Bryan Smith - The Killing Kind

He thought about Emily.

That killer figure.

Those long, long legs…

He went back into his room and retrieved his keys from the nightstand. Zoe was still locked away in the bathroom. If she’d been waiting for him in bed, his ultimate decision might have been different. He loved Zoe. He wanted to fix things between them. But he knew it wasn’t happening.

So he went downstairs.

Emily was leaning against the van. She looked up and smiled as he approached. “When you’re inside me, think about how much it’d hurt Zoe to know about this.”

Chuck grabbed her and kissed her. She hooked a leg around him and they writhed against the van for several moments. She felt so good. So alive. So hot. He whimpered as she reached into his jeans and seized his erection. At last they broke the embrace and Chuck fumbled with the keys. The electronic lock beeped and he threw the side door open. Emily climbed into the van’s dark interior and shoved the seat back to make room. Chuck followed her inside. Emily was already tugging his pants down as he slid the door shut. He peeled his shirt off and fell atop her. The clingy black dress came off after she rolled him over and straddled him. She wasn’t wearing panties. Of course not.

Then he was inside her and groaning.

And he did what she said.

He thought of Zoe.

The experience was agony and ecstasy intermingled and overlapping, and it ended with Chuck crying as Emily held him and laughed softly.

March 22

They stopped for the night shortly after crossing the state line into North Carolina. Rob was pretty sick of driving by then, but the relief he felt at the prospect of being off the road was tempered by a deep anxiety over what she had in mind for him now that this leg of the journey was done. He had watched her kill five people. He had no illusions. He was nothing to her. Just one more corpse-in-waiting. Roxie was remorseless and ruthless. A monster hiding in a pretty girl’s skin.

After leaving the interstate, they stopped at an ATM first to drain some money from Rob’s checking account. Roxie pocketed the thick wad of twenties and directed Rob to a motel a mile down the road from the ATM.

They pulled up at the curb outside the lobby. The Weaver Inn was a dump. Rob didn’t need to see inside the rooms to know that. The poorly tended grounds were evidence enough, as was the building’s grubby exterior. The nearly empty parking lot was another strong indicator. The place was seedy.

Roxie took the key from the ignition. “Sit tight and keep your mouth shut. I’ll have an eye on you the whole time. Anybody tries to talk to you, you don’t respond. Let them think you’re a rude asshole. You listening to me, Robin?”

That again.

The bratty little insult. The intent was to emasculate him. That was a joke. Hadn’t she already thoroughly unmanned him? Now she was just being a bitch and rubbing it in. He felt a little flare of anger, but it fizzled quickly. He was no match for her on any level. Taking the bait would only get him in a world of hurt.

He forced a nod. “I’m listening.”

“Good. Hey, Robin?”

“Yeah?”

“Fucking up isn’t an option. Draw attention to yourself, try anything dumb, and I start killing every motherfucker in sight. And that definitely includes you. Okay?”

What else could he say? He shrugged. “Okay.”

Roxie got out of the Galaxie and kicked the door shut. The male desk clerk’s gaze was riveted to her from the moment she stepped out of the car. He was a young guy. Barely more than a teenager. Like Roxie. His mouth hung open as he watched her push one of the glass lobby doors open and strut right up to the desk. Even though she’d traded her goth goddess outfit for more subdued garb, she was still sexy as hell. But it was a dangerous kind of sexy. The swivel of her hips in those tight jeans. The way the equally tight, low-scooped T-shirt emphasized her jutting breasts. It was a lethal package, the kind that renders most guys instantly helpless, rendering them vulnerable to just about any level of temptation. The kind that made happily married men break wedding vows without a second thought. The kind that would make some men willing to die for her. Or even kill for her.

But not me, Rob thought. I’m a more or less normal guy caught up in something I can’t control. I’m many things, but I am not a killer. There’s a limit to what I’ll endure or do for this girl.

Roxie leaned precariously over the desk, presenting her breasts in a way that ensured the clerk’s attention was on nothing else. She laughed at something he said and her breasts jiggled. The poor desk clerk looked like he might faint. The kid wiped sweat from his brow and gave Roxie something to sign. Roxie signed and peeled some twenties from the wad of Rob’s money. The kid took the money but didn’t bother to count it-he was too entranced by the sight of Roxie’s round behind as she strutted back out of the lobby.

“You made that kid’s day with your sex-kitten routine,” Rob said when she was back in the car.

Roxie pulled the door shut. “I know. We’re in room one nineteen, down at the end.”

She put the key in the ignition and gave it a twist. The engine came vibrantly to life, filling the lonely patch of rural night with its throaty roar. Rob put the car in gear and drove down to the far end of the lot, pulling into a space directly in front of room 119. Roxie took the key from the ignition again and dropped it in her bag. She then dug another key out of a pocket and unlocked the handcuffs. The handcuffs also went in the bag. Rob groaned and rubbed his aching right wrist.

Roxie smiled. “Oh…was that too tight? Did I hurt you, Robin?”

Rob didn’t say anything. He stopped rubbing his wrist and stared at the door to 119. They’d be inside the room within moments. He took a look around, checking out the withered shrubs lining the sidewalk, the sliver of moon visible in the clear night sky above him, and the wavy outlines of dark trees in the distance. It was possible these things constituted his last glimpse of the natural world. The motel room’s interior could well be the last thing he ever saw. Not a terribly inspiring possible final vision. He didn’t want to get out of the car.

Roxie said, “Get out of the car. Now.”

His hand went to the door handle ahead of any conscious thought. Then he thought of something. “Oh, wait.”

He pushed a button inset in the dash just below the steering wheel, triggering a grinding, ratcheting sound that made Roxie gasp in surprise. But she relaxed when she saw the car’s top unfold from the back and stretch out above them. The top thunked down. Rob pulled it into place and secured the corner on his side with a latch. They got out of the car after Roxie fastened the latch on her side.

Rob took one last wistful look around and followed Roxie across the sidewalk. She unlocked the door to room 119 with an old-fashioned metal key, the Weaver Inn apparently being too poor to invest in electronic-card lock technology. Rob followed her into a cramped space furnished with a single queen-size bed, a recliner, a small table, and two rickety chairs.

Roxie closed and locked the door. She set her bag on the table and looked at Rob. “Get on the bed. Lie flat on your back.”

Rob’s breathing quickened. “Wh-what…? I don’t-”

She came at him fast, too fast to react, slamming a fist into his solar plexus. It was a devastatingly hard blow, her strength and fury stunning him again. In the instant before he toppled backward, he saw her eyes and got a look at that same wild expression he’d glimpsed as she’d bludgeoned that guy to death in the gas station bathroom.

This is it. I’m about to die.