Page 23 of Stream & Scream

CHAPTER TWENTY

Jaxen

Sunday night

T rent’s body jerks once. Twice. Then stills.

I crouch over it, knife still dripping, blood pooling on the forest floor. His face is a fucking mess. His eyes are wide like he’s confused.

He fucking interrupted me.

I should feel relieved or satisfied I’ve made another kill. Another ending to a pathetic existence. Instead, I’m buzzing with frustration, teeth clenched. Because I didn’t finish. Not with him—fuck him. With her .

I didn’t finish inside her. Didn’t hear that last scream twist into begging. Didn’t watch her break and melt completely. She was wrapped around my cock like she was made for me, clinging like she never wanted me to leave, and then this idiot had to stick his face in my moment.

I rip the blade from his skull, then wipe it across his shirt and sheath it. But it doesn’t change the fact that my cock’s still hard, still aching with how fucking good she felt.

She was mine. The way her pussy squeezed around me, tight and greedy.

The way her moans choked out no matter how she tried to swallow them.

The way her eyes looked when I told her she belonged to me, defiant and wet at the same time.

She was fucking mine, and I was seconds from finishing, from spilling in her and making sure the whole goddamn world saw her as mine. And he stole it from me.

I look down at Trent’s face, still frozen in that dumb, shocked expression, and it only pisses me off more. I should’ve gutted him slower. Made it last. Made him choke on the sound of her moans in my head while I carved him apart.

I rip his wrist-cam off and strap it across my chest. Another angle. Another eye. Proof of ownership for when I catch her again. And I will. She’s out there, shaking, dripping, thighs wet, confused.

I’ll find her.

And when I do, there won’t be any more interruptions. No one gets between me and what’s mine again.

The comm crackles in my ear.

“What the fuck was that?” Milo’s voice, smug and pissed.

“You were supposed to kill her, not fuck her again,” Janice cuts in.

“This is a slasher, Jaxen, not a fucking porno,” Rory whines.

I laugh, bitter and mean, snapping Trent’s dead arm aside like it’s nothing. “Then maybe don’t cast girls who run so fucking sweet.”

“You go off-script again, we’ll pull your stream,” Milo spits.

“You hesitate again—” Rory starts.

“I don’t fucking hesitate.”

Silence. They know it’s true.

I stand, chest tight, cock still half-hard, my whole body buzzing like a live wire.

I should’ve been inside her when she screamed that last time.

Should’ve painted her cunt full of me again.

But instead, I’m walking away from a dead man, unfinished, unsatisfied and burning with an aching hunger only she can satisfy.

She thinks she escaped. Thinks she got away. Cute .

But she can’t wash me off. She can’t run far enough. And the next time I catch her, I won’t stop until she’s completely fucking ruined.

The forest is completely dark now.

I move quickly. I know she’s panicking now, and she’ll be sloppy. Feet heavy. Adrenaline bleeding her dry. Pretty little runner with no idea she’s leaving me breadcrumbs.

I can still smell her. Sex, sweat, fear—all tangled. My gloves reek of her. My cock aches every time I flex my fist.

Something shifts in the dark. My boots slow, knife loose in my palm.

Not her.

I crouch low, visor cutting the black into ghost-green. A girl slumped against a crooked tree, neck bent at a brutal angle. Emily Cho. Contestant #5.

Twenty-two. Long black hair tangled in mud, dark brown eyes already glassed over. Five-two, small frame crumpled like a doll someone tossed aside.

Dead. Not mine.

I circle her, studying the way her limbs hang.

No blood. No slice. Just broken like someone crushed her.

Scratch marks score the bark above, nails and sneaker scrapes desperate in their angles.

She tried to get higher, thought she could beat gravity.

Cameras must’ve shifted, she panicked, slipped, and fell wrong. Snapped like a stick.

I suck in an amused breath as I shake my head. “Fucking idiot.”

Her long hair snags in the bark when I grab her wrist, and I yank until it tears free. I rip the cam off her arm, crush it until it breaks, and shove the pieces into the hollow trunk behind her.

