My Pet Dahmer

by N1NE1NCHNA1LED

Summary:

Jeffrey never broke more than a few rules while cruising. Just two.

Two of the only rules he had.

1. Pick someone nobody would come looking for.
2. And never invite more than one person over.

Chapter 1: El Prólogo

Jeffrey never broke more than a few rules while cruising. Just two.

Two of the only rules he had.

1. Pick someone nobody would come looking for.
2. And never invite more than one person over.

It was a Thursday night.  

Jeffrey had on his tightest jeans, two Valiums in his pocket, and a libido at an all-time high. The guy at the bar was twitchy. Hot in a sad, malnourished way; like a puppy that never stopped flinching. They didn’t talk much. Heavy language barrier, sexy foreign accent. They exchanged names (fake), drinks (real), and a sloppy kiss in the alley before Jeffrey whispered, “You wanna come back to mine?”

They got in the Civic.

That was his first mistake.

He didn’t notice the car tailing him. Or the one parked a block down. Or the motorcycle following him under the streetlights. Jeffrey was too busy fantasizing about chloroform and the feel of a body going slack in his arms.

As soon as they crossed the threshold of his shitty second-floor walk-up, something shifted. The guy didn’t look at the couch. He didn’t take his coat off. Instead, he slowly reached into his jacket. Methodically, as if he’d been waiting on cue.

Jeffrey turned just in time.

Click.

The barrel of a gun kissed the back of his skull.

“Don’t move,” someone growled behind him.

Jeffrey raised both hands. “I-I wasn’t going to.”

Another man entered from the kitchen. A goat mask over his face. Then another. And another. Five total. Six, if you counted the one pressing the gun into his spine.

Jeffrey dropped to his knees, hands still up. The floor felt far too cold.

He swallowed. “You’re here to kill me, right?”

Silence.

“Please,” he added, too fast. “Just make it quick.”

A pause.

Then a new voice, calm, cold, vowels clipped and consonants razor-sharp answered above him.

“No. That would be too easy.”

Jeffrey tilted his head just enough to catch a glimpse: sunglasses, dark leather, silver and black rings on every finger, towering height.

Then came the sting.

A dart, clean into his temple.

Notes:

I do not condone or endorse any of the actions depicted in this story. I just want to make Dahmer suffer.

Chapter 2: Cero

Jeffrey woke up with a piercing headache.

Everything hurt; his ribs, his jaw, his thighs. The inside of his skull.

He blinked. The world looked blurry, too bright, too dim… Too wrong.

A bowl of water sat near his face. Beside it: a stale-looking sandwich on a pink hello kitty paper plate.

He was on the floor inside a cage. He sat up slowly. Grated metal bars. Cement walls. Flickering lights overhead. He tried to speak but only managed a dry croak. His tongue felt like a sock full of sand. He looked down.

Socks. A shirt, his, probably. Faded. Soaked with sweat and something sticky.

Was this jail?
No, too quiet.
A warehouse?

Before he could guess further, sharp footsteps echoed down the hall. 

The door burst open.

Jeffrey flinched hard.

He expected a man; scarred, massive, machete in hand.

Instead?

It was a girl.

Not a little girl, but definitely too young to be involved in this line of business. Long hair. Tiara. Bedazzled platform sandals. A fur jacket over a tank top that exposed way too much to be casual.

She was chewing gum.

Pop.

She strutted up to the cage, eyeing him like he was a sick animal.

Jeffrey blinked.

She blinked back.

Then he vomited; a splash of yellow shame.

She wrinkled her nose and rolled the cage. Loud metal scraped on concrete. The wall she turned him toward was covered in Polaroids.
Dozens.

All of the guy he’d killed.

What was his name? Pablo? Pepe? …He couldn’t even remember. 

The girl clicked her tongue and said something in Spanish.

“No hablo español…”

She perked up. “Oh. So you’re gringo-gringo.”

Then she dropped to hang upside-down over the cage like a fruit bat.

“Where are you from?” she asked, grinning.

“…Wisconsin,” he muttered.

She made a face like he’d said “Chernobyl.”

“You talk slow,” she said. “Are all white boys this disappointing?”

“I-I’m not-” Jeffrey started, then gave up.

“I’m Jodi,” she said. “My fiancé owns your soul. But I get to keep your body.”

Jeffrey’s brain short-circuited. “What?” he croaked.

“And you looked so sad in your mugshot. I like sad things. Sad things don’t leave.”

She let herself drop to the floor and walked away, sandals clicking like a threat.

“Be good, blondie.”

The door slammed.

And Jeffrey began to sob.

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“Podemos quedároslo, por favor? Please, please, please?”

“We already have enough slaves in this house,” Richard muttered, nose buried in a pile of coke off a stripper’s tit.

Jodi narrowed her eyes. Pulled out her blade.

Swish.

He froze.

The stripper hit the floor headfirst. The knife, still sticking out of her neck, looked like a flagpole.

“Look,” Jodi said sweetly. “Uno menos.”

Richard sighed through his nose. “Mi princesa, I’ve already arranged you a whole selection of playmates-”

“They’re boring. Y feos. And they’re not even mine, you just fuck them all the time and throw them away like moldy cheese.” She crossed her arms. “They serve me no purpose. That one’s different. He’s evil. He killed Señor Pérez.” She paused. “And he’s gay. I’ve never had a gay best friend before.”

Richard finally looked up. 

“He’s exotic.”

He leaned back, licking the coke residue off his thumb. “Hmm. Show me you can take care of him.”

“Rich, I’m your bride, remember? All I do is take care of things. You stab the maids every three days, I restock. You burn the cook’s face with a flat iron, I meal prep. You throw your tantrums, I wipe your mess.”

He blinked. “Hey. I’m trying to change.”

Jodi rolled her eyes and kicked the dead stripper over, revealing her lifeless face. She yanked the knife out in one smooth motion, wiped the blood on Richard’s silk shirt, sat on his lap, and held the blade to his sharp jawline.

“I feel like our relationship is really lacking, no? We need to find a balance.”

She gave him that familiar, venomous little smile.

The one that reminded him she was the only person who could make him feel weak.

“Confía en mí, amorcito,” she whispered. “I sense something around that man. Like… energy. Bad energy. Lucky energy. I think he’s gonna teach us how to carry responsibility.” She grinned wider. “Like adults.”

Richard reached up, calm as ever, and pinched the flat of her blade between two fingers, pushing it gently away from his skin.

“Show me what you can do, Goldie.”

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Jeffrey woke up to the sound of metal rattling.
Hard and thick burly hands poked through the bars like curious meat hooks. Big, brown, and calloused.

For a brief moment, he thought this could end in a gangbang. Could be worse.

But no.

Two men, one shirtless, one in a stained apron, lifted the cage like a cooler full of meat. They didn’t speak to him, just carried him up a flight of creaking stairs. When they reached an iron door, one of them pulled out a cloth and tossed it over the cage.

Jeffrey could no longer see, but he could hear.

Ten full minutes of walking.
Ten minutes of distant screaming. Metal clanging. A sound like someone being dragged by the hair. A man laughing. Someone retching.
Echoes. Big space. Warehouse? Mansion? Asylum? He couldn’t tell.

Thunk.

The cage hit the floor.

Jeffrey jolted forward with a groan, his body slamming into the bars. Everything hurt. Again.

A door creaked open.

Then he was being dragged, metal scraping over tile.

The cloth was yanked away.

Jeffrey squinted against the sudden light. His vision adjusted slowly.

Dark red curtains. Candles flickering from rusted candelabras. Hand-painted tiles on the floor, colorful and cracked in places. A black-metal bed, massive, canopied in lace.

On that bed was that girl, sprawled out in a silk nightgown, short and nearly transparent, hugging every curve. Her long hair fanned around her. One leg kicked up lazily as she stared at the ceiling, bored out of her mind.

She didn’t look at him when she spoke.

“My fiancé is impressed by your work,” she said flatly. “You managed to kill our chemist. Smart in the lab, dumb as a dog outside it. Usually, when someone goes after one of ours… we go after them back. So you’re supposed to be dead already.”

She sat up swinging her legs over the bed.

“But I can tell from your eyes…” She walked toward the cage with a slow, purposeful sway, “…you’ve been dead for a while.”

She crouched in front of him, resting her chin on her knee. Her eyes were dark and unreadable.

“You’re lonely. Did you know I’m lonely too?”

Jeffrey just stared, lips cracked, eyes dull.

“I want to take you for a test trial,” she said, almost sweetly. “Three days. That’s it. After that, we decide whether or not you’re worthy to stay with us.”

“I don’t want to be worthy.” 

Jodi tilted her head, pouting.

“That’s not up to you.”

She leaned in closer, voice softening to a whisper.

“Really, your options are… this or we strap you to an operating table. Inject adrenaline into your bloodstream. And cut you open. Slowly, one organ at a time. We keep you awake the whole way through. No blackout, just pain. And us, watching.”

A pause.

“Dying as my pet is way more fun, you know? You’re cute. No wonder Pérez let his guard down. He never would’ve guessed you were… well, you.”

She smirked.

“I think you’ll fit right in.”

Jeffrey didn’t answer. Just stared. Eyes glassy, mouth slightly open.

“You stink,” Jodi said suddenly, wrinkling her nose. “Let’s take a bath.”

She pulled out a long sharp knife from under her lace leg garter. A butterfly charm dangled off the handle.

She unlocked the cage. The bars creaked open.
Then she pointed the knife straight at his neck.

“I trust you,” she said with a wink. “This is just a precaution.

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The marble bathtub was already filled with bubbles and scattered rose petals, its edges encircled by candles and the thick, colorful drips of melted wax they’d left behind.

Jodi grabbed him by the collar, knife still in hand, and sliced his shirt open clean down the middle.

The fabric fell in two pieces.

His face burned. He stood there naked, socks still on, unsure whether he was about to be murdered or exfoliated. He pulled the socks off one at a time like he was undressing for a doctor's appointment.

Jodi watched. She was very still when she watched. Like a snake, or a predator. Or a bored teen girl deciding which bug to step on next.

Jeffrey stepped into the tub and sat down with his knees to his chest, staring into the water like it held answers. It didn’t.

Jodi climbed the marble steps to the elevated tub, perched on the edge, dipping her legs in.

“What’s your favorite color, Jeff?” she asked sweetly.

He blinked. “Uh. I dunno. Yellow?”

Her eyes lit up. “I love yellow! Gold, actually. Look.”

She turned her hand to show off her ring, gold, shaped like a twisted vine, with a flower made of turquoise.

“Soon I’ll be officially wedded,” she said dreamily. “My engagement ring.”

She stared at it like it was telling her secrets.

Jeffrey blinked. “Oh.”

The knife was now resting by her thigh. She tilted her head and smiled at him wide, childlike, deranged.

He wanted to disappear into the bubbles.

“Uh. So,” he started, voice cracking, “I think I told you I’m from Wisconsin, right?”

Jodi nodded.

“So… I’m guessing this is Mexico?”

Jodi leaned in a little. “Geography’s not important when you’re spiritually trapped.”

“Oh,” Jeffrey said. 

Jodi hummed, petting her knife like it was a pet bunny. “You’re very lucky, Jeff. We don’t let just anyone in the tub. This is where we clean the souls before they die.”

“…Awesome,” he replied flatly.

“Don’t worry.” She kicked water toward him, splashing his face. “If you die in three days, we’ll cremate you with flowers and record it on tape.”

Jeffrey thought about drowning himself for half a second.

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Jodi dried him off like he was a wounded baby bird she’d found in the gutter and decided to keep. Gentle. Methodical. Almost tender if not for the knife clenched between her teeth the entire time.

Jeffrey stood there, arms slack at his sides, shivering slightly as she patted down his chest with a towel printed with cartoon angels.

When she finished, she draped a robe over his shoulders. White, plush, too clean for a house like this, and grabbed his hand. Her palm was soft with rose-scented lotion.

She led him through the flickering hallway and back into the bedroom.

On the bed was him.

Her fiancé.

