breathe. Their hair is rarely the shade God intended. The false colors embellishing their faces are a physical testament to their continuing lies. The jewelry on their necks, in their ears, on their fingers-diamonds and sapphires and gold-catches the light and shines, but none of those baubles can compare to the simple unadorned beauty of a perfect gem.

The mask that females wear is a lie. When they look in the mirror, they lie, even to themselves. When they look at me, they lie. With their eyes, their mouth, their hands.

They lie with their bodies. They lie with their words, their fingers, their thoughts. Women think