I didn’t get to kill her.

Dumb girl killed herself thinking she knew what she was doing.

She’s not worth screen time.

Only one girl matters.

Liv.

The way her wrists fought against the ties. The way her pussy clung to me like it knew me. She’s fucking mine. Whether she’s running, crying, or praying someone else finds her first.

They won’t.

I adjust myself through my jeans, cock still hard, frustration boiling with every step.

She’s the only fix for this ache, the only thing that’s ever hit me like this.

I should’ve finished—buried deep, spilled every drop where it counted, marked her in ways no one could fucking doubt.

I want the cameras on it. Every lens catching her body breaking around mine, every viewer knowing she’s already claimed.

The producers buzz again, Milo’s voice ripping through the feed. “East ridge. That’s where she’s headed. End it. No more games. No more fucking her. Put a bullet in her head and be done with it.”

Rory’s voice trembles after, and this time he sounds nervous. “Yeah, man, this is dragging. Sponsors are already?—”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snarl, loud enough to make the comm crackle.

My pulse slams hot behind the mask, blood still pumping from the fight and the ache still pounding in my cock.

“You think I need two assholes with clipboards telling me how to hunt? I’ll finish when I fucking decide, and I’ll finish how I fucking want. ”

“You’re wasting time,” Milo bites back. “You’re wasting our ?—”

“Say another word,” I warn, “and I’ll make your fucking death the only broadcast anyone remembers.

You don’t come between a predator and his prey.

You don’t tell me when to pull the trigger.

You shut the fuck up, sit your soft asses down, and let me work, or I’ll tear this whole circus apart from the inside out. ”

The line goes dead quiet.

That’s what I thought. They’ll keep watching. They’ll keep feeding on it. Because even they know the world wants me to break her again. And I will.

The trees split into a clearing, moonlight illuminating the space.

I drop to one knee, palm pressed to dirt. It’s like I can feel her.

“You’re close, baby,” I murmur, unzipping enough to grip my cock at the base. The touch makes me snarl.

I stroke, slow and punishing, remembering the way she clenched, the way she sucked me in like she never wanted to let go. My thumb smears precum across the head, my breath ragged.

“You made me fucking crazy,” I whisper. “Fucked me open like I’m the one breaking.”

The image of her bent over, sobbing for more of me, burns itself into the back of my skull.

The way her pussy gripped around the bars of my Jacob’s Ladder like it was made for me, milking me with every thrust, refusing to let me go.

I fist myself harder, rougher, chasing the echo of it, until the ache rips through me and my balls tighten and my cock jerks in my hand.

Release spills hot across the forest floor, splattering white streaks. My mark. My claim. A warning for anyone dumb enough to come near her.

But it’s still not enough. It never fucking is.

I tuck myself back in, cock still swollen, sensitive, smelling of her.

I can almost taste her slickness every time I breathe in, trapped in the metal and sweat on my gloves, clinging to me like she was carved into my skin.

I can smell her on my cock even through the mess I’ve just made, a mix of sex and salt and her . She’s etched there now. Permanent.

The hunger doesn’t ease. It grows. My fingers twitch against the hilt of my knife, teeth baring beneath my mask. I want to cut something just to bleed off the noise in my head. But I don’t. Not yet.

She doesn’t get to run much longer.

I push deeper into the forest, every step coiled in rage and want, every root and shadow bowing to me like it knows who fucking owns this ground. She needs to learn what it means to be pursued by something relentless. Something that never stops hunting.

I’m not just their slasher anymore. I’m her obsession. Her nightmare. The shadow that fucking owns her.

“Watch,” I snarl at the sky, adjusting the chest cams. “Watch what I do when I find her.”

The forest is still around me, heavy and damp as blood dries on my gloves. My cock still throbs under the gear, just as hungry as the first strike.

And I smile.

Because I already know how this ends.

She’ll be mine again.

And this time, I won’t just take her. I’ll break her down to nothing and build her back into something that only answers to me.