THE PROSPECT OF PHYSICALLY dominating Serena Bell has played over and over again in my brain since I first saw that cute rump of hers resting in my territory. Serena’s always looked like the perky cheerleader type, even though Pierz didn’t have cheerleaders. Athletic women played sports. But now, ten years later, she wouldn’t be a match for a man who performed hard physical labor every day.
My heart races as I watch her car pull into the driveway. The anticipation of her resistance, and penetrating that shapely ass of hers, is so damn exhilarating. I take a couple hits out of my flask of Captain Morgan just to calm down. The adrenaline rush has already started.
Tonight, I’m fully prepared. I’ve busted the yard light. I’ve broken the locking mechanism of a window to allow my entry. I’ve got an industrial zip tie for her wrists, and a rolled washcloth to shove down her throat. I doubt anyone’s close enough to hear her screaming, but I don’t like the distraction of it. I just need an opportunity to catch her vulnerable. I’m a patient predator, so I’ll find it. It’ll be a rush, followed by the satisfaction of a dominant victory. This is the first time I’ve started an assault knowing my victim will die when it ends. Either I’m maturing as a predator, or
I’m seeing the larger picture better. I need her gone. It’s necessary to maintain my right to live as I choose—to roam freely and rule my kingdom. Serena’s a loose end, and she needs to be silenced.