Laid out like Roman emperor, phone in one hand, the other lazily squeezing the chest of a second woman curled up beside him; silent, still.

He was mid-argument, barking in rapid-fire, something about shipment delays and a missing crate and “pendejo hijo de perra” on repeat.

Jeffrey’s breath caught.

He noticed how he looked way older than his wife. Jeffrey was probably his age. Maybe younger.

And then it happened. He looked up.

Eyes like razors. Sharp cheekbones.
Black hair still damp with sweat.

For a second, nothing. Just silence. Then his gaze flicked from Jeffrey to Jodi, who had her arms wrapped tightly around Jeffrey’s bicep, knife still pointed to his stomach, her chin resting on his shoulder like they were high school sweethearts at a dance.

He hung up.

His eyes raked over Jeffrey slowly, top to bottom. Then he leaned forward, lighting a cigarette off the candle on the bedside table.

“So you’re the maricón who drilled a hole in my best chemist’s skull, poured acid in it, fucked his unconscious body, and kept the rest of him in a fridge full of condiments?”

Jeffrey’s stomach dropped. He swallowed hard. He wondered what his dad would do in this situation. His dad was also a chemist. Would he try to problem-solve? Shake hands? Cry?

“Fuck it,” he said with a shrug, exhaling smoke. “We needed a new one anyway. Shit hasn’t hit right since the last three got whacked. Nobody’s fucking qualified these days.”

He flicked ash onto the floor.

“Perez was a whiny little faggot anyway. Don’t know why you’d wanna eat him.”

“Rich, don’t say that about Pérez,” Jodi snapped. Her grip on Jeffrey’s arm tightened. “He was a very brave man.”

Richard smirked. “Sure. Real brave, dying with his pants around his ankles.”

Jeffrey looked away.

“Put him back in the cage,” Richard said casually. “He’s not housebroken yet.”

Jodi obeyed, guiding Jeffrey toward the far wall where the cage waited clean now, with a fresh blanket and a small silver dish of something that might’ve been water.

Jeffrey knelt inside.

The cage door clanged shut behind him.

He sat there, robe on, wet hair dripping, heart hammering. He couldn’t help but look back at the bed.

Richard had already unzipped his pants.

He dragged Jodi onto his lap like a doll, kissed her shoulder, and looked directly at Jeffrey.

“Bet you wish you could be her.”

Jeffrey didn’t answer.

But his hands clenched in his lap.

Because… Richard was beautiful in the way bombs are beautiful. Powerful, loud, devastating. And when he touched Jodi like that, rough, possessive and tender, Jeffrey felt something twist deep in his gut. He watched as Jodi arched her back and tilted her head, her eyes never leaving Jeffrey’s face.

She smiled. A knowing, wicked little smile.

And Jeffrey: trapped in a cage, humiliated, confused, scared out of his fucking mind felt his skin flush.

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The entire night was a symphony of moaning, wet slaps, and rhythmic pounding from the bed across the room.

Every time he thought it was over, another round began louder, messier, more aggressive.

Jodi moaned and screamed in turns, sometimes calling Richard’s name, sometimes just babbling. Furniture creaked. A lamp broke. Someone pissed in a wine glass. Jeffrey wasn’t sure.

At some point around 4 a.m., the other woman, the one who’d been silent and limp beside Richard all night was dragged off the bed.

Jeffrey watched, half-asleep and dazed, as Richard carried her lifeless body to the window. No ceremony. No cover. Just a splash of red across the windowsill as she was tossed like garbage into the night.

Richard leaned over the edge and barked something in Spanish. Probably: Pick it up. Throw it away.

Then, as if remembering something, he turned toward the far wall. Toward Jeffrey.

He crossed the room with slow, confident steps.
Cock still hanging out, swinging with each stride like it had seniority.

Jeffrey looked at him shyly.

Then quickly turned away as if that’d erase the faint outline of his hard-on through the damp white robe.

Richard crouched, gripping the cage bars with both hands. His knuckles were bruised. Covered in silver rings. His eyes were sharp and curious.

He smirked.

“Good pick, Goldie,” he called over his shoulder.

Jodi giggled from the bed, face buried in a pillow.

Richard stood and leaned over the cage. Jeffrey’s eyes locked on the thing between his legs like a man spotting a cigarette after a month-long withdrawal.

He wanted to reach through the bars, wrap his lips around it, worship it, do something. But the cage openings were too small. All he could do was twitch.

Richard fumbled with the cabinet above. Pulled something out.

A long, black vibrator. Sleek. Heavy. Probably expensive. Definitely used.

“I’m no fruit,” Richard said, crouching again. “But we keep these around to entertain guests.”

He slid open the cage and handed it to Jeffrey, who blinked at it like it was a bomb.

“Go satisfy your little friend there.”

Jeffrey opened his mouth to speak, maybe protest, maybe explain he wasn’t little-

But the cage slammed shut before he could prove anything.

          

Chapter 3: Uno

He woke up sticky.

Stickier than before.

He felt filthier than he had in the warehouse full of rats. His muscles ached. His thighs buzzed with ghost vibrations. His hands were sore from how many times he’d jerked off.

He never used the toy inside him. He couldn’t.
But he held it against his balls for hours, grinding and huffing, moaning into the blanket like some sick dog in heat.

Now his entire body felt like static.
His stomach growled.
His head pounded.
His robe was bunched at his waist, damp with sweat and other fluids.

The room was quiet. The bed was made. Nobody in sight. For a second, he thought maybe they forgot about him. Maybe they’d all left for some cartel brunch.

Click.
Click.
Click.

Jeffrey turned his head slightly, pretending he wasn’t interested. But really, he’d been waiting for anything; anything other than lying in a puddle of his own cum like a discarded sock.

It was Jodi.

She wore a cheetah printed dress, satin and sheer. Her hair was curled. Her lashes long.

In her hand: a leash.

She smiled.

“Let me get you ready.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

She shaved him with care. Precision. Silence.

No music. No small talk.
Only the sound of razors scraping flesh and water dripping into a ceramic basin.

Jeffrey sat motionless as she combed out his hair, trimmed the sides, and oiled his face. The comb tugged. The bristles scratched.

He watched her in the mirror.
She was focused. Clinical. Almost maternal.

Then came the clothes.

A too-tight dress shirt. White, slightly yellowed with age. The fabric clung to him, especially around the chest. It smelled faintly of cologne and cigarettes.

A black striped tie, done up loose.
A sleeveless vest.
High socks, held up with calf garters.
Pressed trousers. Polished shoes.

He looked in the mirror.

And for a moment…
He looked young.
Not clean. Not innocent. But stripped of something.
Bare.
Like the version of himself who used to try in school. Who used to tell himself he wasn’t lonely.

“You won’t be allowed in most parts of the house,” she said, tying the leash around her wrist with a neat little bow. “But I’ll show you around. There’s a human zoo. A laboratory. The pool, when it’s not being used for orgies.”

Jeffrey blinked.

She kept going. “Gun room. Music room. And a confession chamber where they shock your testicles while you tell your secrets.”

“…Right,” Jeffrey murmured. He had no idea where to look.

They passed several women in matching maid uniforms. Asian. Pale. Wide-eyed. All silent. All eerily identical, like they’d been ordered from the same catalog.

“Richard has a type,” Jodi said casually. “He imports them.”

They turned a corner and nearly collided with two barefoot boys sprinting down the hall, shouting in Spanish. One had a machete. The other had what looked like a gun.

Jeffrey flinched.

“Sons,” Jodi said. “Or cousins. Or nephews. No one really knows.”

Jeffrey gave her a sideways glance. “How many people has he been with?”

“Too many,” she said flatly. “But he doesn’t love any of them. Rico only feels two things: lust and rage. The only people he’s ever truly loved are his blood.” She tapped her temple. “Familia.”

Jeffrey frowned. “But… he treats you different. Like he actually cares.”

Jodi smiled.

“I’m his second cousin.”

Jeffrey blinked.

 “Oh. That… makes sense.”

She shrugged, like it wasn’t worth unpacking.

“Everyone here’s a little messed up in the head. That’s why I won’t have his child. I want someone new. Someone with different blood. Better genes.”

She tugged gently on the leash, turning to face him fully.

“Someone like you.”

Jeffrey’s throat went dry.

“You’ve got strong bones. That good, sturdy Northern European look. But soft, too. You’d mix so well with indigenous Latin blood.”

Jeffrey just stared at her.

“Now,” Jodi said, tugging the leash gently, “let’s get you something to eat.”

She led him down a long corridor lined with painted portraits and dried flowers in dusty vases. He kept his eyes low, adjusting constantly to the leash’s tension.

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The dining room was too big.
Vaulted ceilings. A chandelier shaped like an inverted crucifix. Red velvet drapes. And a table long enough to seat twenty, covered in food that looked more like a feast for demons than people. Roast pork. Saffron rice. Pickled vegetables. Oysters on ice. Mango slices shaped like roses. Candied figs. Glass pitchers of horchata and some kind of crimson liquor that smelled like gasoline and cloves.

Jeffrey blinked. His stomach flipped, confused about whether to growl or gag.

At the head of the table sat Richard shirtless, silver necklace glinting against his collarbone, sunglasses still on indoors like he paid for the sun. One leg thrown casually over the other, joint dangling from his mouth.

Next to him: an overweight man in military uniform and a mole on his eyebrow.
Opposite him: a girl no older than sixteen snorting something off a plate.

Jeffrey hesitated in the doorway.

Jodi unclipped the leash and walked ahead, grabbing a mango spear with her bare hand and licking the juice off slowly.

“Come,” she said, voice syrupy. “Sit beside me. You’re our little guest of honor.”

He approached the table stiffly, unsure where to put his hands. The vest itched. The collar was too tight.

There was no chair, just a velvet stool at Jodi’s side.

He sat.

A maid appeared with a silver platter and set it in front of him. On it: grilled chicken, rice, black beans, fried plantains, and a little cup of flan.

He picked up a fork.
Took a bite.
Chewed.
Oh my God.

It was the best thing he’d tasted in months. Warm. Spiced. The chicken fell apart in his mouth like slow-roasted silk.

He wanted to devour it. Shovel it in like a starved prisoner.

But he could feel Richard’s gaze. And Jodi’s hand on his thigh.

So he ate slowly. Politely. Like a hostage at a banquet.

Across the table, one of the guests leaned in and whispered something in Spanish. Richard laughed. Loud and cruel.

Jodi leaned toward Jeffrey.

“They think you’re cute,” she murmured. “They want to know if you’re housebroken.”

Jeffrey swallowed a mouthful of rice, forcing it down like gravel.

Then, awkwardly, he leaned toward Jodi and whispered, “What does… ‘housebroken’ mean?”

“Means they wanna know if you piss on the rug or not.”

Jeffrey blinked.

“I, I don’t-”

“Relax,” she whispered. “It’s talk for ‘Is he trained yet? Will he obey? Does he bite?’”

“Oh,” Jeffrey muttered, face flushing. “Right. Yeah. Of course.”

She grinned wider, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

“Don’t worry, cariño. You’ll learn the etiquette soon. If you don't, they’ll teach you. The hard way.”

She picked a piece of pork off his plate and popped it into her mouth, then licked her fingers.

Across the table, one of the guests said something again in Spanish louder this time.

Jodi's eyes flicked up.

“Uh-oh,” she said under her breath. “They're placing bets.”

“On what?”

“On whether you'll choke before dessert.”

Jeffrey looked down at the flan.
It jiggled innocently.
Mocking him.

He suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore.

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They stopped at a black metal door.
Jodi typed in a code.

Inside was a sterile, windowless room.
Fluorescent lights. Cold air. Stacks of drawers.

She pulled one open. Inside was a folder, and in it: Jeffrey’s life.

His license. His Social Security card. Yearbooks. Arrest records. Medical charts. Every embarrassing family photo from the '70s onward. Even that one of him dressed as a cowboy at age six.

He stared. His stomach dropped.

“We have good sources,” Jodi said with a shrug. “More progress on you than whatever the fuck American police could pull off. And a really nosy aunt.”

