Page 18 of Not All Himbos Wear Capes
Which means no one else knows what they look like but me.
The thought of anyone in my family getting near Butch made panic dance along the edges of my vision. I didn’t have the superpowers they did, but I was smarter, stronger, and faster than most normies, and I would use every ounce of my above-average attributes to protect my…
My…
Good lord, why am I getting my panties in a bunch over a normie Bangers match?
I needed to get a hold of myself. Butch wasnothing but a casual fling… albeit one who was a perfect specimen of manhood, sucked cock like a pro, and called to an overprotective alpha aspect of my personality I never knew existed.
Someone who takes the stairs from the 98th floor when he’s already late for work…
Shaking my head, I banished what I’d seen on the camera footage from my mind. Butch was obviously a granola-eating gym buff. He probably took the stairs on the way up, too—before finishing his night with a protein powder enema and a cock cage.
Jesus, fuck. Now I have a hard-on.
Forcing myself to refocus, I used my scalpel to carefully slice open the distended belly of the Western Gull lying on the examination table before me. While I didn’t particularly mind using these same tools to extract information from shitty lowlifes who crossed my family, today’s work was unpleasant.
As expected, about a quarter of the deceased bird's stomach contents were styrofoam, with another 20 percent being unidentifiable bits of metal and glass. I also found some rope, part of a plastic knife, a Doritos bag, and an electric green condom.
Who wears a green condom?
Gulls were known for their cast-iron constitution and could regurgitate most foreign objects, so the trash probably wasn’t what killed him. That’s why I preferred using the last meals of these notorious scavengers to monitor pollution in Awakener’s Bay—it allowed me to detach from what I was seeing. There was nothing worse than stumbling upon the corpse of a more fragile shorebird with a shopping bag’s worth of microplastics filling its gullet. That sort of death-by-human made me sick.
My parents would say this makes me weak.
But they’d never taken the time to learn what I did when I was off duty, nor did they care. That was fine by me. I would rather my family call my research uninteresting than decide to use my life’s work to further their own agendas.
I needed to take a step back from the table as I recalled my mother’s distasteful cargo at yesterday’s drop on Rose Island. The uber-rich weren’t known for their ethical sourcing with the finest things money could buy, but the pelts of endangered species were next-level abhorrent.
The pelts of humans, on the other hand…
The phone vibrating in my pocket interrupted me from my Buffalo Bill fantasies. Removing my latex gloves, I pulled it out, smiling like an idiot to find a text from Butch—right below the delicious one I’d sent on his behalf this morning.
Hottie Himbo:Biggs is making me work a full day, so I won’t be done until 5:00. You still want to hang out later?
I snorted. He really made this too easy.
Of course I do. And you’ll be the one ‘hanging out’ by the end of the night.
The three dots appeared, disappeared, then reappeared as Butch no doubt struggled to reply in a way that didn’t inflame his delicate sensibilities.
Hottie Himbo:Is that my…
More dots.
Hottie Himbo:Reward?
I blew out a breath, placed my phone down on the examination table, and walked away—more for self-preservation than to tease. If I replied immediately, I knew I would end up driving to that phallic eyesore of 19th-century architecture just so I could bend Butch over Solomon Biggs’ desk and pound him into next week.
And I’d rather defile the hornet’s nest in more strategic ways.
The corporation known as Biggs Enterprises was originally funded by railroad money in the late 1800s by Solomon’s great-grandfather. This wealth was then reinvested in steel, oil, plastics, shipping, banks, real estate, big pharma, and Big City itself—including its poisoned politicians and unstoppable police force.
Led by a certain superhero, of course.
My phone buzzed again, and I narrowed my eyes, praying for Butch’s sake that he wasn’t being impatient. He didn’t seem to have a brat bone in his body—and I had no interest in being a brat handler—but his inexperience meant missteps were bound to happen.
It buzzed again.
