Chapter 18: Skyler - Pack of Mine

It takes a lot more to hurt the fucking devil, Octavia.

All she did was make me want to see her less, give her less, and make her crave me more. I give it another week before she’s crawling desperately on her knees, begging me to fuck her.

Two can play at this game, and she won’t win.

I shut off the TV and walk through the hallway to my room, fantasizing about all the things I’ll force her to do to make it up to me. There’s a debt now, Octavia.

My cock bulges in my dark jeans and I tuck it into my waistband frustratedly, not wanting to deal with that right now.

Tonight is a beautiful, clear night, the full moon really coming out to shine. When I open the door to my bedroom, shadows of the tree branches next to my window play on the dark floor like kids at a playground. I can still hear a fire crackling in the common area as I climb into my soft sheets, ready to turn in for the day.

I spark up a cigarette and lie down, eyes locked on the paint on my ceiling. The smoke flies out of my lungs and around the room, waltzing alongside the demons that follow me every day. I take another drag and my mind wanders.

She called him Daddy, and she did it on purpose because she thought it would hurt. Jealousy is a bitch of an emotion to try to manipulate, but I’ll give it some effort nevertheless.

Attempting to turn my pain into pleasure, I grip my throbbing crotch again over my jeans, debating if I really want to dedicate an ounce of my cum to that bitch right now.

I stick the cigarette in my teeth as my hands pull my aching dick out of the button and zipper, starting to motion up and down in slow strokes. My eyes close and I picture her calling me Daddy, her cumming on my dick, and moaning my name.

I stroke with mind-altering intent, trying to rewire my brain, but inevitably, boredom takes over. Do you know what men with no soul like me do when they’re bored?

Fuck someone.

And since my little sex toy downstairs pissed me off, I decide to go out instead. Can I really be considered a cheater if I never asked her to be mine to deal with in the first place?

No, the answer is no.

It’s not hard for an attractive guy like me to get pussy in one night. The tattoos, the muscles, the dark hair and eyes – they always seal the deal.

I sigh deeply, take another hit of my square and tuck myself back into my jeans. An inkling of reluctance creeps up my neck, but I push it down before throwing on a pair of combat boots and heading towards the garage.

My red Mustang shimmers under the fluorescent lighting, practically begging me to take it for a drive. If my appearance failed, which it never has, most girls fall for the classic car. I barely even have to get out of it before their panties are slick with sexual interest.

I twist the key in and start her up, speeding down the creepy road to downtown. It’s a Friday night – it won’t be challenging to find a hot babe looking to get railed by an asshole like me.

* * *

As I approach the city, I see countless women in their tiny black dresses, six-inch high heels and caked-on makeup flaunting around in the streets. They laugh at their girlfriends’ crappy jokes and stumble on the sidewalk drunkenly.

Easy prey.

I rev my engine, pull past a group of girls in short skanky outfits and stick my tattooed arm out the window.

“Having all that fun without me?”

They all giggle and glance at each other, then a blonde one with bouncy curls, lip filler and oversized tits approaches my car door. Not really my type, but it’ll do.

“Well, hi handsome, I’m a biggg fan of classic cars.” Her voice is slurred and flirty.

Told ya. It works every time.

“Come inside and feel the leather, it was made for your perky ass to sit in it.”

I rub my hand on the passenger seat next to me so my veins pop out. Women love that.

She enjoys my humor and struts around the front, her heels clicking on the asphalt on her way. I can tell she’s drunk by the way her ankles work overtime to keep her upright. Her petite hands open the passenger door and the leather squeaks as she plops into the seat.

She smells of cheap Victoria’s Secret perfume and tequila – I have to force my nose not to crinkle with disgust. Tequila is fine, it reminds me of Octavia the night that we met, but the perfume makes her smell like a hooker and not the good kind. Is there a good kind of hooker?

We meet eyes and I shoot her an interested glance – a bit of that evil grin and hooded, dark eyes. She giggles and burps.

“Ready?”

I wrap my hands around the steering wheel, flexing my biceps.

It’s not hard, honestly. I don’t know why men struggle so much with picking up chicks. Just go to the gym, wear well-fitting clothes and treat them like objects. If you look like a dick, you gotta act like one, too.

“Always.” She shows me her pearly whites.