She walked over to a corkboard on the far wall.
Pinned to it: photos of Jeffrey taken through windows. At bus stops. Coming out of grocery stores. Even one of him asleep in his apartment: mouth open, remote on his chest.

“Only took us a couple days. Perez was supposed to make sales in the U.S. He went missing. Next thing we know? We find you.”

Jeffrey couldn’t breathe.

She stepped closer, heels clicking on the tile.

“You don’t have to do the whole ‘Ohhh nooo I’m so scared and confused’ act anymore,” she said, mocking his slouched posture and nervous fidgeting. “It’s cute, sure. But you’re one of us. Deep down, you know that.”

She reached out and fixed his collar gently, like a sister. Or a lover. Or someone dressing a doll.

“Rico likes that. That sickness. That potential.”

Jeffrey swallowed hard.

Jodi leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear.

“You’ve done things. Thought things. And we know all of it. That’s why you’re still alive.”

She pulled back and smiled.

“There’s a surprise waiting for you tonight. A little test…”

Jeffrey didn’t speak. Couldn’t. He just looked around at the pieces of himself laid out like evidence. His entire life, dissected.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered.

Jodi tilted her head.

“You will.”

She turned to leave.

“Let’s finish the tour. You haven’t even seen the zoo yet.”

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After the tour, Jodi walked him through what life in the compound really looked like.

He saw men strung up by their wrists in a shed; screaming, half-flayed, begging in three languages. He saw drug mules forced to carry packages the size of bricks up stairwells on broken legs. He saw two cartel boys arguing over who got to “keep” a man’s jaw as a trophy.

And he saw the consequences when someone stole from the lab.

It wasn’t a warning.

It was an event. Filmed. Uploaded. Celebrated.

Jeffrey had seen things now. More than he wanted.

Now, Jodi was curled up next to him on the leather couch in one of the sitting rooms.

Jeffrey didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

She was warm. Sugar-sweet. Her fingers traced lazy circles against his chest, like he was a stuffed animal or a sedated pet. The leash sat coiled on the coffee table. Nearby, a glass of water. A knife.

On the TV, grainy footage played: someone crying, begging, shrieking. Then silence. A buzzsaw.

Jeffrey stared forward, eyes dry and fixed.

He didn’t like this part.

He never liked this part.

He preferred them unconscious.

Still. Quiet. Gone.

Pain made things ugly. Too real. It shattered the fantasy. Took the softness away.

Motionless bodies didn’t beg. They didn’t look at you like that.

Jodi watched his face. Watched his pupils shrink and dilate, watched his fingers twitch. She saw enough.

Click.

She turned the TV off.

Then she took his hand and stood up, pulling him with her. She didn’t speak.

Upstairs, the mood had changed.

The lounge was lit in a low red glow. On the velvet couches sat three men; young, twitchy, all in cheap streetwear, mid-conversation with Richard.

Richard sat relaxed, necklace swinging, sunglasses indoors like always. He had a drink in one hand and a joint in the other.

He spotted Jodi and her pet.

“Come,” he said. “Join us.”

Jeffrey obeyed. He sat beside Richard. Richard slung an arm around his shoulders, fingers gripping just a little too tight.

Jodi draped herself across both their laps, her legs a bridge between them. 

The men kept talking, Jeffrey couldn’t understand. But he felt like something was about to happen. He knew that now. You could always feel the high before the fall.

Then Jodi leaned up.

She whispered something into Richard’s ear.

Richard grinned.

“Dale.”

He reached into his pocket.

Pulled out a pistol.

And shot the first guy between the eyes.

The others screamed. They bolted.

Richard didn’t even blink.

Bang. Bang.

The two collapsed before they reached the door.

Smoke curled up from the muzzle.

Silence.

Jeffrey blinked.

He could feel his own heartbeat pounding against the inside of his ears.

Then Jodi sat up and clapped her hands like a schoolgirl at recess.

Richard turned to Jeffrey.

“Surprise, güerito.”

Jeffrey didn’t answer. 

Jodi kissed his temple and placed something cold in his lap.

A knife.

“Go on,” she whispered.

Richard nodded.

“Show us what you’re good at.”

Jeffrey didn’t move.

Something else in him did.

He got up. Stepped forward. The bodies were still twitching; barely. He hated that. Hated the flickers of life that complicated things. That made it wrong.

He knelt beside the first one, knife in hand.

Eyes wide. Blood bubbling from the mouth. The man tried to say something.

Jeffrey reached out, almost tenderly, and slit his throat. Slow. Purposeful.

The twitching stopped.

He turned to the next.

By the time he finished, he wasn’t shaking anymore.

Jodi’s eyes glittered.

Richard laughed. “He’s a natural.”

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Jeffrey didn’t remember when the wine started tasting good.

He just knew it didn’t stop.

They kept pouring it. And he kept drinking. Slurred sips, bitter mouthfuls. A warmth spread down his chest like a fuse burning in reverse.

Someone said something about him being “fun when he’s loose.” Someone else called him “a connoisseur of corpses.”

He laughed. A little too hard.
And when he looked down at his hands, they were red again.

He didn’t remember crawling back to the bodies.
Didn’t remember unbuttoning anything.
Didn’t remember the noises he made. Or the movements. Or the blood-slicked hunger curling in his gut like a second mouth.

But he did remember the couch.

The soft leather.
The coppery smell soaking into his hair.
The muffled sound of Richard and Jodi just a few feet away.

Jodi was on Richard’s lap, legs splayed open, his hand disappearing beneath the lace of her panties. She let out breathy little moans that bled into giggles. Richard was whispering filth into her ear; Spanish, English, it didn’t matter. Every language meant the same thing when someone was grinding against you like that.

Jeffrey heard it all.

And yet, he didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

He was lost in the haze. Too far gone. The wine. The blood. The soft sticky velvet of it all.

He forgot he wasn’t alone.

He forgot Jodi and her husband were still there watching. Whispering. Amused.

At some point, he let out a ragged sound; half-cry, half-exhale, and slumped forward, spent and shaking. His body felt hollowed out. Sweaty. Pathetic. Like a used napkin tossed on the floor after dinner.

He blinked up. The chandelier spun a little.

Then: warm fingers under his chin. Delicate. Feminine.

Jodi.

She kissed his temple gently.

“You did so well,” she murmured. “Come on, baby. Time for bed.”

He barely registered her grip.

She looped his arm over her shoulder and dragged his frame up the stairs, cooing little nothings as they passed the silent workers who stood by the walls like statues.

Behind them, the mess remained.

The blood.
The bodies.
The couch.

The maids would take care of it.

They always did.

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Jeffrey fumbled with the buttons on his vest, squinting like they were puzzles from another dimension.

“Wh-where’s the zipper?” he slurred. “There’s always a zipper...”

Jodi watched him try to crawl out of his own outfit like a crab. She laughed softly and helped him out of it, fingers deftly unfastening buttons while he giggled and hiccuped.

Then, abruptly, he vomited. Again

Right down her tits.

His eyes welled up instantly, horrified. 

“Oh my God. I’m-I’m so sorry. I didn’t-I wasn’t trying to, I just-”

Jodi kissed his forehead, unfazed.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s okay, love.”

The scent was awful, but her tone was soft. Familiar. It made Jeffrey feel like he was six again, with a scraped knee and a kiss to fix it.

She peeled off her soiled dress and tossed it aside. Her panties were already gone; left somewhere on the couch, forgotten in the mess of blood and gore.

Jeffrey blinked, dazed. She was breathtaking.

The curve of her hips, the soft slope of her stomach, the way her hair fell like silk over her shoulders. Moonlight caught the sheen of sweat on her collarbone. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, heavy and perfect, unmarred except for the faintest bruises from teeth.

Then he noticed the scar.

Low on her back, just above the tailbone. A pentagram, carved deep at some point in her youth. Crude but deliberate. Sharp lines. Spikes branching from each point like thorns. The skin around it had healed pale.

Jeffrey stared.

“If I wasn’t gay,” he mumbled, “I think I’d have a crush on you.”

She tilted her head, amused. “Good thing you are. Richard kills anyone who gets ideas.”

She slipped into the tub with a sigh, water sloshing around her. Jeffrey climbed in too, curling up on the opposite side, still a little shaky.

They sat there in warm silence a moment before she spoke again.

“So you’ve never been with a girl?”

“Nope.”

“Only guys?”

“Yeah. Probably around… two hundred. Give or take. Including the dead ones.”

Jodi raised her eyebrows. “Slutty.”

She reached over and pinched his nipple playfully.

Jeffrey gasped. 

“You like that?” she teased, laughing. “You moaned like a bitch.”

“I, no, I didn’t- shut up.”

She smirked. “Does it hurt to take it up the butt?”

Jeffrey looked confused. “I wouldn’t know.”

“…You don’t do anal?”

He shook his head. “I don’t like it. That’s what the hole is for. Shitting.”

Jodi clicked her tongue in disapproval. “That won’t do at all.”

He scooted closer, raising an eyebrow. 

“Prostate orgasms are real, you know. Feels like  fireworks and stars.”

“You just asked me if anal hurt,” he muttered. “Now you’re telling me to try it?”

“I’ve fingered Richard,” she said casually. “Only me, though. Girls only. A guy tries? He kills them before they even get the tip in.”

“He’s embarrassed.”

“He’s dramatic,” she corrected. “Says it’s gay. But you? I think you’d like it. I think he’d let you. If you’re the one taking it.”

Jeffrey’s head lolled back against the wall of the tub.

“…Richard is so fucking sexy,” he murmured. “If that’s the only way he can be part of me, fine.” He looked at her, dead serious. “Usually I eat boys I love. So they stay inside forever.”

Jodi just smiled.

“You’ve never been in love,” she said softly. “Only in lust.”

Jeffrey frowned.

“You should try it,” she said, tracing a finger down his chest. “It makes every climax feel enchanted.”

Jeffrey let out a shaky breath. “I don’t think I’m capable of falling in love.” He looked away. “I’m sick, Jodi.”

Jodi crawled forward, settling in his lap. She didn’t grind, didn’t press; just kneeled close, aware of the man’s disinterest in women. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gently hugged his face against her bare breasts.

“Maybe not love,” she murmured. “But a fondness. The kind that stays. The kind you don’t dispose of.”

Jeffrey stayed there, motionless between her breasts. It was warm. Safe. Not arousing, just quiet. Soft. Like falling asleep in the hollow of something that couldn’t hurt him.

He didn’t speak. He just closed his eyes, and for the first time in days, let himself feel… almost calm.

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Jodi dried him gently, like before. Soft towel. Softer hands. She guided him to the bed with quiet pride. The cage was gone. But the leash was not.

Nor the dynamic.

“You’re still mine,” she whispered, wrapping her legs around him from behind as they lay down. Her bare thighs slid against his hips, smooth and possessive. She pressed her chest to his back and slid her arms around his stomach.

“Don’t run away from me. Don’t leave me.”

Jeffrey pulled her hands in tighter, anchoring himself to the warmth.

 “I won’t leave,” he mumbled. “I promise.”

He meant it.

I have nothing to lose. Nothing to go back to.

Even if this was temporary, even if it all ended tomorrow- he’d rather burn out here than fade away somewhere else.

He was here for a good time. Not a long one.

 

Chapter 4: Uno y Medio

Notes:

yaoi vs normal… comment down below who you think won

When he woke, everything felt off.

Dim lighting. A humid edge in the air. Full. Heavy.

His body was numb in some places, over-aware in others. He stirred slightly, but didn’t get far. Jodi’s legs were still wrapped around his waist, cradling him like a blanket made of porcelain. Her hair tickled his face.

She hummed softly, running a hand over his cheek. “Shh,” she whispered. “Just breathe.”

He did.

And then he saw him.

Standing in the middle of the room.

Naked. Lean. Tan. Still as a knife waiting to be drawn. He stared at Jeffrey with curiosity.

Between Jeffrey’s legs, there was pressure. Something thick. Slippery. Strange.

He tensed.

His eyes flicked to the side: a glass bottle. Half-empty. A smear of oil on the sheets. A discarded cloth.

