Page 21 of Pose for Me

“Two, three days?”

That’s my normal schedule, but Lane will probably last much longer. Long enough for me to sink my dick back into him. Then I’ll pose him after I slit his throat.

“Maybe,” I say. “Maybe not. Just…don’t…I need some time to play with him.”

Jacob is quiet on the other end of the phone. I know he hasn’t hung up because I can hear his breathing.

Finally, he says, “Okay. But be fucking careful, Ry.”

“I will.”

“What’s so special about this one?”

“It’s the FBI agent that threatened me on the news.”

Jacob sputters. “Ry, what the fuck?”

“What?” I ask, trying to sound innocent, but failing.

“Fuck, let me make sure I can break you out of prison if shit goes south. You should really get rid of him, though. Soon. No playing. Cut his fucking head off and be done.”

A growl I don’t expect bubbles up my throat, and Jacob scoffs on the other end of the phone.

“No. Lane is fucking mine, understand? I will fucking kill anyone that tries to take him from me before I can kill him myself.”

“Lane. Nice name,” Jacob says, as if I didn’t just threaten him and anyone else that wants to test the theory. “Okay, I’ll get a contingency plan in order. Be careful, little brother.”

“Always,” I say, then hang up the phone.

Eight

Lane

I shoutuntil my throat feels raw, and still, I yell for him to come back.

The man I slept with…the man I let use my body and fuck me to within an inch of my life is a fucking serial killer.Myserial killer.

Worn out and scared, I stop shouting and plop down on the cot in the corner of the cell.

What the fuck am I going to do? How will I get out of this?

I tug at the chains that bind me, and they give, but only enough for me to get to the toilet. I pull and yank and hang on them, but they’re unbreakable. I look at where they’re bolted to the wall right outside the cell. I stick my hand through the bars and try to at least grasp the base, but my fingertips are just out of reach.

“Fuck!” I curse and pull my hand back, lowering my head so I can think.

I check my pockets to see if my switchblade is still there, but despite me rooting around aggressively, I know it isn’t. Even before I wound up locked in this cell, they were empty.

“Didn’t even give me my shoes,” I murmur to myself, looking at my bare feet.

I sit on the bed and put my head in my hands. There’s no way to get out of this. I’ll die here, a victim of a sadistic serial killer. In the meantime, I’ll give The Poser hell.

The Poser.I scoff, though fear lances through me. Is his name really Ryell, or is that another lie he told me?

Pieces of last night that seemed off start to come together. Why I thought his eyes looked weird—contacts. Why he wouldn’t let me touch the hair at the nape of his neck—a wig. Why that dangerous glint entered his eyes—he’s a fucking serial killer and knew he was fucking the FBI agent that wants to lock him away for the rest of his life.

My heart thuds violently in my chest, and no matter how hard I try to calm myself, I can’t. My breathing becomes quick and erratic, my hearing going fuzzy. Sweat dots my brows, and a hot flush blooms over my body. My hands start to shake, and my lips tremble.

“Oh fuck,” I mutter softly. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. I’m going to die. Oh fuck.”