I slam my foot on the gas, the pedal touching the floor and a squeal that matches the sound of the tires burning escapes her mouth as we fly down the street. Bystanders yell at us for being noisy, but we both don’t give them any time of day. Her big boobs jostle around with every bump we go over and she boasts a big smile with her fake lips.

They’d look good wrapped around my cock.

We drive around for a little while, watching the nightlife blossom and drunk people stumble around just like she was. She shoots a flirtatious look over to me every few minutes, admiring my arms and chest.

I can smell the desire steaming off of her. I wish it was more like Octavia’s, but I swiftly push those distracting thoughts out of my skull.

Tonight is not about her.

After I’ve got the bimbo right where I want her, I pull over to the side of the road away from all the commotion and place my hand on her bare thigh. Her blue eyes fill with lust and she grabs my wrist, guiding my fingers under her short dress.

“I’m a bad girl who likes bad boys,” she says in that sultry voice again and smirks at me. She has no panties on. What a whore.

I’m not a fan of her idea of flirting, which is just throwing herself at me relentlessly, but it’s getting the job done and that’s all that matters tonight.

I grab her long blonde hair and yank her body over the center console, forcing her head inches from my crotch.

“Then show me how much of a bad girl you are.”

She eagerly unbuttons my jeans, whips my pulsating cock out and immediately takes me in her wet mouth. She moans playfully while enveloping me in her juicy lips.

“That’s a good fucking slut.”

I wrap my hands around the headrest and lean back to relax, closing my eyes and letting her do all the work to get me going.

Look, I’m a monster who may have crawled out of my cave with specific intentions, but she’s the restless whore who put my fingers up her slutty dress. I’m just giving her what she wanted – to be an object for the night.

She bobs her head up and down and makes those fake pornstar gag noises and moans. The sounds she makes turn me off and I roll my eyes, shoving her head further onto my length so she shuts the hell up.

Initially, she hesitates at the aggression, but after a few hip thrusts in her throat, she relaxes and obliges.

Be a good pet for me, will you now?

“Choke on my cock, you dumb fucking whore.”

I think I may have struck a nerve when she slips her mouth off of me, but she looks up with watery blue eyes full of desire. Her big fake lips are swollen and covered in her slobber.

Ugh, I’m getting bored again.

“Fuck me like a dumb whore, then.” She slides her dress up to her waist.

Fine.

I grab her petite body from the passenger seat and place it onto my lap, her back to the steering wheel and her voluptuous tits in my face. My hand wraps around her throat and my death-grip rips her weight into me. I force my tongue into her mouth as she chokes.

Fuck, this is better.

Make your next read a love story.

Search Lokepub on Google for romance novels.

She kisses me back while I suck in her small breaths. She grinds her folds on the top of my shaft and her high-pitched moans fill the car. I need to be inside her, ripping her apart.

I need to take my anger out on her.

My right hand grips her pulse harder and my left hand slips my girth inside, her pussy soaked and clenching for me already.

I growl and my fangs pull down. Truthfully, I should be holding them back, but I can just pretend they’re a Halloween costume or something if she asks.

“Fuck, you’re a perfect pet for me to ruin tonight.”

I slam her small frame onto me over and over, using her like a personal fucking fleshlight. The sounds of her juices splashing on my thighs fill my already sensitive ears.

Her moans grow weaker, but her pussy tightens like a fist and her body shakes at my ruthless thrusts.

“Yes, Daddy,” she wheezes out.

No, don’t say that right now.

The cursed memory of Octavia calling my older brother that name crashes through my brain and nervous system. I feel hatred down to my bones.

I hear her moaning, bouncing up and down on Valentine’s cock, staring right at the camera. I see her passionately kissing him and pulling him closer.

My fingers dig deeper into the stranger’s skin, bouncing on me as I think too much.

She fucked him like that on purpose. She fucked him with fake enthusiasm and she knew I was watching, taunting me and teasing me.

The bimbo claws at my arm around her throat, gasping for air. Her lips turn blue and her eyes bloodshot. Who cares?

I need to forget Octavia.

I need to forget the way I feel for her.

I need to not feel anything at all.

I thrust into her harder, bashing her body up and down on me with all my might. My head shakes and my eyes clench shut as I try to fuck the image of Octavia out of my mind.

Just a little harder, just a little faster. I know it’ll distract me the way I need it to.