He swallowed hard, lips trembling.

Richard didn’t speak. Just stared.

Jodi rested her chin on Jeffrey’s shoulder. “You’re doing so well,” she murmured. “This is your reward.”

The floor creaked under Richard’s bare feet as he approached the bed, each step slow like a predator circling its prey.

Jeffrey didn’t move.

Not even when the mattress dipped under Richard’s weight. He knelt between Jeffrey’s legs with a casual grace, all lean muscle and dark intent. The overhead light caught the silver around his neck, casting sharp glints across his collarbone.

He leaned in.

Jeffrey held his breath.

Their noses brushed; just a whisper of contact before Richard inhaled.

Long. Deep.

He dragged the breath down from the ridge of Jeffrey’s nose to the hollow beneath his jaw. Then down his neck, warm breath fanning over his clavicle, his chest. Lower.

Jeffrey’s skin shivered where it passed. His mouth parted, just slightly.

Richard reached the dip between his ribs and lingered there, then dipped lower into the valley of his abdomen, pausing again at the tender skin just above his hips. Finally, his breath ghosted over the inside of Jeffrey’s thigh.

Jeffrey’s whole body was tight with stillness, unsure whether to bolt or melt.

Then Richard looked up.

Their eyes locked; Jeffrey, dazed and Richard, unreadable.

One hand slid up to rest firmly on the pale curve of Jeffrey’s thigh. The other gripped the handle of whatever had been left inside him.

Richard’s lips curled.

Jeffrey’s eyes widened as he felt the object being slowly withdrawn from him.

It was… long. Uncomfortably so.
A strange, squelching sensation followed each inch. It felt like it would never end. His body wasn’t in pain but it wasn’t pleasure either. Just… sensation. Slippery. Invasive. Hollowing.

When it was finally gone, he gasped.

Empty. Sore.
His hips shifted reflexively. His body twitched in places he didn’t fully understand.

Richard stood over him, unbothered, slicking his fingers through the remnants of lube left behind. A glistening trail stretched between his middle and ring finger as he raised his hand.

He didn’t speak. Just looked down at him darkly.

And Jeffrey, without thinking, without question, opened his mouth.

Richard’s fingers slid past his lips. Jeffrey suckled on them automatically. Warmth bloomed in his chest.

Behind him, Jodi circled his chest with slow thumbs. Over his ribs. His sternum. His heartbeat.

Richard reached for the dildo and brought it back to Jeffrey's entrance. Jeffrey tensed, his body going rigid as he felt the thick head pressing against him. He whimpered as Richard pushed the toy into him, inch by slow inch. The stretch was intense, bordering on painful, and Jeffrey couldn't help but squirm and cry out.

"Sshh, you're doing so well," Jodi whispered, her lips brushing his ear. "The pain will go away."

Richard's eyes gleamed with dark satisfaction as he watched Jeffrey struggle to accommodate the thick intrusion. He pushed deeper, the dildo disappearing into Jeffrey's tight heat.

Jeffrey's hands fisted in the sheets, his knuckles white with the effort of holding still. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as the pressure built, the pain edging into pleasure.

"That's it," Richard growled, "take it all."

He bottomed out, the base of the dildo pressed flush against Jeffrey's ass. Jeffrey let out a choked sob, his body shuddering with the intensity of it.

Richard held still for a moment, letting Jeffrey adjust. Then, slowly, he began to withdraw the toy. Jeffrey whined at the sensation, his body clenching around the retreating length.

He pulled the dildo all the way out, leaving Jeffrey's hole gaping and slick with lube. Richard's eyes widened as he took in the sight, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

"Chinga," he breathed, "look at that. Your hole is gaping like a little cunt. So desperate to be filled."

Jeffrey flushed at the crude words, a mix of embarrassment and dark arousal coursing through him. He couldn't look away from where Richard was staring, transfixed by the way his body seemed to beg for more.

Richard brought the dildo back to Jeffrey's entrance and pressed it in again, this time slipping inside with ease. Jeffrey let out a shuddering moan as the thick length filled him once more.

"Lo ves?" Richard laughed, beginning to thrust the toy in and out. "Made to be stretched, filled, and used."

Jodi kept up a steady reassurance, her hands never leaving Jeffrey's body as he was fucked open on the toy. His cries grew higher pitched, more desperate, as Richard picked up the pace.

"Agh," he gasped out, his hips lifting to meet each thrust of the dildo. "Please, I can't... I need..."

Richard grinned down at him, his thrusts relentless. "What do you need, pretty boy? Tell me."

"I need... I need," Jeffrey whimpered, his cock aching and leaking between his legs. "Touch me, let me come."

Richard chuckled darkly. "Todavía no," he said. "I'm not done with you yet."

Jeffrey began to feel fussy. He was already so tired from the large object jammed between his cheeks. Definitely not beginners friendly whatsoever… and this was just the start?

He grunted, desperate to cum, and before he could even stroke, Jodi swatted his hand away. 

"Don't rely on your clit," she flicked the trembling man’s tip. "We are stretching you out to show how your pussy is always the number one priority."

A fresh wave of tears welled in Jeffrey's eyes, and a choked sob escaped him. The thought of his own body betraying him, of being reduced to this, was too much. He turned his head, burying his face in the sheets, muffling his cries.

Richard leaned down, laughing. Before Jeffrey could utter another sound, Richard's turned his head to face him. His mouth was on his, a deep, possessive kiss that stole his breath and his cries. Jeffrey moaned into the kiss, his body relaxing as Richard began to withdraw the dildo. The sensation of being emptied was both a relief and a disappointment, leaving him feeling hollow and needy.

As the toy slid free, Richard's own dick, hard and throbbing, brushed against Jeffrey's legs, a tantalizing friction over his aching cock. Jeffrey gasped, his eyes fluttering open. He felt a primal urge, a desperate need to take Richard's cock into his mouth.

"Let me suck on your cock. I’ve been wanting to so bad," Jeffrey managed to croak out, his voice rough with emotion.

Richard pulled back slightly, a satisfied smirk on his lips. He sat up, patting Jeffrey softly on the cheek, a gesture that was both condescending and strangely encouraging. Then, he leaned forward, his mouth finding Jodi's in a deep, passionate kiss.

Jeffrey's gaze drifted down, drawn to the magnificent sight of Richard's length, hanging heavy and inviting right in front of his face. Without hesitation, he reached out and pulled on Richard's long, uncut latino cock. He brought it to his mouth, his lips parting as he eagerly sucked.

Richard ground and bucked forward, his make-out session with Jodi intensifying as Jeffrey took him deep into his mouth. Jeffrey cupped Richard's ass with one hand, anchoring himself, while the other hand guided Richard's member further into his throat. He sucked and moaned around the thick shaft, his body trembling with the effort and the pleasure. He gagged, unable to take the sheer size of it, but Richard didn't care. He just kept thrusting, pushing deeper, forcing Jeffrey to swallow more and more.

Richard pulled away slightly from Jodi’s lips, patting the blondes head in awe. “No manches, mamí. His throat is,” Richard bit his lip, feeling Jeffrey’s throat tighten and contract around his length, “so damn tight.”

“If you think his throat is tight, imagine how tight his hole is,” Jodi teased. “You have to hurry up, or else our stretching would be for nothing.”

Jeffrey’s hole puckered at the thought, a traitorous clench that both shamed and excited him.

Richard kissed Jodi one more time; a deep, lingering kiss that promised more, before pulling away completely. Out of curiosity, he moved his hands to the back of Jeffrey’s head and pushed his length all the way down his throat.

Jodi bit her lip, looking below to see his pale cock twitch at the intrusion. Saliva dripped from Jeffrey’s slack mouth, his jaw aching from the strain, and he was close to vomiting all over Richard’s length. Jodi, ever the mediator, noticed his discomfort and quickly shoved Richard off Jeffrey’s face.

"Hmm," Jodi mused, her voice laced with amusement. "At least 200 men, and yet my husband seems to be unbridled territory. He's only nine inches. Are American cocks that small?"

Jeffrey just coughed, a pathetic, dry sound as he fought for breath. 

Richard stretched, grabbing a bottle of water from the nightstand, his thumb popping open the cap. Jeffrey, his eyes watering with humiliation and exertion, drank the cool liquid, a blessed relief against his ravaged throat.

The bottle was empty in seconds. Richard snatched it from Jeffrey’s mouth and, with a violent flick of his wrist, hurled it across the room. 

Jodi shifted from behind Jeffrey, allowing him to fully collapse, splayed flat on the bed. Instinctively, Jeffrey spread his legs wide open, too desperate to feel any sense of shame as he pulled his hole apart, making it look like wet, glistening lips of a cunt.

Richard grinned darkly, a predator savoring his prey, and spat one more time, the wet sound echoing in the sudden silence. Jeffrey’s hole puckered at the sensation.

“I could hear how horny you were the other night, Jeff,” Jodi leaned down, her breath warm against Jeffrey’s ear, close enough to touch foreheads. “Did you pretend you were me? Playing with my husband’s cock?”

She firmly cupped Jeffrey’s balls, her thumb pressing into the sensitive flesh, pulling them slightly upwards.

“Yes,” Jeffrey sobbed, the admission torn from his very soul. “I wanted it. I wanted him so bad. I wanted you to watch! Watch your husband make love to me,” he choked out, tears streaming down his face. “I want it so bad.” His legs began to tremble uncontrollably, and Jeffrey, in a desperate bid for sensation, rubbed his feet against Richard’s broad shoulders, his whole body vibrating with impatience for Richard’s cock.

“Fuck me! Fuck me now!” he cried, his voice cracking. “Make me scream! Rip my insides! Cum inside me!” He bucked his hips up, a desperate, primal rhythm against the sheets, tears streaming down his face.

Jeffrey wasn’t even able to register what was happening next. 

Jodi, her own desire overwhelming her control, slid her tongue deep into Jeffrey’s throat. Jeffrey knew that he was raging homosexual. But it didn’t diminish the exquisite pleasure of being fully adored, the absolute center of attention. He melted into the kiss helplessly, as Richard thrusted inside him with renewed ferocity.

He felt Jodi pull away as Richard yanked her hair, forcing her lips onto his in an angry, possessive demand. Jeffrey watched, mesmerized, as the latino greedily sucked on the pretty girl’s face, thrusting in harder and faster, their bodies a blur of slick motion.

Jodi, now laying beside Jeffrey, her own body still humming with arousal, began to rub her pussy. Jeffrey’s heart pounded in his chest, a frantic drumbeat against his ribs, watching the two of them become one, consumed by their shared desire.

The two pulled away briefly, gasping for breath, their eyes still locked in a fiery embrace, before shifting their attention back, their combined gaze now fixed on Jeffrey.

Jeffrey shuddered, feeling his hand being guided towards Jodi’s warmth. “Use two fingers,” she whispered. “Rub here.” 

Jeffrey bit his lip. Jodi’s wet folds felt strangely familiar, like the very organs he’d been frotting against earlier. 

“Si. Bueno. Just like that.”

“He’s a quick learner, Goldie,” Richard said, his voice a low, rumbling growl.

“Mhm. Ohh, faster, Jeff,” Jodi urged, his fingers moving with a maddening rhythm. “The same pace as how Richard is fucking you….”

As one of Jeffrey’s hands continued to work magic against her clit, Richard’s other hand, already slick with lube, curled up inside her. 

“Ah! Rico,” Jodi gasped, her breath catching in her throat. 

Richard, responding to her jolt, bucked his fingers viciously, his index and ring fingers sliding back and forth into Jodi’s wet warmth with relentless energy.

Jeffrey pulled the two of them in closer, feeling his own peak approaching, a tidal wave of sensation building within him. He’d never experienced a hands-free orgasm before. Jodi was right. Prostate orgasms felt way-

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Richard thrashed inside him, spilling his hot, thick load deep inside Jeffrey’s tight heat.

Jeffrey didn’t know if he was having a seizure or a stroke. He jittered uncontrollably, feeling his puffy hole clench tightly around Richard’s rod. And then, as the waves of pleasure crested, he felt Jodi’s pussy, slick with her nectar, squirt. 

