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Hudson

My softened dick slid out of the boy’s wrecked hole. I briefly admired the stripes of reddened skin across his buttocks. I wasn’t allowed to break skin in this club; there were rules. Typically, rules didn’t apply to me or my twin, Hayes. Unfortunately, the owner of this sex club had made it clear that he had no problem calling the cops if we broke any house rules.

“Wow, that was amazing, babe,” the slim man beneath me purred. Babe? Clearly, he was new around here. It was public knowledge that neither Hayes nor I ever went further than one-night stands. I took in the man’s appearance; he wasn’t unattractive in the least. He was slim but lightly muscled, his deep ebony skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he were a dancer or model somewhere. He was indeed beautiful, and his hole had been warm and snug, but nothing about him called to me. That wasn’t a slight against him; it was just who I was. If he were looking for a partner, he’d have no issue securing one; it just wouldn’t be me.

“Yeah, it was good, thanks,” I grunted, sliding off the bed to find my clothing.

“When can we do it again, big guy?” He stretched his long limbs, reminding me of a cat.

“Sorry, I don’t do seconds.” I watched as his face dropped, head reeling back. He quickly got off the bed and began to dress. He looked… mad? Upset? Something like that. Not sure what he was expecting from a quick fuck at a sex club, but he wouldn’t be getting it from me. Again, nothing was wrong with the guy. I’m sure there were many guys who would be happy to keep his hole filled on a regular basis.

“You could’ve said something before, you know?” But why? He seemed even more frustrated with my lack of response and left the private room, slamming the heavy door behind him. I finished dressing, pulling out my phone from my pants’ pocket. Sending a quick text, I let my brother know that I’d finished. Within seconds, he responded similarly.

I opened the door, walking out into the club’s dark hallway, lit only with red lights. Looking around, I located Hayes leaning against one of the high-backed couches furnishing the large lounge area. Sensing my gaze, he lazily looked up from his phone and nodded his head in the direction of the club’s exit.

Once outside, I breathed in the cold January air, walking alongside my twin towards our car. I slid into the passenger seat as he blasted the heat. My brother had always been more sensitive towards the cold than I was.

Pulling off from the curb, he blankly asked, “Good fuck?” I snorted. When I glanced over to him, he had a small smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, it was fine. Guy didn’t let me do anything other than flog him, though. What about yours?”

Hayes nodded, eyes on the road ahead. “Mine was too loose and said no to any pain play altogether. Then he had the gall to ask me to be his sugar daddy,” he divulged.

“That’s a new one,” I snarked, a grin on my face. “I don’t know why we keep returning to that club, though. They won’t even allow us to be in the same private room. There are too many boring, vanilla-ass rules. Can’t we just pick up someone off the street to use? Give ‘em some cash and dump them back afterwards–safe and sound.” I let my mind wander and imagined really playing with someone the way we craved; the way we needed.

Hayes groaned, “You know Grey would be a bitch about it though.” He was right, unfortunately. Our older brother kept a close eye on us.

Greyson was several years older than us and very protective; he had been since childhood.

Our parents were not the best with childcare, to say the least. According to Grey, they had been attentive, loving—all the things parents should be—with him before our births. But only months before we were born, they had joined a religious sect that quickly consumed their lives. They suddenly went from being non-denominational Christians to believing that the end days were nearing and that Earth would soon become overrun by demons sent to lure the people to their deaths.

Real fun stuff.

Anyways, as twin births typically were, the experience was traumatic and nothing like our older brother’s. Strike one against us. Strike two was probably catching us purposefully harming each other several times, neither of us upset. Strike three was most likely when we poured our mother’s perfume into her exotic fish tank. We just wanted to see what would happen.

Throughout the years, we were punished for our misbehavior. The severity of the punishments escalated as we grew older. I believe we drove our mother to the point of insanity. No matter what she did or how hard she hit us, we just wouldn’t behave to her liking.

Of course, our parents regularly sought counsel with their church’s leader. The leader decreed that we were the first demons sent by Lucifer to begin the apocalypse. And of course, since we were twins, he decided that all multiples–that being twins, triplets, quadruplets–born after us were also demons.

When our mother found us sitting in front of her precious fish tank–the fish dead–she grabbed us by our necks and dragged us to the master bathroom. Sitting on the cool tile floor as Mother filled the bathtub, we sang a nursery rhyme that Grey had taught us the week before: London Bridge.

I continued to hum it even under the water.

I kept my eyes open, staring into Hayes’s as the life drained out of him. He did the same.

When I woke up, my small body was sprawled across the floor, my twin beside me. An eleven-year-old Greyson hovered above us. I didn’t know it then, but he was on the phone with emergency services. Before my eyes shuttered from exhaustion, I saw our mother’s feet—horizontal on the floor—poking out from the other side of the bathroom door.

Later on, Hayes and I would be told that Father was the one who attempted to drown us. The social worker explained that our dad had shot and killed Mother, drowned us, then turned the gun on himself. The police could never figure out why he had spared Grey. It wasn’t like preteen boys often committed parricide. Still, how had an eleven-year-old successfully framed his father for his mother’s murder and the attempted murder of his baby brothers?

Long story short, the three of us inherited a fortune that set us up for life. Our father had a brother we’d never met—Uncle Wes—with whom social services placed us.

Within just a few measly hours, the courses of our lives had been altered drastically. Considering that the course we had been on was one where my twin and I were murdered by our mother, practically anything else gave us a better chance at life.

