Page 4 of Unhinged Cain

“Yee-fucking-ha, gladly.” Abel wiggled his hips, his cock bouncing around and making me shake my head.

I hated the annoying song and yet always found myself joining in—stupid addictive thing, just like that damn purple dinosaur my parents forced us to watch as children.

I made my way out of my special workspace into the underbelly of my home and locked the door in place as the singing and grunting started.

It was the end of summer break, which meant more than normal college kids were traveling in cars on roads they had no business driving down. Parents did a crap job teaching their kids to be safe, but I wasn’t one to complain. Their crap parenting meant more prey for me.

I started my large truck and gave her dash a caressing pat. “Let’s go, Petunia. We have some piglets to catch.”

KIRBY

Pulling my long braid over my shoulder, I avoided glancing out the car windows and played with the end of my hair. I didn’t want to think about where I was heading. It was supposed to be a coveted experience to be a student of Quantico, but it was nothing more than a fancy jail to me.

The stuffy dorm was too small and smelled like old cheese and dirty socks, no matter how much air freshener I stuck on the walls. It was enough to make even the most trained stomach want to turn inside out. I had no idea what the hell people did in those rooms to make them smell that bad, and I honestly didn’t want to know.

My room was fine in that concrete-block-boring kind of way, and my roommate, although quirky, was not much better. The first twelve weeks of basic training were enough to make me want to poke my eye out with a pencil.

Well, I guess there were a few interesting parts. The criminal psychology class was fun. Serial killers fascinated me, particularly how and why they killed. Forensic science class wasn’t bad, either. They let us play with bones and insects at different stages of flesh decay, which was interesting.

I was also getting into the physical training courses the school required. Hand-to-hand combat and running were great stress relievers, but I wasn’t a gun person and preferred my paintbrushes over gun violence.

The idea of having to start another sixteen weeks felt more like wearing concrete shoes in a dark lake rather than water wings in a shallow pool like my mother seemed to think it was. I thought when I finished basic training and told her that this wasn’t the place for me, she’d let it go. Instead, she threatened to cut me off completely and not help me pay for another program. I wouldn’t even ask her to pay for another program if I had any options. However, since I’d never been allowed to work because she wanted me to focus on school, I had no extra money saved. Now I was wondering if she’d done that by design.

“Shit,” Peter said in the middle of his fiftieth time going through the same story.

How many times could one person repeat how they got to meet the owner of some corporation while golfing? We were supposed to be on a camping trip. Who goes golfing at a private golf course in the middle of a camping vacation with their girlfriend? Of course, Peter insisted he quickly go to the country club that happened to be a short drive away since his dad was a member. He said it would look good to drop in and rub elbows with all the people his dad was trying to kiss ass with and elevate his status. Pretty convenient coincidence considering he booked and planned the trip. I, of course, ended up sitting alone in a tent, waiting for him to return. Angry didn’t even begin to describe what I felt while he was high on pure jubilation.

Peter stopped rambling.

“What is it,” I asked and turned my head to look at Peter.

It was rare to see anything about him out of place, but his hair was a mess, and his shirt had wrinkles and a stain on it—god forbid. I thought he was going to combust when he realized that all the other clothes we’d brought with us were dirty, and he’d have to continue wearing a shirt with a spot of ketchup on it.

Peter held out his hand toward the dark road. “Don’t you see? One of my headlights just went out.”

“Okay, we still have one,” I said and placed my elbow on the window edge and my head on my hand.

“Kirby, this is a Mercedes Benz,” he said.

Like that was supposed to enlighten me as to why he was acting like this was a life-and-death scenario.

“I swear you never listen to me, Kirby. I’ve told you like a hundred times that a headlight can cost a fortune. It probably cracked when that stone hit us from that dump truck.”

He smacked his hand off the top of the steering wheel, making me jump in my seat.

“Now I’ll have to put it in the shop to be fixed, which you know I hate.” He sighed heavily, like the weight of the world was squarely on his shoulders. “It always comes back from that garage with a scratch on the paint, and I swear the speedometer has more miles on it. I think they take the cars for joy rides,” he continued complaining.

“Then why did you insist on bringing this thing on the camping trip? The entire trip, all I’ve heard about is how you hope it doesn’t get scratched and how a splotch of bird poop would ruin the paint and how dirt was going to get into places you couldn’t get out. And that is all before you made us sleep in it for four very uncomfortable nights since you thought you heard a bear.” I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at my boyfriend, who had effectively ruined my last week of freedom. “We don’t even have bears in this part of the country.”

He glared back at me, his jaw twitching as he clenched his teeth together. I had no idea why I thought this guy was hot. Well, that’s not true. On the surface, he was a golden-haired god of a specimen that only ran skin deep. Underneath, he was a narcissistic, arrogant prick that thought the sun shone out of his ass.

“I brought it because this vehicle is much nicer than your little shit box. I’m sorry that the luxury of a Mercedes wasn’t to your liking.”

I rubbed my eyes, unable to take the self-centered bullshit right now. I kept asking myself why I didn’t just dump good old Peter. The answer was easy. It kept my mother happy. Dating Peter was the one thing I’d done in my life that my mother approved of other than going to Quantico, and because of that, it kept her off my case.

The only issue was that I’d simply traded my mother, a pain in my side, for Peter, who’d turned into a pain in my ass. I crossed my arms and stared out the window. I didn’t want to return to my life, but I also didn’t want to stay a second longer in the woods or this car with Peter. An unsolvable challenge to be sure.

“You’re right. I’m sorry that I’m being a pill. I just wanted our time away to be special, but you didn’t seem to enjoy anything I’d set up for us to do,” Peter reached out and tugged on my arm until I uncrossed it and let him hold my hand.