The orgasm he experienced was more like Jodi's than Richard's; a long, drawn-out, mind-shattering crescendo that Jeffrey felt was the loooooooooongest orgasm he had ever had.

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The bed was soaked.

Jodi was still catching her breath, splayed out on her back like a goddess. Richard, meanwhile, had one arm locked tightly around her waist and a possessive knee wedged between her thighs.

He was still upset.

That kiss.

The one Jodi had pressed to Jeffrey’s lips mid-thrust, all giggles and mischief. It wasn’t part of the plan.

Jodi noticed the shift in his mood immediately. She laughed and turned toward him, pressing a kiss to his mouth slower this time. Meaningful.

“Todavía eres el mejor,” she whispered, curling a hand over his stubbled jaw. “Don’t be jealous.” Then she reached over, beckoning lazily to the other side of the bed. “Come here, Jeffrey.”

Jeffrey blinked, startled. He had been curled up at the edge, spine to the both of them, clutching a pillow like it might shield him.

He hesitated.

Jodi rolled her eyes, sat up, and yanked him gently by the arm. “Don’t be shy. He already came inside you.”

Jeffrey flushed a little but obeyed, crawling over the expanse of the bed like a guilty puppy. He laid himself down beside Richard, stiff as a corpse, back turned, trying not to breathe too loud.

Jodi tutted again. “Face him.”

“I don’t-”

“Face him,” she repeated. Then added, teasing in Spanish, “He’s harmless, Rico. He won’t sodomize you. He’s warm. And cute.”

Richard exhaled through his nose. Annoyed. But not rejecting. After, he shifted an arm out slightly, just enough for Jeffrey to tuck into.

Jeffrey wrapped his legs around Richard’s side hesitantly, head nestling over the other man’s heartbeat. It thudded slow and steady beneath his ear. Warm. Human. Real.

Richard glanced down.

Was he… purring?

Jeffrey didn’t notice, but Richard smirked.

One palm slid low, settling over Jeffrey’s white ass. Just resting there. Possessive. Still.

Jodi sighed contentedly, curling herself around Richard from the other side.

Three tangled bodies.

One ruined bed.

Sleep came slowly. But it came.

Together.

Chapter 5: Dos

Notes:

You were so bright
You were older
You taught me how to fly
You were my teacher, my shoulder
You taught me how to lie
Built me up, broke me down
Lying helpless on the ground
How will I ever be the same?
Given up, can’t pretend
No use trying to make amends
How will I ever be the same?
You burnt my halo
But I’m alive

 

-Alexis Munroe

Jeffrey woke up alone.

The sheets were tangled around his ankles. His body ached. Not in the unpleasant way, but in the heavy lingering way that came from being thoroughly used. He shifted against the mattress, wincing slightly as he sat up, skin still sticky with the aftermath of last night.

He was cold. He missed the warmth, the weight, the tangle of limbs that had filled the dark hours before dawn. A sliver of light glowed beneath the bathroom door, casting a soft halo into the hallway beyond the bedroom. 

Jeffrey rubbed his eyes, then stood, legs unsteady, the soreness in his bottom a vivid reminder of what they'd done.

He padded toward the light.

Inside the bathroom, the steam curled like mist around the tiles, clinging to the mirror in a fog. 

Richard stood in the shower, water cascading over his lean frame. He was slightly taller than Jeffrey, but it was the angular sharpness of his limbs, the deceptive elegance of his frame, that made Jeffrey feel smaller. Weaker. Less than.

Jeffrey paused.

“Where’s Jodi?”

Richard looked up, catching his gaze through the glass. “She’s gone,” he said, reaching for the soap. “Jodi’s an early bird.”

He opened the shower door. 

“Come here.”

Jeffrey hesitated.

Richard’s gaze dipped to his thigh. “I can still see it dripping down your leg.”

Heat bloomed in Jeffrey’s chest as he stepped forward, water enveloping him in a sudden rush of warmth. Richard caught him by the wrist, turning him slowly.

The bar of soap pressed to his chest.

"By Satan, you’re a mess," Richard teased. “All wrecked from last night.”

Jeffrey bit back a sound as the soap slid down his body, across his stomach, slow and unhurried. Richard’s hand was firm. Practiced. He moved with a confidence that made Jeffrey’s knees unsteady all over again.

"You know what makes a man dangerous?" Richard asked, pressing his body flush against Jeffrey’s back, lips grazing the shell of his ear.

Jeffrey couldn’t speak.

"It’s not the guns," Richard continued, voice a breathy hum. "Not the money. It’s the intimacy."

His hand slid lower, just grazing Jeffrey’s hipbone.

"The ones who get close? Who get under your skin?" His fingers brushed lower, ghosting along the base of Jeffrey’s cock. "Those are the ones who survive."

A quiet whimper escaped Jeffrey’s lips. His hips bucked instinctively.

"Everyone else?" Richard’s breath was warm. “Furniture.”

Jeffrey let out a shaky breath.

"You," Richard murmured, lips dragging along his neck, "I don’t know what you are yet. A pillow? A blanket? A very scared chandelier?"

Jeffrey’s voice cracked. “I… I think I might be a doormat?”

That made Richard laugh; low, dark, delicious. The kind of laugh that made Jeffrey’s knees buckle. That made his cock twitch, already half-hard and aching.

"Boy, you’re cute," Richard said, amused. "So eager."

The next stroke of his hand wasn’t teasing. It was precise. Firm. Measured.

Jeffrey gasped.

"Mmhm, there it is," Richard whispered. "Already so needy. I barely touched you."

He gripped him harder, stroking with slow,  motions that left Jeffrey panting, head thrown back against Richard’s shoulder.

“Please,” Jeffrey whispered, hips rocking against his palm.

Richard’s breath tickled his ear. “You’re going to come just from this?”

Jeffrey moaned. “I, I can’t-”

“Good,” Richard laughed, stroking him faster. 

“Aah~”

Then, abruptly, his hand stopped.

Jeffrey let out a choked cry, his cock twitching in his own hand as he tried to chase the friction that had been stolen too soon.

Richard leaned in close, lips brushing his temple. His voice was a whisper.

“My wife,” he said, “she’s the devil’s daughter. And she likes her toys broken.”

Then he stepped back.

Jeffrey spun, breathless, desperate.

But Richard was already stepping out of the shower, water dripping down his body, calm as ever.

“You’re not gonna last here, güerito,” he said, reaching for a towel. “Unless you start thinking like one of us.”

He glanced over his shoulder, smirking.

“So here’s your first lesson.”

And then he was gone.

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Jeffrey stood in the shower for what felt like thirty minutes, hand wrapped around himself, eyes half-lidded, waiting for the release that never came. Nothing. Not even a twitch of pleasure. The memory of Richard, the real Richard, not the imagined one, had completely overtaken his usual fantasies. Every cruel whisper, every bruising thrust, every mocking laugh. Reality, it turned out, had more bite than fiction.

He sighed and let his arm fall slack.

If it were up to him, he’d have drugged Richard by now. Knocked him out cold. That way, he’d belong entirely to Jeffrey; limp and quiet, his to play with. His to keep. A possession, not a person.

Jeffrey stepped out of the shower, still aching in places he didn’t want to name. He wrapped a towel around his hips and left the bathroom.

The bed was already made. The sheets were tucked tight, erasing every stain and scream from the night before. Atop it was Jodi, yelling at one of Richard’s illegitimate kids bouncing up and down on the mattress like it was a trampoline and not the graveyard of last night’s sins. 

Jeffrey froze in the doorway, watching the child shriek with glee as tiny feet stomped over the place where he’d been pinned hours ago, choking on moans.

The boy eventually bounced off and scampered out the room, yelling something in rapid Spanish. Jodi sighed dramatically and flopped back against the pillows, turning to Jeffrey with a smile.

“You never get restless here,” she said warmly. “There’s plenty of things you can do.”

Jeffrey’s eyes dropped to the edge of the bed, where a pile of folded clothes waited neatly beside her. A short-sleeve dress shirt. Brown corduroy bell-bottoms. A black belt with a gold buckle perched on top like a crown. The outfit was reminiscent of his young adulthood. Like, the clothes displayed on a mannequin he stole that one time to rub against.

Still, he reached for it without a word.

The day blurred after that.

First, they handed him a camera.

He stood just off-frame, sweat pooling down his back as a man begged for his life in Spanish. A masked figure read a cue card in a cheerful monotone. Then came the blade. The scream. The gurgle. Jeffrey didn’t flinch. He kept the camera steady.

Then came cleanup duty.

A failed dealer had been left sprawled across white tile like a broken puppet. Jeffrey mopped up what was left: coagulated blood, some pieces of jaw, an eyeball that wouldn’t stop staring at him. He hummed to himself without realizing it.

One of the maids, a petite woman with a scar running from her cheek to her collarbone offered him a spoonful of something off the floor.

“Good for circulation,” she said.

It was brain probably.

Jeffrey took it. Chewed. Swallowed.

“I like it.”

By evening, the hacienda transformed.

Gone were the blood-soaked floors and silent hallways. In their place: candlelight, velvet, and the low thrum of a string quartet tuning up in the lounge. 

The air stank of perfume and something rotten. Something still bleeding.

Jodi slipped an arm around Jeffrey’s as they walked out to the main hall, her heels clicking like a countdown. “You’re going to love this part,” she whispered. “Every Sunday, we have a dinner party.”

The guests had begun to arrive, dragging guns, knives, and God complexes with them. There was a teen general with a glass eye and a revolver too big for his hands.
A Bolivian heiress who couldn’t stop grinding her teeth. An ex-bishop from Guatemala who claimed he could smell Gods wrath.

The kind of crowd that made warlords seem like PTA parents.

At the head of the long, candlelit table sat Richard, sharp as ever, in a white guayabera with his sleeves rolled up. Next to him, sipping mezcal and laughing like brothers-in-arms, was none other than El Chapo himself.

Jeffrey recognized him from the news. From the whispered folklore of middle America where cartel men had become mythological beasts.

“Guzmán loves Rico,” Jodi said, noticing Jeffrey’s stare. “Says he’s the only one who doesn’t let ego get in the way of business. All the other idiots compete. Richard collaborates. That’s why we’re still breathing.”

Jeffrey’s gaze moved to the other end of the room, where representatives from the Gulf Cartel were shaking hands with a man whose face was literally half burnt. Even the Tijuana boys were here, clinking glasses with old-school Sicarios who hadn’t been seen since '89.

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Dinner began with a scream.

A piglet was brought out, alive and squealing, before being slaughtered at the center of the table while guests raised their glasses. That was just the appetizer.

The next course: grilled iguana. Still twitching.

Then came the third. Something unidentifiable with a face that still blinked.

Jeffrey didn’t ask. He chewed.

“Ahora,” Richard announced, rising to his feet and clapping twice, “Es el momento de un juego.”

The lights dimmed. A spotlight cut across the hall.

Three men were dragged in by their collars blindfolded, bloodied, trembling. Their hands were tied behind their backs, and one of them was already sobbing.

“It’s called Guess Who Betrayed Us,” Jodi whispered to Jeffrey. “A game we play to get confessions”

A cheer went up around the table.

Jodi turned to Jeffrey, eyes gleaming. “You’re first, cariño.”

He froze. “Me?”

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “Just pretend they’re already dead. They’ll love that.”

Jeffrey hesitated. Then stood.

He walked to the center of the room, heartbeat pulsing in his ears like a funeral drum. He picked the man in the middle: tall, gaunt, still trying to look brave.

Jeffrey touched the man’s chest gently. Then kissed his cheek.

The room went quiet.

Jeffrey smiled faintly, eyes glassy. Then bit down.

The man screamed as Jeffrey tore a chunk out of his ear with his teeth.

The crowd roared. Glasses clinked. Someone from Sinaloa shouted, “¡Maricón caníbal!”

Richard laughed from the end of the table, arm slung around Chapo’s shoulder.

Jodi blew him a kiss.

