Out for Blood Chapter One
Such a beauty. Long, raven curls and dark, confident eyes. The unique allure of this exquisite creature almost made him regret what he must do. Almost.
Leaning near, he kissed her neck, and gazed up at the sky. Stars dotted the black west Texas night. One of the only benefits of living in dusty Odessa. The halcyon night belied his intentions.
He plunged a hunting dagger into her side. “Too bad you have to die.”
Her big chocolate eyes grew wide, and she screamed as she grabbed the cavernous wound. “Why?” Her breathing came in short pants.
“Newsmonger. Why couldn’t you have stayed out of my business?” He jabbed the blade into her several more times, and her guttural screams broke through the silence of the evening. With each thrust, he could see his troubles fading away as the light in her eyes dimmed.
His hands shook from the attack. Those ebony eyes remained wide, even after she gasped her last breath. Staring. Accusing. The metallic odor of blood permeated the air, and the viscous ooze saturated his hands and coated the interior of the car.
Satisfied she could no longer hinder his plans, he climbed out of the convertible. She had parked in a clearing next to one of many pump jacks dotting the landscape. Some of the steel equines dipped their heads as they pumped the oil out of the dry earth. Others stood still, like sentries posted to stand guard over the tumbleweeds and mesquite.
He rounded to the backside of the thrumming pump where he had parked his truck and trailer. The trailer contained a power-washer and a hundred-gallon tank containing a strong bleach and water mixture. The mechanical murmur of the pump jack soothed him and helped him focus on the onerous task at hand.
Opening the door of the black Ford F-150, he checked to make sure the plastic sheeting covered the truck seats. He donned a pair of latex gloves, so he wouldn’t get blood on the steering wheel, before turning on the engine. The Godsmack song “A Good Day to Die” blared from the stereo making him smile. One advantage to being at least thirty miles from the nearest person, he didn’t need to worry about noise arousing curiosity. He pulled next to the red Solara, skittered out and opened all the doors.
As he extracted the girl from the car, her lithe body thudded onto the compacted terrain. Next, he ripped her clothing from her supple figure and dumped it a few yards away, where the desiccated grass and tumbleweeds swayed in the ceaseless breeze.
He’d never seen her without clothes. His eyes scrutinized her tanned skin, abundant bosom, narrow waist, and curvaceous hips. What a sensuous body. He licked his lips. Too bad he hadn’t been able to trust her.
The man powered on the washer and sprayed the inside of the Solara with the dilute bleach. He poured gallons through the front and back, paying scrupulous attention to the passenger side. Next, he took a long-handled brush and scoured the doors inside and out, the dashboard, seats, anywhere he thought crime scene techs might find evidence.
Convinced he had disposed of any traces in the car, the man turned his attention to the girl. He hosed her body down, then took the scrubber to her. Flipping her over on her stomach, he repeated the same procedure. Once content he had eliminated the trace evidence, he cleansed the knife and dried it. He stripped and tossed his clothing and the knife in the grass on top of the girl’s things. Next he balled up the plastic sheeting from his truck and threw it, the long-handled scrub brush, and the gloves onto the pile. Last he took the bleach water and bathed his naked body from top to bottom before donning clean clothing. The astringent bleach solution stung his nose and burned and irritated his skin. At least, he had chosen a soft tee shirt and workout shorts, so they wouldn’t chafe.
He stood back from the area where he’d washed and sprayed the rest of the solution onto the caliche surrounding the cars and his bathing area, hoping it would eradicate any hairs or skin cells.
After finishing, he moved to the dry landscape. Almost a year since any measurable rain, the grass and mesquite would spark like kindling. He poured a bottle of lighter fluid over the clothing and surrounding grass, struck a match, and dropped it. Flicking several more lit matches onto the dry earth, he grinned. It could burn for days.
Moving back to the clearing he stood next to the vehicles and watched the flames dance to the music of the crackling and popping brush as it burned. Mesmerized, he stared until the acrid smoke intensified and stung his eyes and nose. Heat wafted over him. The fire might surround the clearing, but with the hard-packed caliche drive encircling the pump jack, the car and the body wouldn’t burn. Too bad. He would have enjoyed her turning into a pile of charred bones.
Fears of being caught assuaged, the man climbed back into his truck and headed down the dirt road toward I-20. As he pulled onto the highway, he glanced in his rearview mirror and laughed. The sign on the oilfield road read, DEAD END.
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