three years earlier

 

The girl slides across the back seat of the car, her stockings swishing against the leather. She never leaves her legs exposed, always covering herself up with sheer stockings: the picture of purity. A man in a button-up shirt—her latest boyfriend—stumbles in after her and immediately grabs her breasts. She smacks his arm playfully, then tucks her red hair behind her ear.

 

Another night of being good. Another blue-balled boyfriend she’ll dump. 

 

It’s boring how predictable she is. 

 

“You have to wait,” she says.

 

“I’ve been waiting all night,” he whines.

 

“Where to?” I ask loudly.

 

“Just keep this thing going,” the boyfriend murmurs, shoving me a twenty. I pull into the stop-and-go traffic on Las Vegas Boulevard. Alcohol seeps from their pores, stinking up the air, mixing with her jasmine perfume. Skin and fabric shuffle. A giggle erupts.

 

“Oh my god!” she squeals.

 

“Come on,” the boyfriend slurs. “He’s not watching, babe.” 

 

“Oh—” 

 

I glance in the rearview mirror. Lips against lips, their eyes closed in lust. My eyes flick to the road, then back to the show reflected in the mirror: she straddles him, her back to me. 

 

The good girl riding her newest boyfriend in the backseat. Unexpected. Interesting.

 

Raven Sinclair, nicknamed Rae, has always seemed coy. Shy. Inexperienced. Breaking it off with each boyfriend before they get too handsy. This man must be different. Worthy of her physical affection. 

 

What’s changed in her?

 

The answer is insignificant though. After years of seeing her up and down the Strip, watching her has begun to bore me. I picked her up for the first time because I want to use the knife tonight. When you get bored of something, it no longer has a purpose. You discard it. After all, good girls deserve to die too.

 

I keep a safe distance from the car in front of us, then twist my head to see the couple. The girl’s dress bunches around her hips, revealing the tears in her stockings. I can’t see his cock, but I know it’s inside of her. Did she make him use a condom? That would mean she came prepared.

 

The scent of arousal—his sweat, her juices—mixes with the aroma of stale beer and jasmine. My dick throbs. I settle back in my seat, keeping one hand on the wheel as I run the other over my bulge, savoring the sensation. The hunger grows inside of me.

 

I didn’t think she’d make me hard. This started as pure curiosity. Now, I don’t know what it is.

 

They change positions, a slight moan coming from her lips. At the stoplight, I watch as best as I can in the rearview mirror.

 

She rests her ass on the edge of the seat. He groans as he thrusts harder into her. He falls into the back seat, resting his head on the padding. 

 

She pulls his wallet out of his back pocket.

 

My jaw loosens. I’m intrigued.

 

She opens it. 

 

Removes a handful of bills. 

 

Shoves it back in his pocket.

 

At that moment, the girl’s eyes find mine in the rearview mirror. She winks at me, then turns her attention back to the boyfriend, pressing her hips forward as if she truly wants this. 

 

She’s not such a good girl after all. 

 

A car honks. I drive forward, focusing on the road just long enough to get us on an empty street. I drive slowly, keeping my eyes on the mirror, watching the show unfold as much as I can.

 

She steals his watch too, hiding it before he can come, and she moans every few seconds. Once she’s done getting what she wants, she renews with vigor.

 

“Give it to me,” she cries.

 

The boyfriend tosses his head back and comes inside of her.

 

The two of them scoot back to their separate seats, laughing to each other and talking in low voices.

 

It shouldn’t surprise me that she fucked him in the back seat of my taxi.

 

But it does.

 

She plays the good girl. Always has. And yet, it’s an act. A disguise she puts on for the world.

 

I should’ve known that, or suspected it at least. I simply thought she was too pure to put out. This theft can’t be financial. I’ve been working on the Strip for decades, and I know for a fact that the girl’s mother is in upper management at a luxury resort nearby. She doesn’t need the money.

 

These thoughts mull around in my mind, fascinating me. I head back to the girl’s luxury resort, pull up to the cab stand, and park.

 

“Hey,” Rae says. She leans on the front seats. “How’d you know where to take me?”

 

“You said the Opulence,” I say. 

 

“Oh.” She laughs, the sound pleasing, yet stiff. “I forgot.” 

 

“Were you a little distracted, babe?” the boyfriend teases.