Jeffrey stood there, blood on his mouth, stomach flipping and brain buzzing.

He didn’t know if he felt powerful… or just incredibly, incredibly empty.

Either way, they were cheering.

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The game dragged on.

Eventually, the third man: skinny, twitching, with one eye nearly swollen shut broke. He confessed. Something about stealing product, tipping off a rival cell, feeding information to the DEA. The room erupted in jeers. Someone threw a wine glass.

Didn’t matter.

All three of them were killed anyway.

Jeffrey watched absently as the man’s body convulsed on the tile. Arterial blood sprayed across the floor like an abstract painting. His stomach turned, but he didn’t move. It was all so… procedural. Pointless. But they got their information, didn’t they?

Later, Jeffrey sat in the lounge, drunk out of his mind.

He couldn’t tell if he was being flirted with or made fun of. Probably both. Richard had made it embarrassingly clear that Jeffrey was a ‘puto’ and now a ring of men surrounded him, half-curious, half-predatory.

He clutched his wine like a lifeline, swaying slightly as someone offered him a cigarette he didn’t want.

He could barely track the conversation. He caught snatches of words; el jota, perrito masocta, rico culo, maricón de Wisconsin. He kept nodding on autopilot, probably agreeing to something reckless and humiliating. 

He wished Jodi could be here to translate. To throw them a look or laugh at the worst of it. But she had wandered off somewhere hours ago. 

One of the men beside him trailed a hand up his thigh.

“Esta es la primera vez que veo a alguien de tu tipo,” the man said, eyes gleaming. "Los blancos son sumisos como las mujeres. ¡Qué encantador!"

Jeffrey nodded again.

“¿Eres un español?”

Jeffrey hesitated. “Uh… claro que sí?”

The man grinned and leaned in, kissing him on the mouth.

It was wet and warm. Jeffrey felt… odd. Not afraid. Just exposed. People were watching. It kinda turned him on. He’d never been the center of attention like this. Not in any social setting. For once, people noticed him. 

It was disgusting. It was exhilarating.

Until something warm splashed across his chest.

He jerked back.

The man slumped forward, a knife buried deep in his heart. Just inches from Jeffrey’s. Blood spilled in ribbons, hot and fast.

Jeffrey shoved him off instinctively, heart leaping.

Across, Richard stood, licking the blade clean, eyes fixed on him.

The crowd didn’t scream. No one even flinched. They simply resumed their drinks and cocaine, as if someone had dropped a tray of fruit instead of a corpse.

Richard approached calmly, reached for Jeffrey’s wrist, and led him away in silence.

Upstairs, he opened a set of tall glass doors him leading onto a balcony. The night was warm. Crickets chirped. Gunfire popped in the distance like fireworks.

There was a bench with cushions. Richard pulled him down onto his lap like he weighed nothing.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a fat cigar, and stuck it between Jeffrey’s lips.

Jeffrey held it obediently.

Richard lit the end. Watched the flame catch. Then pulled the cigar from Jeffrey’s mouth and leaned in, letting the smoke curl from Jeffrey’s lungs into his own open mouth.

He pulled back, exhaling slowly. 

“You’ve got long lashes,” he smiled. 

Jeffrey didn’t reply.

Richard tapped ash off the cigar and said, “She tell you about the wedding?” 

Something felt off in the way he said it. He wasn’t looking at Jeffrey. He just stared at the glowing end of the cigar, thumb fidgeting with the lighter in his other hand.

Jeffrey’s eyes drifted to one of the silver rings on Richard’s finger, wrapped like a vine, identical to Jodi’s. Except his was set with a black jewel shaped like a pentagram, sharp and glossy, the same shape Jeffrey had seen scarred into the small of her back.

He nodded.

“It’s tomorrow,” Richard said. “When you first showed up here, I told Goldie three days. Three days before she gets bored of her toy and throws it away.”

Finally, he looked back at Jeffrey. He circled around his cheek with his thumb. The gesture was slow. It felt less playful than usual.

“You didn’t seem any different from the rest of her possessions. But,” he paused, “the more I studied you… the more valuable you seemed.”

Jeffrey was too drunk to process it all. His mind was still stuck on earlier, bratty and bitter that Richard hadn’t let him finish. His body buzzed with heat and wine.

He let his head fall into the space between Richard’s neck and shoulder, the smell of him intoxicating. Instinctively, his hips shifted, grinding just a little in Richard’s lap.

Richard gripped his thighs, keeping him still.

Jeffrey whined softly.

“Besides all the faggotry,” Richard muttered, “we’re not as different as we seem.”

He paused, his tone cooling.

“I think I was biased. Before we imported you from the Big Cheese, I got into a bad argument with my princess.”

Jeffrey made a small sound into Richard’s shoulder, muffled and tired.

“I was worried about her,” Richard went on. “I love that girl. I really do. I figured letting her keep a pet would distract her from how pissed she was at me. She’s different now. I watched her grow up. When I first brought her here, she didn’t know a lick of Spanish.”

He paused, reminiscing. “I had to teach her. Smart girl, she adapts quickly.” He said with pride. “But then, she got too smart with her Spanish. So, she had to practice her English again.” 

Jeffrey blinked, brow furrowed.

“Are you guys American?”

Richard nodded. “Born and raised. From El Paso to East L.A.”

He took a drag from the cigar, exhaled.

“I had to run, though. Pigs were catching up to me.”

Something clicked. 

1985

Jeffrey was just twenty-five. He remembered the news reports. California. Satanic symbols. A string of brutal murders. Groupies of sexed-up-women.

“You’re… the Night Stalker?”

Richard gave a half-smile, like it was an inside joke.

“Sí.”

Jeffrey pulled back slowly, blinking at the man in front of him. Everything about him suddenly made sense.

“I couldn’t stop killing,” Richard said plainly. “So I moved here. Where I have more freedom.”

He leaned back, stretching slightly.

“It’s funny. You got all these Mexicans trying to cross the border north. Coyotes, tunnels, risking their lives only to get deported. Me? I ran south to start a better life.”

Jeffrey blinked.

He wanted to ask how Jodi got involved. How she ended up trapped with this psychopath. But maybe it was better not to know.

Richard tilted his head, grinning.

“What are you thinking about? You wanna cut off my cock and keep it as a souvenir?”

Jeffrey rubbed at his eyes. “That’s just ‘cause I’m too drunk to have a productive conversation.”

There were actually plenty of questions spinning through his head. None of them were safe to ask.

Richard ran a hand through his hair and kissed him gently, almost tender.

Jeffrey didn’t know whether to feel flattered or afraid.

Probably both. 

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He felt so good, so filled. Richard’s sins were momentarily forgotten by the intensity of his climax. Jeffrey let out a shaky laugh, a giddy sound of disbelief. 

His legs felt like jelly as he slid off, the friction sending shivers down his spine. He straddled the man’s still-hard cock, the weight of it a potent reminder of the pleasure he’d just experienced. 

Richard’s gaze, usually predatory, softened. 

"Go find Jodi," he said, his hands brushing Jeffrey’s thigh. "Bring her here."

Jeffrey nodded obediently. 

He stumbled off, his body still buzzing with pleasure and pain. As he moved towards the door, he glanced back over, sensing a shift in the air. 

It was thick and heavy. It clung onto the walls.

The heaviness of whatever happened between Richard and Jodi. 

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Jodi sat on the edge of the tub, back curved in on itself, knuckles white around a razor she wasn’t even using. The candles glowed around her like silent spectators. Her eyes were red, lashes damp, lips trembling slightly until the soft click of the door cut through the hush.

She froze. Then, in a practiced motion, wiped her face with her forearm, pulled her shoulders back, and got up like nothing had happened.

Jeffrey padded in barefoot. His skin was still flushed from the heat, from the liquor, from whatever he’d swallowed down to keep himself present tonight. He stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his cheek gently to her shoulder.

She didn’t move.

“Come to bed,” he said softly. “Richard’s already warmed up. We miss you.”

Jodi gave a soft laugh, brittle and tired. “You’re clingy when you’re drunk.”

“I know.”

Her fingers slowly loosened around the razor. It slipped from her hand and clattered into the sink.

“Did he tell you how we met?” 

Jeffrey didn’t answer. He just held her closer.

“I was only five when he took me,” she said softly. “Rich convinced me that everything was fine. That everything he did was normal,” she paused, just briefly. 

“To others. To me.”

She leaned back into him, just slightly.

“I still like to pretend sometimes.”

Jeffrey kissed her shoulder gently.

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

She let out another laugh. 

“You’re so sweet for a monster.”

He kissed her again.

“Come on,” he urged. “The bed’s still warm. And Richard’s in one of his romantic moods.”

She finally turned to look at him. Her eyes were still glossy, but steady now.

He reached for her hand.

She took it.

Notes:

if you ever find yourself in this situation, run as far away as possible… don’t be like Jodi and if you are, please kill your version of Richard as soon as the opportunity presents itself

Chapter 6: Tres

Día de la Boda

Jeffrey woke up alone again. The bed was cold where Jodi used to be. Sticky where Richard had been.

He had been too drunk to remember if Richard and Jodi done anything together. He just remembered Richard passing out by the time he’d finally convinced Jodi to sleep with them, and Jodi getting up for long periods of time throughout the night.

A soft knock tapped against the door.

When it opened, she wasn’t one of the usual Asian maids with their unnervingly youthful faces, overly suggestive uniforms, vacant eyes, and fear stitched into their posture. This woman was older. Dressed modestly, hair pinned back, her face creased not by makeup but by time.

For a moment, Jeffrey felt the familiar twitch of self-consciousness; naked, vulnerable, painfully hungover. But the woman said nothing. She simply approached him with a folded shirt, helped straighten his collar, offered him a glass of water, and left his shoes by the door. Her kindness was quiet and strangely comforting.

Downstairs, the smell of eggs, beans, and fresh tortillas greeted him before anyone else did. The dining table was half-full: workers, guards, maybe distant relatives of Richard or Jodi.

He ate silently, savoring the warmth of real food.
Then something tugged his sleeve.

Jeffrey turned to see a chubby boy, maybe five or six. Short, round-faced, hair sticking up in every direction. He grinned up at Jeffrey with wide eyes and said in broken English, “Come, I show!”

Before he could respond, the kid grabbed his wrist and yanked him away from the table. With nothing better to do, and no sign of Jodi or Richard, Jeffrey followed.

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The backyard had transformed overnight.

Rows of pews were being assembled in neat lines. Streamers in gold and black were being hung from wooden beams. Someone was unloading buckets of fresh flowers from a truck, and an altar was taking shape near the edge of the grove.

The little boy led him farther, past the pews, past the tables, all the way to a wide tree with roots like thick fingers and a hammock swaying beneath its shade.

Jodi was there.

She sat beneath the tree in a sundress, legs folded, a soft book in her lap. Children surrounded her; some perched on her knees, some resting against her side, some kicking up dust or wrestling nearby.

One was picking their nose. Another had crayons and was attacking a torn piece of cardboard with furious scribbles.

Jodi was half-laughing, half-scolding. “Ball starts with a B. Not with a D. You don’t spell it dall. Ahora quédate quieto o te juro que te voy a dar de comer a los perros.”

She looked up.

Jeffrey stood there awkwardly at the edge of the circle.

“Buenos días, Jeff. You found me.” She smiled. 

The boy who brought him plopped onto her lap.

Jodi swatted him gently with the book. “Dios, ustedes se están poniendo pesados."

Jeffrey sat down on the grass beside them. A few kids instantly came over to him, curious hands touching his shirt, his hair, one poking his cheek. Another child pulled even at his shoe and started chasing a dog nearby with it.

Jeffrey didn’t move. He let them explore him like a statue in a museum.

Off to the side, one of the kids held up a drawing.

It was a stick figure of Jodi with a flurry of hearts surrounding her and boobs like dinner plates. Next to her, under the same tree they sat beneath now, was another stick figure. A man hanging from a cartoonishly crooked noose.

Jeffrey blinked.

“Wow,” he said. “Is that Richard?”