Her body thrashes around, her nails draw blood from my forearm and I squeeze uncontrollably as I feel my release coming. The pain fuels my orgasm with gasoline and I’m so close, I’m so close to forgetting her.

Fuck you, Octavia. FUCK YOU.

I pump one final time into her, my eyes sink back into my skull and my fangs come down further, my juices filling her like a donut and pouring out the sides.

It almost worked, but as soon as I came, I remembered everything again. Octavia’s voice echoes through my mind and I shut my eyes, trying to wash the image off the back of my eyelids.

I can’t ignore her, no matter how hard I try. Her existence has its teeth sunk in deep into me and no matter what I do or attempt to do, I can’t stop running back to her. I’m a rat stuck in a maze, and all points lead to Octavia.

It almost feels… No, I can’t say that. I don’t believe in fate.

If fate was real, was my mother fated to almost die to the abuse of my father? Was Valentine fated to be a wolf by himself for twenty fucking years? Was I fated to meet this woman that I can’t fucking stand right now, yet I feel myself falling harder for her every day?

Fuck fate. I’ll make fate my bitch, how about that?

My hand releases from the stranger’s neck and her body goes limp on top of me. She’s small, but her full dead weight on my chest feels like a grown man. I shake her, slap her across the face and try to wake her up, but she doesn’t move an inch.

Her chest stops moving up and down, her eyes, mouth and nose bleed, her throat shining with a black and purple handprint that fits mine perfectly. I listen closely for the sound of any life, but it’s dead silent in the car.

Shit.

* * *

I arrive at the house, with the bimbo and her big tits bouncing around in my trunk.

Valentine and Tristan may have never killed a woman, but this isn’t my first time. I’ve never done it on purpose – it’s always been an accident. It’s just that sometimes my desires take over and I go too far.

I have a small graveyard of mistakes, this one counts as number eight.

When I first started really giving in to my appetite right after my father died, I didn’t know how to be gentle. I guess I still don’t. Women are toys that break easily. Easier than you think.

After I was cursed, it got worse before it got better. When I get excited, really fucking excited, I lose control and I forget that they fall apart like the dolls’ heads I used to rip off.

I need a girl who doesn’t want me to be gentle…

I need a girl that doesn’t break.

I need the girl in my basement.

I need her.

FUCKING SHUT UP!

Jesus, I can’t fight the grip she has on me anymore. It’s so over for me.

When I get home, I’m giving in. I’m throwing all my cards on the table. I fucking fold.

“You win, asshole.” I curse at God, Satan, whoever’s listening as I sit in the car. “What’s the point in fighting it anymore?”

I give up, Octavia. I’m yours. So be it. Now you’ll have to deal with my shitty attitude for the rest of time. Tie my soul to yours or whatever, I don’t care – it’s easier than burying another body.

A large sigh seeps out of my lungs. This place has been abandoned for quite some time. No one wants to buy a home where someone was murdered. My mother moved away just after I killed her lover and then our shitty house just rotted over the years, taking any warmth left in my heart with it.

I don’t bury bodies at the mansion in the woods, I bury them here, where my sins first began. It feels right to keep them together, I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s my way of showing that I care or something.

Occasionally I come back here just to feel something, to sulk in the memories of being a naive kid.

I never knew what I was getting into, did I?

I snatch the girl’s body from my trunk and toss her on the ground next to the other graves. She rolls around lifelessly in the dirt and I kick my foot out to stop her from running away, metaphorically speaking. My hands wrap around the shovel I left here from last time and I start digging a new six-foot hole.

Could probably do five feet for this one, actually.

The dirt is soft and easy to manipulate, but I’m running out of time. I’ve already been out much later than I planned and I have to get this done before everyone wakes up, or they’ll ask me where I’ve been.

My body aches and every muscle burns as the sun starts to rise. I rush to finish burying her, arguing with some holy spirit the whole time under my breath, but I get it done in under an hour.

The fresh soil stares back at me and I toss the shovel to the side, panting and squinting back at it. I hear the voices of the last girls I killed frolicking around in the trees, taunting me. Their souls are stuck here alongside mine that was sold to the devil the day I was born.

“The fuck you looking at?” I spit on the grave and get back in my car.

I need to get home and rest. Bad guys need sleep too.