 

She didn’t say anything. I know where she lives. 

 

She gets out and gives the new boyfriend—or her conquest—a kiss on the cheek.

 

“Call me,” he says.

 

She smiles. “I told you. I have to study for exams. Then we’ll talk.”

 

She slams the door closed. Before the conquest can get out of the car and follow her inside, I start driving.

 

“Take me to the Wynn,” he sighs. His eyelids are heavy now that the girl is gone. He looks out the window at the bright lights. He has no idea that his watch is gone or that his wallet is lighter. 

 

“Where are you from?” I ask.

 

“Cali,” he says.

 

“Nice place.”

 

I drive, taking the long way so that the conquest thinks we’re going to his hotel. By the time he falls asleep, we’re on the freeway, heading into the desert.

 

In an hour, we’re surrounded by dirt, sand, and cacti. The gravel crunches under the tires, stirring him awake. 

 

“Where are we?” he asks.

 

I park the car.

 

Turn off the lights.

 

Take the knife from the glove box.

 

Remove the hacksaw from under my seat.

 

Step out of the car.

 

Flick open the knife. The click echoes in the desert.

 

“The fuck, man?” he asks.

 

I yank him out of the backseat. He crashes into the dirt. I shove the knife into his stomach, and he shrieks, his fists flying.

 

I pull out the knife and stab his neck. The blade comes out, blood squirting into the air. Then it dribbles down his neck. I can smell her perfume on him. Floral. Synthetic. My dick gets hard.

 

He gurgles, and I work hastily, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. I don’t want him to die before I finish my task. I hold his damp dick and cut off what I can with the hacksaw. The blood and flesh ooze out. I squeeze his length. He sputters, panting, a scream finally ripping from his chest as the hacksaw reaches those sensitive balls. His eyes roll back as he faints. 

 

I hold up his dick against the dark sky. The violence is beautiful. It’s a shame she didn’t get to see it up close and personal.

 

I sniff his dick. It smells like latex and ammonia. Semen. The faintest hint of pussy—sour and sweet, like a slice of pineapple burning on an open fire—surrounds me. 

 

I want more. 

 

I search the backseat of the taxi. The condom lies on the leather. I stuff it into my mouth. Past the rubber, I taste her.

 

Raven Sinclair. The deviant little thief with a good girl disguise. I know that now.  

 

I jerk off, my palm under me as I hump the backseat of the car, my head deep in the cushion, sniffing the fabric for hints of her floral perfume. In my mind, I see her dyed, cherry-red hair. Her tanned skin. Her brown eyes rolling back in pleasure, but it’s not because we’re fucking. It’s because we’re both holding a knife.

 

We clutch it together. Thrust it into a body. The blood pools on the ground. And the girl smiles at me.

 

I come, my jizz splattering against the leather.

 

I stand and wipe my hands on my pants. Everything is silent, even that nagging inner voice. Come to think of it, that voice hasn’t spoken up since I picked up Rae.

 

“Good one, little girl,” I say out loud. “You think you’re smart, don’t you?”

 

Perhaps she is.

 

I had planned to finally kill the girl, but she survived another night. Behind closed doors—even the car doors of a taxi cab—Rae is a different person. We both are. We look like normal, innocent people. I murder. She steals—a petty little thief—but she’s capable of so much more.

 

And that makes her interesting.

 

I rub my hands together. Watching her from the confines of my taxi isn’t enough anymore, and neither is the idea of killing her.

 

I need her to find her way to my hometown. It’ll be easier to manipulate her there. 

 

First, she needs to be fired. She works for her mother at Opulence, but if she’s been stealing from her hookups, it’s likely she’s already moved onto bigger hits. Plenty of billionaires and celebrities stay at the Opulence. Soon, I’ll drop a hint or two to one of them, and her reputation will spread across the city. Blocked from employment, she’ll have no choice; she’ll have to leave Las Vegas. Then I’ll fake internet ads, claiming that my town has better rent. Perhaps I’ll even find a way to get her mother to tell Rae the truth about her connection to the place. 

 

A curious, economic girl like her won’t be able to resist exploring that connection. And right now, I’m curious too. How far can I pull her away from the good girl exterior? How bad can she become? Can I manipulate her into hurting others for pleasure? Deep down, is she a killer like me?

 

We’ll find out.