The kid nodded proudly. “Sí. Tío Ricardo.”

Jodi laughed. “Art therapy.”

She leaned back against the tree trunk, eyes closed for a moment as the breeze rustled her hair. The sunlight filtered through the leaves in fractured beams, catching the edges of her lashes.

Jeffrey watched her from the corner of his eye.
There was something about this moment that struck him harder than all the gore and glamour of the past two days.

Watching her there, attempting to create a pocket of softness for these kids… It was like a crack in the wall you didn’t want to touch knowing the whole thing might cave in.

She wasn’t just reading. She wasn’t performing. She was trying. That was the part that hurt the most. For them. For the girl she used to be. For whatever fragile thing was still left inside her.

And Jeffrey just sat there in a circle of feral, laughing children with no idea how fucked the world around them truly was.

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The lounge smelled like tobacco and old leather. Low sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, casting everything in gold.

Jeffrey stepped in quietly, but paused at the sight.

Richard was standing near a mirror on the wall, while the older woman, that woman, the one who had dressed Jeffrey so gently earlier, fussed with the cuffs of his freshly pressed dress shirt.

She was telling him something in Spanish, something soft and maternal, like she was scolding him for growing too fast.

Richard laughed. Not the sharp, cutting one he used on his men, but with warmth. He bent down to hug her, mumbling thanks into her ear. Gracias, Mami. Te quiero.

Jeffrey watched.

This was the same man who had killed, raped, and tortured without hesitation. The man who’d made jokes while blood soaked the tiles. Who shot guests at dinner for entertainment. And here he was, getting his shirt tucked in by his mother. Hugging her.

Richard’s mom pinched his cheek before turning to go, muttering something fond and disapproving in the same breath. Richard swatted her hand away, mildly annoyed, like any adult son would. Then he looked up and spotted Jeffrey watching from across the room.

Their eyes met. Richard gave a small, tired smirk and sank into the couch, stretching his arms along the backrest.

Jeffrey approached slowly and took a seat beside him.

He could still smell the perfume from Richard’s mother lingering in the air. Could still feel the warmth in Richard’s voice when he said Mami.

And he remembered what Jodi said.

The only people he’s ever truly loved are blood. Familia.

Richard took a long drag from whatever was left of his joint, exhaling slowly.

“You ever notice,” he said, not looking at Jeffrey, “how mothers always see what they wanna see?”

“What do you mean?”

Richard tilted his head toward the hallway where his mom had gone.

“She knows. Maybe not the details. But enough.”
A pause. “Still calls me her ángelito. Still folds my shirts like I’m an eight year old who’s afraid of the dark.”

Jeffrey stayed quiet.

Richard finally looked at him.

“People think love makes you soft,” he said. “But real love? The kind that’s in your fucking blood? It blinds you. Warps you. Makes you lie to yourself until the truth doesn’t even fit anymore.”

“Is that what happened with Jodi?”

Richard smiled. “Nah. Goldie was different. I didn’t lie to myself about her. I just… gave in.”

Jeffrey frowned. “So you knew it was wrong?”

“What’s wrong? Loving someone too much? Obsessing so hard it starts looking like control?”

“That’s not love,” Jeffrey said, quietly. “You don’t love five year-olds like that.”

“Maybe not for you,” Richard furrowed his brows. “But for me? It’s the only kind I know.”

A silence fell between them.

Jeffrey finally said, “You raised her. You taught her everything. Then you fucked her.”

Richard looked at him, long and hard. “And she still chose to stay.”

“Because she doesn’t know what else is out there!”

“No,” Richard grunted, leaning forward. “Because she’s just like me. And maybe,” he gestured toward Jeffrey, “…you are too.”

He didn’t sound too certain though. The way he said it felt more like a question he didn’t want answered.

Jeffrey didn’t respond.

And Richard didn’t push. He just stared down at the floor, jaw tight, like if he kept quiet long enough, the guilt wouldn’t show.

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The hallway was still. Just the faint echo of heels tapping against the tile. One of the maids found Jeffrey near the stairwell and paused, her eyes wide.

“She wants to see you,” she said quietly. “She asked for you.”

Jeffrey gave a small nod and followed her.

The room was soft with candles, a dim lamp, the lingering haze of perfume. Earlier, it must’ve been a frenzy of curling irons hissing, powders floating in the air, women darting back and forth.

But now, it was silent. Still.

Jodi stood in front of the mirror, alone.

And she was gorgeous.

The gown hugged her like it was sewn into her skin. Lace over silk, ivory over champagne, hugging her waist, then flaring softly like smoke around her ankles. The veil trailed behind her like a ghost, lace spilling over her bare shoulders and catching the warm glow.

She didn’t look real, more like something sculpted. Something fragile.

Something meant to be admired but never touched.

Jeffrey stopped in the doorway, breath catching.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.

She turned at the sound of his voice, giving him a half-smile. “Así? You think so?”

“I know so.”

She looked down.

“I’ve been looking forward to this moment my…” She trailed off. “…my whole life.”

He’d seen that look before, but he’d been too drunk to say anything with substance. Now, sober, he could see it clearly. That glassy stare. The effort it took to hold it all in.

He stepped forward and gently cupped her face.

“Jodi.”

She blinked rapidly, trying to smile again.

And then it broke.

She crumpled into him, unraveling with the kind of sobs that came from somewhere beyond breath. Somewhere bone-deep.

“I love him, Jeff,” she cried. “I fucking love him and I hate that I do. After everything… everything he’s done. I can’t stop.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Jeffrey whispered, holding her tight, grounding her. “I know.”

“I don’t have a choice,” she sobbed. “But even if I did… I think I’d still say yes. And that’s the worst part. I’d still say yes.”

Her voice broke, and so did something in Jeffrey.

“How can I live without him? How can I live with myself? The way he’s killed…raped…tortured… in front of me. And I feel nothing. What does that make me?”

“A survivor. You were just surviving. That’s all.”

She whimpered into his shirt.

“If he were in America, he’d be another monster on the news. A serial killer. But here?” She laughed bitterly. “He’s just another husband.”

Jeffrey didn’t respond. He just ran his fingers through her hair, letting her talk.

“He raised me, Jeff. He was there when no one else was. He taught me things. Took care of me. Played with me. Fed me. And then… fucked me. And that was it. That was my life. I never got a choice.”

She pulled back, eyes swollen and raw.

“I know I act like a spoiled brat. Like a little girl. But it’s because I had to be a grown-up too early. I had to be perfect. Composed. Smart. Now I just want to feel something else.”

Jeffrey shook his head, voice hoarse.

“You’re not immature. You’re the most responsible person I know. More wise than any of the so-called adults here.”

And she was. She carried more weight than most people ever would. Love, sex, autonomy. And yet, she never judged him. Not when she learned about his urges, his past, his shame. She had listened. She had teased, yes, but never cruelly. She saw him for what he was, and somehow didn’t flinch.

“I just wanted to be loved,” she whispered, mascara trailing down her cheek. “Is that so awful?”

No. It wasn’t.

Richard loved her, in the only way he knew how. A violent, possessive, broken kind of love. The kind of love that bruised. That burned. He loved her in the most fucked up way possible. Like a boy who’d rather break his favorite toy than risk someone else playing with it.

“It’s not awful at all. I’m sorry, Jodi. I’m so fucking sorry.”

She leaned her forehead against his, letting herself breathe, trembling in his arms.

Jeffrey rubbed circles into her back. “You are so loved. I’m sorry it doesn’t feel that way. But you are, I promise you.”

“I’m glad I found you,” she whispered. “You make me feel innocent again. Isn’t that weird?”

Jeffrey didn’t answer.

He just held her tighter, his arms around her body like a promise. That she was safe. That she was seen. That, if only for this moment, none of the past could reach them.

Outside, the music had already started. The wedding was waiting.

But in that room, it was just the two of them.

And for a moment, neither of them had to pretend.

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Richard stood at the altar, adjusting his cufflinks for the fifth time.

His black suit shimmered faintly in the heat, gold embroidery along the edges, sharp lines pressed into the fabric. His mouth was tight, jaw working like he was chewing on a prayer. But he wasn’t the praying type.

Not to that God, anyway.

Behind him, the priest writhed where he was tied to a thick wooden post. The man’s garment was stained with dirt and blood, his hands bound tightly with rope. A gag, half-soaked and ragged, was stuffed in his mouth.

Every few seconds, the priest groaned, until one of the guards would nudge him silent with the barrel of a gun.

Richard didn’t look at him. His fingers fidgeted with a napkin, twisting it compulsively. He was waiting. Had been for too long.

Where the fuck was she?

The guests were restless. Some were already drinking. Others passed around joints just to keep their hands busy.

Richard’s mother sat in the front row in a red dress, dabbing tears from her eyes with a silk handkerchief. She was already weeping, even before the bride arrived.

Then the music changed.

And Richard exhaled.

Jodi appeared at the end of the aisle.

Wrapped in lace and candlelight, her figure glowed against the ruined backdrop. The gown clung to her like temptation. Her veil shimmered like smoke.

And beside her, clinging to her arm like a quiet trophy, was Jeffrey.

He was dressed in black. His leash long forgotten but the collar still tight.

They walked together, slow and strange, like a ceremony leading toward a kind of death.

Richard’s posture relaxed. The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile so small it could have been mistaken for relief. His fingers stopped fidgeting.

He watched her with all the hunger of a man starving for something only he was allowed to touch.

When she reached him, Richard reached forward without a word, tore the cloth from the priest’s mouth.

In Spanish:

“Say the thing,” he growled.

The priest wheezed. His lips cracked open.

“D-Do you…” he stammered.

A guard stepped closer, pressing the gun tighter to his skull.

“Do you take this woman…”

Richard raised an eyebrow.

The priest winced. “To be your unlawfully wedded wife?”

Richard nodded.

Jodi looked at him. Her eyes didn’t flinch.

“I do,” Richard said.

Another gun cocked behind the priest’s head.
He turned to her, trembling.

“Do you… take this man…”

Jodi smiled softly. Her hand reached for Richard’s.

“I do,” she said.

Bang.

The priest’s body slumped sideways, brains sprayed across the ceremonial flowers. The guests cheered.

Richard reached forward and swept Jodi into his arms, lifting her, just barely, so her veil fluttered against his cheek.

Her dress, once white, was splattered with bloodstains, dyed into the silk like it had always been part of the design.

The veil too, splashed with crimson, trailed behind her like a bleeding ghost.

She matched the theme perfectly. All the women in red. All the men in black and gold.

He kissed her hard. Possessive. A kiss that said mine, my love.

And for a moment, she let herself fall into it.

Jeffrey stood off to the side, hands folded politely.

He watched Jodi’s body soften against Richard’s chest. Watched the final part of her fall into place. Bound. Beautiful. Forever his.

The crowd rose in applause and gunshots. The wedding was complete.

No one called it love. But somehow, everyone knew that’s what it was.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Jeffrey sat on the edge of the bed, bottle in hand, watching condensation slide down the glass like it was trying to escape. He wasn’t sure if he was drunk or just disassociating.

Three days.

No sign of being dumped, dismembered, or devoured.

But he knew them.

They were abrupt. They liked surprises. One moment you were a guest, the next you were meat.

He remembered the look on Richard’s face earlier, something uncertain beneath the arrogance. Something soft, almost guilty.

Jeffrey had made him think. Made him feel. And he knew if he pressed too hard, if he became inconvenient, it wouldn’t take much to be dragged out into the jungle and beheaded like a sacrificial lamb.

He took another swig from the bottle.

Outside, the celebration raged on.

Gunfire. Music. Laughter. The usual cartel fairytale. A wedding hosted by Satan and directed by Tarentino.

He could hear people dancing. Maybe fighting. Someone had probably already died. Another round of gunshots lit up the sky like fireworks. He wondered if he was going to die tonight.

Would it be slow? A knife in the bath? Would Richard kiss him first? Would Jodi watch? Would she cry?

Part of him didn’t care. Part of him did.

He wasn’t sure which part was winning anymore.

