Morsel

Chapter 30

Chapter 30

Evening comes. I drive to Mona’s house, and this time, I park in her driveway. My whole body buzzes with adrenaline. I wait a few minutes to see if she’ll check who’s out here.

The cocky little bitch never comes.

I get out of the car and find my usual hiding spot in her backyard. She walks across the kitchen, her phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear. She laughs into the receiver. She’s probably manipulating her newest inspiration right now.

I step out from behind the plant. I’m a looming shadow. A predator stalking her from a distance.

She doesn’t notice me.

Irritation flares under my skin. She doesn’t notice me, because in her mind, I’m insignificant. I’m nothing more than a stupid little boy she used for her art. She’ll learn though. She’ll have to, or this won’t be pleasant for her. And it’s almost funny. She’s so absorbed in her own world that she doesn’t know I’m watching, listening, and hunting her.

Imagine being that self-absorbed.

She clicks off her phone, then walks up the stairs. My dick hardens. The sliding glass door is quiet as I open it. It seems like a waste to be this silent, but I need to get her to the mobile home discreetly. There will be plenty of time to make her fight and struggle and cry. I’ve got so much more planned for us.

After dropping the fake Artist Statement on her kitchen counter, I pull the syringe from my pocket and tap the needle. Then I hide around the corner of the stairway and hold my breath.

She glides down the stairs, not at all worried that someone or something may be lurking in the shadows, and before she realizes I’m there, I plunge the needle into her neck.

Her eyes lock on mine, and in a second, I see it: the recognition, the hatred, the terror. Her wide pupils bare it all, and I know that finally, she understands she’s the prey this time.

I’ve finally caught her.

She crumbles, and like a good human farmer, I catch my meat to prevent bruising. Her warm body hums with energy, and my dick wets my boxers, the pre-cum soaking through my pants. I suck in her musky scent, and my mind is at ease for the first time since Artemis caught us fucking in her office.

I set her down on the floor, then scout the rooms for her laptop. As I’m searching, it occurs to me that I don’t see her vintage wheelchair anywhere; Artemis must have gotten rid of it. But then I find her laptop and calm myself with the knowledge that Mona won’t need a wheelchair in a cage. With the computer, I book a vacation for her and her husband. I even pack two suitcases, including Mona’s powered-off phone, and load them into the back of the van. Even if Jerry doesn’t let me get rid of the suitcases in the furnace, I can get rid of them myself. The dump is close to the mobile home. The suitcases are the least of my worries.

Then, once everything is ready for her long-term absence, I cradle Mona in my arms as if she’s a baby, and in a way, she is. She’s my meaty baby. My pretty piggy. My little morsel. I place her in the cargo bay with the suitcases. Cable ties secure her wrists and ankles, and I briefly consider gagging her. The sedative should work until we get to the fields though, and by then, I want her to scream.

I shut the van’s back doors, then whistle as I get into the driver’s seat. Mona will be on my kitchen table soon, in the same position as my mother, but for now, my little morsel is alive, waiting for me to feast on her. And though I can’t stand the idea of someone like her teaching me anything, I can admit she’s taught me a few things: You can’t force a woman to agree to be your meat, just like you can’t force a mother to love you.

But you can take what’s yours and show the meat hole exactly who will be eating their flesh.

Whether they like it or not.