Page 30 of Soulless Saint

I had to say I knew the feeling.

Rebecca Hart was in my house last night. Standing right in front of me. And she was even sexier in person than she was in her photograph.

The long dark hair, the even longer legs. The gentle arch in her back just above her peachy ass. The simple black bra I could see through the sheer shirt she was wearing, doing almost nothing to cover tits that I would happily suffocate in if given the opportunity. And those eyes…

No other chick in my house existed in that moment. Or any moment after she abruptly vanished. Sunday nights at our place were always a guaranteed lay. Sometimes I’d take two chicks back to my room after telling everyone else to get the fuck out, if it was an extra good night.

But last night?

Last night I jerked off not once, not twice, but three fucking times to her picture, which I now had saved to my phone. But it wasn’t enough. I woke up with a raging hard-on and her image still scorched into my mind, but no amount of lube or tugging or fucking anything was going to get rid of it except the real thing. So I did what I imagined sad retirees did in the mornings. I threw a robe on to cover the stubborn wood in my boxers and threw my sorry ass in an ice cold shower, waiting the requisite fifteen minutes under the steady stream before it finally, painfully, deflated.

I’d found out which motel she was staying in yesterday afternoon, but the ornery woman at the front desk told me she’d already checked out. I’d missed her by a few hours.

Now, at least, I knew where she went. She was staying with Toby. Working with Toby. I didn’t know where he lived, but I knew where he worked. Death Before Decaf. I’d have to come up with an excuse to pay her a visit soon.

Hardin reached wordlessly into the back seat of the Bronco, pulling something black and boxy from the floor. He discarded it on my lap like if he touched it any longer it’d burn him.

I pulled into the campus lot, turning the leather bag over in my lap as I drove to the very front, to the spot that didn’t need a sign to be permanently reserved for us.

“The shit is this?”

Hardin sniffed, all but throwing the passenger side door open the instant I put the Bronco in park. “Belongs to the Hart girl. She left it in my room.”

“She… what?”

“Get it back to her.”

“Bro!”

I shot up in my seat, gripping the roll bar above me to lift myself higher, shouting after Hardin as he stormed away. “What the fuck was she doing in your room?”

He didn’t bother giving me a reply, vanishing around the edge of the weathered red brick exterior of Kilborn University.

I fell back into my seat, considering the purse still clutched in my fist. I rolled the decision around in my mouth for an entire second before knocking it over on the passenger seat, upending its contents.

Inside there were the usual suspects; lipstick and some other makeup shit I flicked aside. Her wallet, stuffed with a healthy amount of cash. A name tag from Death Before Decaf. A joint that I pilfered to tuck behind my ear. A half empty bag of peanut M&Ms and… a miniature bottle of hot sauce?

I tossed the tiny red bottle back on the pile and ran my hand along the inside lining, checking for anything else, my fingers finding a little bump on one side.

It took some poking around, but I found the tiny slit in the fabric on the bottom right corner of the bag, just big enough to get my fingers inside and tug the little item out.

“That sneaky fucker.” I smiled to myself, examining the tiny tracking chip in my palm before sliding it back in where it’d been hiding, stuffing the purse back full with all the other items, save for the joint, which was now mine.

I shot off a quick text to Hardin.

Kaleb: Mind sharing the tracking data with the group, big bro?

His reply came just as I was walking into the lab for advanced computer sciences.

Hardin: The fuck you on about?

Kaleb: The tracker you planted in her bag.

Hardin: I didn’t plant shit in her bag. I didn’t even open it.

Kaleb: You think it was the Crows?

Hardin: How the fuck should I know?

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