The Murdered World 10 (Patreon)

Lucy laid down backward upon the chaise lounge on the deck of Frank’s boat. She put her feet up on the headrest. The translucent sarong that was the only thing she wore over her bikini allowed the full light of the sun to heat her already golden skin, to make her blonde hair shine like a reflection.

Resting her head on the lounger’s footrest, she closed her eyes and let her mind drift. She liked being alone. She liked being with Frank too, but she was on edge when she was with him. In a good way.

Her body just seemed to react to the big man and she was always looking for some way to tease him, wondering if she should go for it and tempt him. When she’d made her move half an hour before, it’d certainly been worth the risk.

Now Frank was gone, off in enemy territory. In the middle of an army of goons like the ones who had almost taken her life before Frank saved her.

Lucy tried to bask in the afterglow Frank had left her with, pretend he would be back with her in a minute—like a normal lover grabbing a shower after they’d coupled. It wasn’t like she had any call to worry. She’d seen how Frank had taken out those three guys who’d tried to grab her body…

She snorted a laugh. It was amusing to think that the man who’d killed them now had the same free rein with her body that they’d wanted so badly. In fact, it was almost like poetic justice. The closest those bastards had gotten to making her come was arranging an introduction between her and the Punisher.

The thought struck a pleasurable chord in Lucy. A sexual purr deep inside her.

Lucy was a woman who knew what she wanted. She thought about it often. Fantasized, really. And now that Frank was done with her, her fantasies were very vivid. She imagined him undressing—showing her all of the scarred, action-hardened body she had so briefly glimpsed when he had his way with her.

Just the thought of his bristling muscles under her hands, inside her arms, and against her body was more than enough to excite Lucy. It made her luscious breasts swell and stiffen, left her nipples throbbing deliriously.

She enjoyed the rising pulse that started between her supple legs and got hotter and hotter, making her cunt so juicy it dripped, her clitoris hardening so much that it hurt, but the pain was as sweet as pleasure.

Lucy squeezed her thighs together, now allowing her imagination to run rampant, fantasizing that Frank was looking at her from the shore and seeing how hot she was for him to come back to her.

She hoped he did see her, he and all of those bad men he was with. Before he killed them all, wouldn’t it be wonderful if they wanted her, but Frank was the only man who got her. Her and Frank—both getting what they wanted…

***

On shore and inside his van, Frank changed into his full disguise. There was nothing he could do about his six foot three height except hunch a little, but a fatsuit turned his bulkily muscled body into something more prosaic. He doused himself in cheap cologne and put on TWC coveralls. A baseball cap helped sell the wig. He wouldn’t want someone to wonder why anyone would want such greasy, unkempt hair.

Stepping outside, he paused a moment. He doubted anyone had paid any attention to the van he had parked a good two miles from Jupiter Island, but he still gave it a few seconds. Over the years, he’d developed a well-honed sense for danger, for being watched. At times, it seemed to verge on the supernatural—a bestial companion within his mind alert to threats that no training or level of intellect could perceive.

But the animal side of him told him that no one had paid attention to the man who’d beached his Sea-doo, walked a few blocks, and entered into a van only to emerge in a different set of clothes and seemingly a hundred and fifty pounds heavier.

He peeled the applicator tape from the sides of the van, turning the plain white exterior into a moving billboard for Time-Warner Cable—he’d had it painted that way for days now. Tossing the shed tape into a nearby dumpster, the van finally emerged from the alley, and he made his way to Angel Mercador’s estate.

He clocked a vanguard walking a dog two blocks out. The guy got very interested in his lapel when a new element came on the scene. He tensed up, then relaxed… no doubt someone had radio’d back that a cable guy was expected.

The next layer of security, naturally enough, was at the front gate. The guard looked him over and inspected his van, then sent him through.

Angel’s mansion was exquisite, a diamond set in the verdant lawn that surrounded it. The roof was set with a high marble balustrade and the many windows were pedimented, decorating the property with real classical elegance instead of the obsequious sterility the other McMansions on the island seemed to strive for.

Somehow, though, the very beauty of the place set off a boiling anger in Frank, washing away the cool contentment of the orgasm he’d shared with Lucy. He knew where the money for this lovely aesthetic came from.

The smuggled humans packed together so tight the corpses couldn’t fall down. The crackheads who had been made to crave their fix to the point that their love for children and spouses was nothing next to it. This and a million other obscenities were painted over, whitewashed by genteel tastes.

This place should’ve been a monument to ugliness, but because of power and wealth, it was like the Picture of Dorian Grey. A vision of all the loveliness that it had leeched out of other, lower parts of the world.