Uncle Wes acted as our mother, father, teacher, and trainer all in one. At the time, he was the head of a small organization specializing in murder-for-hire. The group was made up of three mercenaries, each specializing in different types of killing and torturing, two tech guys, and Wesley Cohen. Over the years, several more hands joined the team, but it never got to be over twelve people in total. Our uncle didn’t want an empire. From what I gathered over time, Uncle Wes had started his group as a way to seek revenge upon someone who’d wronged him. Even now, I wasn’t aware of the details, but I knew that he only selected jobs when he believed the target deserved to die.

Our uncle wasn’t like us; Wes was a deeply emotional man. Somehow, he still managed to raise my brothers and me. He had rules; we had to wait until we were fifteen to start learning more about his business. Thanks to him, all three of us eventually became expertly trained killers.

Greyson had eventually stepped out of the killer-for-hire role to go off to university. He studied psychology during the day and learned the “administrative” side of Uncle’s business at night. Now, he acted more as our keeper. Yeah, yeah, he was still heavily involved with Wes’ operation, but Greyson begrudgingly spent most of his time keeping a tight leash on Hayes and me.

It was a little funny that when we were kids, he was watching us to ensure we didn’t get hurt, but now he had to make sure that we didn’t hurt others, outside of our contracts, of course.

I was pulled out of my reminiscing by Hayes’s voice. “It’s still pretty early. Want to check with Uncle to see if we can snag a job for the night?”

I shrugged. “It’d be pretty late notice, but yeah, I’m down if he has anything.” Hayes gave me a short nod before pulling out one of our burner phones. The call was picked up within three rings.

“Calling on a Saturday night? That’s rare. You got a dead body for me?” Our uncle’s deep voice echoed from the phone’s speaker.

I responded, “No body as of yet. Hoping we could change that?” Throaty chuckles came through the line.

“Well, I got a quick and easy one, but the others require more surveillance before we can send anybody out for elimination. If you’re interested, I can forward you the file.” Hayes and I gave each other a quick look for confirmation.

“What’s the easy one?” Hayes asked.

“Target’s name is Albert Hughes. He’s forty-seven. Low profile. His ex-wife wants him gone as he’s threatening to take her assets. She has full custody of their three children. If Mr. Hughes wins, it’ll put her in a real tight spot. No torture requested. No interrogation. I would normally give a contract like this to Sahar or Morgan, but if you want it, it’s yours,” Wes leveled.

“That’s so boring, though,” I groaned, earning a cynical look from my brother.

“We’ll take it. Send the details through. Thanks, Uncle Wes,” Hayes declared, sending a smirk in my direction. Ugh.

“Will do. Try to have fun, I guess,” Wes quipped, ending the call. I let out a dramatic sigh, resulting in Hayes rolling his eyes at me before opening the car door and stepping out onto our driveway. I followed suit, leaving the car and entering our shared house to throw myself onto the living room couch.

Greyson had thought it was ridiculous for Hayes and me to buy a house together; I still disagreed, even after living in close quarters with my twin for six years. It felt natural for us to live together.

There was a rhythm to it now, this life that we shared. We knew each other better than anyone ever would.

Ever since we were born, we had been attached at the hip, able to communicate with each other without words, screaming if our parents tried to separate us. We lost our virginity together—not together-together; we had no interest in each other like that. But, more often than not, we shared sexual partners.

We also liked to share our prey.

* * *

Albert was just as boring as I thought. He fit every cliche of a recently divorced man. We found him at a gentleman’s club, drowning in bottom-shelf alcohol and the girls’ perfume. We didn’t have to wait long at all until he was cut off and escorted outside for being absolutely trashed.

Hayes and I flipped a coin. Heads.

I dejectedly said, “All yours, brother.” Hayes grinned sadistically and patted my shoulder.

“Sucks to be you.”

“Fucker.”

We watched as a very wobbly Albert stumbled to the left of the club, taking a shortcut through a small alley to reach the parking lot. Oh, Albert. I shook my head in pity.

I had to hold back a laugh as he lost his balance and fell, landing on his ass next to the club’s dumpster.

Equally enjoyable as the kill was the lead-up–the stalking. Shooting a plastered middle-aged man in a dark alley didn’t get me going, but I had to adjust myself in my pants as a fantasy of chasing down, claiming, and owning my prey unbiddingly flitted through my mind. Hayes narrowed his eyes as he caught the movement.

“I haven’t known you to like them this old and ugly, but by all means, he’s yours if you need a fuck,” he quietly surmised, eyebrows drawn in confusion.

“Fuck, no, Hayes. No. I was thinking of something else,” I recoiled. Our squabble caught the attention of said old and ugly man, his head lifting to take us in with bleary eyes. He continued sitting on the filthy ground, unconcerned with our presence. We’d never be so careless when on a job, but it wasn’t necessary this time. What was Albert going to do? Barf on our shoes?

Albert smacked his lips and slurred, “I ain’t…do guys. You…you…gotta…go to the gay o-one for that shit…” It took us both a second to decipher his words.

Hayes snapped his fingers. “I think he thinks we just propositioned him,” he chortled. “You wanna pick up takeout on the way home?” As he asked me about a potential late-night snack, Hayes lifted his gun and fired a single shot into Albert’s head.

I replied, “Put in an order for that Chinese place on 47th. I’ll let Uncle know that it’s done.” I raised my phone, snapped a picture of Albert’s crumpled body, and sent it. Uncle Wes’ reply was a thumbs up.

“Are we all good?” Hayes asked over his shoulder, already walking back towards the car we’d parked a few blocks away.

“Yep, all good. I know we asked for this one, but hopefully we get something more fun next time. I need a good torture sesh,” I half-joked.

We didn’t have to worry about clean-up. Carson, Tex, and Phil handled that. Uncle Wes would alert them of the body and location, and then they’d do their thing.

I liked to think of them as necrophagous insects–bugs that feed on carrion.

I preferred our role better.

Hunters.