Page 47 of Stone: The Precursor

Now I wish it were playing again. I could use a few more hours of shut-eye. It took me hours to dispose of the three men carrying the cargo. Hours of dragging their drugged bodies through my forest. After I chained them to each tree, I watched the moment they woke up, scanning the cameras I put on my trees. I enjoyed the confusion, the fear, and finally the anger at their predicament. The anger was my signal, and the hunt began. I killed the first one, letting the other two chained 50 feet away hear him scream while I cut his limbs, scooped out his entrails, and collected his skin. My fingers still itch from the Sodium Sulfide I used to make my prize more leathery for my art. Each dunk of his flesh in the soaking solution eased some of my rage, but not enough to prevent me from rushing throughprocessing, forgetting to take the proper precautions and put on the appropriate gloves.

I’ve been angry before. Fuck. I’m always angry, but the level of fury at what I saw in that truck trailer made my stomach twist. The conditions once Scout and I opened the back of the tractor-trailer were beyond horrifying. The smell of feces, vomit, and unwashed bodies mingled with the sharper smell of fear and hopelessness.

I look down at the angry marks covering the back of my hand. Splotches of burned skin cover almost every knuckle. My wrist is chaffed and red.

The layers of scorched flesh from my work are nowhere near the pain I inflicted on one of those bastards driving around with human cargo. I stayed up until dawn working, and I can’t wait to add him to my wall.

My last two captives are still waiting. Tomorrow it’s their turn. But before I can get back to them, I have tattoos to do. My lack of sleep doesn’t matter.

And now fucking Riggs and his music are going to make the day that much longer. It’s too fucking early in the morning for that shit. I love a good ‘fuck off’ song as much as the next man, but Jesus Christ, my ears are ringing. I must be getting old, because 20 years ago, I would have been right there with them, but now I want some peace and quiet. And some strong ass coffee.

Heading down the last step, I can hear Riggs laughing, and Onyx is grunting as usual. It’s pretty early for a client. But with Riggs coming and going from the club so much, maybe he scheduled something earlier. We really need a receptionist.

Rounding the corner, I stop short when I hear a laugh.

No.Way.There fucking way it can be.

But another full bodied laugh echoes through my shop dismissing my disbelief. I’m going to kill them because it’s herlaugh. Her sexy, giggly laugh. A laugh that for the last few months has belonged to me, and right now, my two friends are enjoying it.

The woman I walked away from weeks ago is in my shop.My fucking shop.

My control snaps, and I storm around the corner to see her. Son of a bitch. There she is, my countess, looking sleepy, mused, and sexy as hell. I can’t help but watch from the shadows as she laughs at something Riggs said. The barest hint of her nipples is beneath her tank top. Her mile-long legs are encased in a pair of cotton shorts, her hair up in a haphazard knot. Fucking white flip flops are on her feet. Pale pink toes make my cock twitch. I want them in my mouth while her shins rest on my shoulder. Exhaustion and arousal course through me.

What the fuck is she doing here, in my space, smelling like sunshine and turpentine? The combo makes my cock twitch. I can’t have her here, not when I’m this cranky, this horny, this ready to take all my anger and painful memories out on her luscious body. Stomping out, I make myself visible. She turns and catches sight of me. Her smile disappears.

I cross my arms and study her. “What are you doing here?”

She pulls back as if I shouted, and knowing me and the way I feel right now, I probably did.

“The Countess is here because we woke her up with our loud music.”

“Countess?” She frowns, looking bewildered.

Riggs looks at me and then turns back to Jace’s sister. “It’s what St?—”

“Don’t you have a client to get ready for!?” I interrupt him, hating that he called her countess when it’s my name for her. A name that I stupidly called her last week while we were at the shop, and nosy ass Riggs remembered.

He smiles and walks forward, getting close to her. “It’s a nickname. It fits. Youarevery regal. I’d say there is a man,” Riggs pauses and looks at me, grinning like the asshole he is, “who would love to worship at your feet.”

Onyx grunts, and I see a fleeting smirk on his normally taciturn face. He’s enjoying Riggs’s innuendos too, even silently. I can feel him laughing at me. I’m going to kick these two motherfuckers’ asses.

“The client, Riggs.”

“Nope.” He rocks on his heels and shoves his hands in the pockets of his faded blue jeans.

“Then go clean something,” I growl, wanting him gone.

“Can’t do that either. I have an appointment.” His smile fades, all humor gone. “There’s a rumor of another shipment, and it’s worse than the last.” Riggs’s announcement leaves me in disbelief. It’s too soon since the last one.

“How bad?” Onyx pauses, no longer cleaning the work stations.

Riggs’s face says it all, and I fucking hate it. It’s happening almost daily now.

“I’ll let you know the players as soon as I do some recon.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Camryn taking it all in. Her intelligent eyes are trying to decipher the code we use when discussing the work we do. If only she knew the fuckery we deal with, her precious, sanitized life would be turned upside down. That’s why she needs to stay away from us. From me.

Because while Riggs and Onyx do it out of guilt and grief, I do it out of gratification. My sins are committed for pleasure.