He parked at the front door, where a third guard challenged him. This one skimmed a metal detector wand over him. Frank produced his phone, his keys, and a Zebra pen. He was going into Angel’s stronghold naked except for the ceramic knife strapped to the inside of his thigh.

“Lotta security for a beach place,” Frank said, affecting a sluggish drawl. “You guys must be really worried about the balseros.”

“Ain’t not worried about nothing,” the guard told him, poking Frank in the sternum with his wand.

“Ease off, hoss.” Frank held his hands up. “I know the deal. This joint belongs to Angel Mercador, don’t it?”

“You got a problem with that, ‘hoss’?” the guard demanded, the roids that swelled out his muscles like a series of soccer balls pushing him to provoke any conflict that would give him an excuse to use those iron-pumpers.

“No, not me. So what if your boss is a little crooked? Ain’t nobody as big a crook as the guv’mint.”

The guard barked a laugh. “Yeah, ain’t that the truth?”

“Sides, I figure I’ve got ol’ Angel to thank for most of my, uh, entertainment when I’m off the job. Least I can do is get his cable back on.”

“Yeah? How ‘bout that.” The guard reached into his pants pocket and brought out a white vial. “It’s getting’ late. Howzbout a little pick-me-up ‘fore ya get to work?”

“Love some,” Frank replied, and offered up his fist for the guard to dole out a bump onto.

He had no choice. The guard was half-convinced to give this kindred spirit run of the place. Backing down now would probably aggravate him right back to his roid rage. So Frank snorted the bump, bracing himself for the coke to hit his system.

It seared deep into him, lancing him like an overinflated boil. Suddenly that rage he kept at a useful simmer was close to the surface, scratching on the inside of his skin, wanting out like he had lava for blood. The animal in Frank sensed not danger, but weakness, corruption, a foulness to be cleansed.

He wanted to, and could, break this man apart with his bare hands. It would be one measly brick removed from the edifice of Angel’s empire, but it would feel so good to reduce his tower of sin even that much.

But no. It wasn’t enough. He had to be patient. Had to wait. When he struck, he wouldn’t settle for a mere errand boy. He would lop off the head of the snake and rip its guts out for good measure. This pill-popping fuck wasn’t even an inch off the snake’s tail.

He clenched his teeth and sucked air through his nostrils until he’d managed to swallow his sudden loathing for one more vulture in Angel’s flock, feeding off the corpses that the true predator left for him.

“Good shit, huh?” the guard laughed, mistaking the redness on Frank’s face for the effects of the drug.

“Yeah. Shit,” Frank agreed with a strong exhale. “How about I get started? Don’t want to waste anymore of this high on pulling down a paycheck than I have to.”

“I hear that. Go on, get in there. Just don’t track any mud or shit. Remember who owns the place.”

“How could I forget?” Frank asked, picking up his toolbox from the van’s passenger seat.

***

Feeling the sun warm her bare flesh, Lucy unwrapped her sarong, looking at her exposed legs. They were shapely, long and slender, with smooth skin that was sensitive all over, and unbelievably tender along her thighs. She loved to touch herself there. With her eyes hooded, she watched her fingers slowly swish around one knee, teasing herself before the touch rose up her thigh.

She tantalized herself lightly, more for the shivers of wanting arousal than for the actual gratification contact brought. She’d had more than enough of that with Frank. Even the most fluttering touch now was like pouring gasoline onto smoldering embers. It reawakened all Frank had done inside her, making her yearn for him to return… hope that he would spare a glance for her, that seeing her like this would speed him along. Make him come back to her all the sooner.

She pulled her bikini bottoms up, forcing the crotch tautly over her sex. They were more sexual than functional to begin with. Now, seeing the lips of her own pussy through the tightening fabric, Lucy felt faint. She imagined Frank seeing this too and felt so faint, she wondered if she wouldn’t drift up into the air…

Lucy enjoyed wearing chic, sensual clothing. She always chose her bikinis with extra care, knowing she would have to stand out from every other manhunter on the beach. It was reassuring, in a way, to know the men who’d tried to harm her hadn’t put her off sex. No, it was like she’d learned what her body was really for.

Drawing a man like Frank to her and then keeping him with her. When he returned to the boat, she wanted to look as sexual as she possibly could. Feel as sexual as she could. And then see how much more passionate things would become when Frank was there to take advantage of all this lasciviousness she felt.

Drawing her fingertips along her thighs, Lucy sighed softly. It already felt so good. How could she possibly wait? And how could she not wonder what Frank would do to her when he finally got back?