He looked down at his socks. The warped shapes in the rug. Still dressed in expensive clothes that didn’t belong to him. Still sitting in a house that should’ve swallowed him whole.

They hadn’t gotten rid of him.

Not yet.

But maybe that was worse. Maybe they were planning to keep him. And maybe that meant something even uglier was coming.

He didn’t know.

The door burst open.

Jeffrey jolted upright, nearly dropping the bottle.

Richard stormed in, shirt half-unbuttoned, pupils blown wide, a wildness in his face like he’d been chasing something and finally caught it. In his arms was Jodi, clinging to him, legs wrapped around his waist, kissing him so hard it was more tongue than lips.

Her dress was torn up to her thighs, the veil dangling somewhere behind them like an afterthought. Her makeup was smudged, mascara streaking down her cheeks like warpaint. She looked flushed. Feverish. Elated.

They tumbled onto the bed beside Jeffrey, ravenous and laughing, devouring each other like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

For a second, he just sat there half-frozen, half-fading, watching them.

He began to stand.

“Don’t leave,” Jodi gasped between kisses.

“Stay,” Richard echoed, voice rough. “We need you.”

Jeffrey paused. “For what?”

They both looked at him like he’d just asked why water was wet.

He stared at them, tangled together, glowing and grotesque in the candlelight. They weren’t even looking at each other anymore. Just at him. Like he was the final piece in a puzzle built from violence, sex, and shared delusion.

Three days.

“This should be your night,” he said quietly. “You two… I don’t want to intrude. I shouldn’t be here.”

Jodi slid off Richard’s lap and crawled toward him across the bed, clutching at his shirt.

“Please don’t go,” she said, her voice trembling with something deeper than lust. “Not tonight.”

Jeffrey hesitated. “Why?”

Richard rolled onto his side, lighting a cigarette without looking at them. “You’re part of it, güerito. Because you helped us.”

“…What?”

“You heard me.”

Jodi nodded, curling into Jeffrey’s side like a child trying to crawl into someone else’s dream.

“We were fighting before you came,” she murmured. “We were falling apart. I was going to leave.”

“I said she was being dramatic,” Richard muttered. “She said I was being psychotic.”

“You were being psychotic.”

“Not the point.”

Jeffrey stared between them. “So I’m… what? Your emotional support dog?”

Richard chuckled. “You’re more than that.”

Jodi’s fingers curled around the hem of Jeffrey’s shirt. “You make us feel… balanced.”

“Less lonely,” Richard added. “Less homicidal.”

“Wow. That’s touching.”

“I’m serious.” Jodi’s eyes were shining again, wet, wide, raw. “When I’m with you, I feel like a person. And when it’s all three of us- you, me, Rich, it doesn’t hurt as much. I don’t have to pretend.”

Richard leaned forward, cigarette tip glowing.

“You’re not just here to be used. You’re here because we want you.”

Jeffrey looked down at Jodi.

She reached up and pressed her palm to his chest. “You make me feel safe,” she whispered. “And I don’t want it to go away.”

Jeffrey turned to Richard.

“You’ve got a sickness,” Richard said, quieter now. “Same as us. But when it lines up right? It feels like a miracle.”

Jeffrey’s voice barely rose. “Is that what this is? A miracle?”

Richard took another drag. “No. This is Hell, güerito.” A pause. “But it’s our kind of Hell. And you, you belong here.”

The room buzzed with silence.

Outside surged with gunshots, screams, laughter.

Inside, nothing moved but the candlelight.

Jeffrey let the bottle slip from his hand, glass thudding dully to the floor.

And slowly, he sat back down.

Notes:

Out of all the fictional elements I included in this story, the dynamic with Ramirez and his mother remains true.

Detective Carrillo recalls that Ramirez was extremely hesitant to admit guilt, particularly because he didn’t want to disappoint his mother. Despite the horrifying nature of his crimes, he retained a deep emotional attachment to his mom+older sister. It was one of the few emotional weak points detectives were able to use during interrogation. He even had a mental breakdown when Carrillo brought up his father sexually abusing his sister. Fucked up shit.

Chapter 7: El Epílogo

Notes:

couple of cornballs 😂

Jeffrey lay on his side, unmoving, breath held as he watched the two bodies tangled together before him.

Richard’s voice was low and gentle, whispering “Lo siento” over and over into Jodi’s ear as they moved together. His hands roamed her body like she was something fragile and holy. And Jodi, God, she was crying.

Not from pain.
From release.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, eyes closed, body trembling with the years of silence wordlessly being answered through touch and tenderness.

There was a vulnerability in her expression that struck Jeffrey like a punch to the chest; raw, unguarded, and utterly beautiful.

She cried out, her whole frame jolting with pleasure as she came. Richard’s cock was coated in her love as she collapsed back against the sheets.

A heartbeat later, Richard groaned low in his chest, pulling out just as his own orgasm took hold. Hot pulses of cum spilled across Jodi’s flushed skin, her belly, her breasts, glistening in the golden light.

Jeffrey watched, transfixed. Not with envy but curiosity.

Jodi's legs were still trembling from the aftershocks. Her hand gripped Richard’s, clinging on like he was gonna disappear.

Then Richard turned.

His chest heaved with exertion, eyes darker now, locked on Jeffrey. The shift in focus hit like a current, all sudden and electric.

“Clean her up,” he commanded, voice deep and hoarse.

Jeffrey nodded slowly, moving forward, hand outstretched until Richard stopped him with a single shake of his head.

“Not like that.” He growled. “Use your tongue.”

The air felt heavier.

Jeffrey swallowed, his pulse wild with anticipation.

He leaned in, hesitant at first, tongue flicking gently along the slick mess that coated Jodi’s stomach. The taste of sex and salt lingered on his lips, strangely grounding him.

Jodi moaned, her fingers threading through his hair as he continued smoothly. His mouth moved over her skin, licking her clean, until he reached her breasts, gently drawing each nipple into his mouth in turn. She gasped, softer now, comforted by his care.

When he looked up, she guided him into a kiss. It wasn’t rushed or heated, it was soft, adoring, her lips parting like she wanted to thank him without words.

Jeffrey felt a flicker of warmth in his chest, a sense of connection that had nothing to do with physical pleasure.

But then he felt hands on his hips, firm and possessive.

Richard.

His breath hitched as strong hands spread his cheeks, the cool air brushing sensitive skin just before the wet warmth of spit landed directly on his entrance. He gasped more out of surprise than resistance.

Then came the pressure.

Richard's cock, slick, heavy, and insistent, pressed against Jeffrey's hole, easing in slowly.

Jeffrey gasped at the initial stretch, his body adjusting to the thick stretch, his fingers digging into the sheets.

Richard grunted behind him, spanking his ass with an open palm before massaging the skin, coaxing him to relax.

And when Jeffrey did, his hips began to move.

Back. Forth. Back. Forth.

Until he was meeting Richard thrust for thrust, gasping with every deep slide.

Richard leaned forward, biting lightly at his neck, tongue flicking over the spot he had marked. His hands slid around Jeffrey's waist, fingers splaying over his stomach, feeling it clench and release with each breath.

"Te sientes tan bien alrededor de mi polla," Richard growled, his voice rough. "So tight. I can feel every inch of you."

Jeffrey whimpered, his back arching as Richard's words sent shivers down his spine. He could feel himself getting lost in the sensations, his pleasure building with each thrust.

Richard's hands shifted then, slipping beneath Jeffrey's armpits and lifting him up onto his knees.

Jeffrey gasped at the change in angle, the new position allowing Richard to sink even deeper inside him.

Richard began to move then, his hips snapping forward in a relentless rhythm. Jeffrey moaned louder, emboldened by the shift. He began bouncing with rhythm, meeting each thrust with a backwards push of his hips.

His cock bobbed freely, hard and leaking with each jolt of Richard's hips against his ass. Richard's hand wrapped around it then, stroking in furiously in time with his thrusts.

"Fuck," Jeffrey gasped out. "I'm… I'm so close-"

Their mouths crashed together then, a sloppy, breathless kiss as Richard drove harder into him, his hand relentless on Jeffrey's cock. Tongues tangled lost in a haze of lust and desperation.

It didn't take long.

With a strangled cry, Jeffrey came, his orgasm ripping through him in waves. Cum spilled thickly over Richard's hand, down his own stomach. He trembled, held up only by the hands around him and the man still buried inside.

Richard groaned low, bucking up into him with raw desperation. He gripped Jeffrey's waist and stilled, spilling deep inside with a final, shuddering breath.

Silence settled over the room.

Their breathing was ragged. Bodies trembling, skin slick with sweat.

Richard pulled out slowly, the motion drawing a soft whimper from Jeffrey as he settled beside Jodi, his body curling instinctively toward hers.
Richard leaned over, brushing damp hair from Jodi’s forehead. His gaze lingered, first on her, then on Jeffrey. Then, lower, on his hand, still slick with Jeffrey’s release.

Without a word, he reached down and smeared some of the residue across Jodi’s stomach.

Then, he dipped three fingers into it, coating them in the still-warm mix of sex and surrender.

Jeffrey just watched.
So did Jodi.

The room held its breath as Richard brought those fingers to her center, easing inside her.

Slow. Deep. Purposeful.

Jodi jolted, her breath hitching, still sensitive, still tender, her body not yet fully recovered from her orgasm.

No words. Just motion. Connection.

And the weight of something unspoken, thick and heavy in the quiet between them.

What they had done couldn’t be undone.

And none of them wanted it to be.

Notes:

horrible ending booooo boooo I fucking hate these three they ruined my life

Chapter 8: Authors Note

Notes:

ty to the troopers who took the time out of their day to read all of this!!!
keep an eye out for my story feiticeria 🤭

All credit goes to this book. Besides the mindless self indulgence, it carried the world building and planning of this story

check out the mean ass playlist: my pet dahmer soundtrack

Notes:

Ś̸͙̺̥̰̯͙̭͆̏͂i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅ ǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅc̵̛̥͊i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅs̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅt̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ k̵̘̺̦͉͖̪̪͖͉͊̆̔́̈́̍̃̈́͒̂̑̀̚͜͝u̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓d̶̡̲̗̼̮̤̤̳̲͖͓͍͔͓̓̎̽́̽̏̐͂̆͆͘͘͘ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ ǎ̴̯̀͠l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆ m̵̢͕̫̓̔͑̊̈ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅs̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅ c̵̛̥͊ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅm̵̢͕̫̓̔͑̊̈ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅǎ̴̯̀͠s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅt̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅc̵̛̥͊k̵̘̺̦͉͖̪̪͖͉͊̆̔́̈́̍̃̈́͒̂̑̀̚͜͝y̶͔͗ ǎ̴̯̀͠p̴̩͙̺̩͓̣͈͖̎ͅǎ̴̯̀͠r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝c̵̛̥͊ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠ ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝ t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅu̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓ ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝ǎ̴̯̀͠b̸̼̋͛̑͆̈́͗̿̅i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅt̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅǎ̴̯̀͠c̵̛̥͊i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝ ǎ̴̯̀͠ l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆ǎ̴̯̀͠s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅ 3̵̧͔̖̪̗̺̺͙̭̮̘̂̀̂̒͂͌͑̈́̏̈̒́͛͜͠ ǎ̴̯̀͠m̵̢͕̫̓̔͑̊̈ y̶͔͗ t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝ǎ̴̯̀͠r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠ c̵̛̥͊ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅs̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅq̶̡̛̥̫͓̩̫͇̥̋͊̇̄͐̈́̓͠u̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅl̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆ǎ̴̯̀͠s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅ ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝ l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅs̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅ d̶̡̲̗̼̮̤̤̳̲͖͓͍͔͓̓̎̽́̽̏̐͂̆͆͘͘͘ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝d̶̡̲̗̼̮̤̤̳̲͖͓͍͔͓̓̎̽́̽̏̐͂̆͆͘͘͘ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅs̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅ d̶̡̲̗̼̮̤̤̳̲͖͓͍͔͓̓̎̽́̽̏̐͂̆͆͘͘͘ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅs̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅ p̴̩͙̺̩͓̣͈͖̎ͅi̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