Everything’s Gotta Be

Love or Death

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Everything’s Gotta Be Love or Death

First Edition November 2023

Edited By: Christine Morgan

Cover Illustration By: Christy Aldridge

(Grim Poppy Design)

Copyright © 2023 Stephen Cooper

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review

Everything’s Gotta Be

Love or Death

By Stephen Cooper

www.splatploitation.com

https://www.youtube.com/@Splatploitation

https://splatploitation.substack.com

You Look Fucking Miserable

Brandon hated clubs. He hated everything of late… but he especially hated clubs. Always had.

Too noisy!

Non-stop shitty music!

Everyone was too much, all the time! And there were so many of them!

Yet, here he was, at the Paradise Night Club

He’d arrived with his friends a few hours back, but lost track of them almost immediately. Mal and Cole took off ‘pussy hunting’ the second they got a look at the place, the spinning lights going crazy above a jam-packed dance floor, which housed every kind of woman imaginable.

“A muff-buffet!” they’d excitedly exclaimed, but Brandon didn’t share any of their enthusiasm or vulgarity.

They’d disappeared into a sea of scantily-clad bodies. The heat was too much for even the most hardened clubber, but no-one was going to stop dancing. Long hair flicked provocatively to the tempo of the droning noise which was meant to be music. Arms and legs swayed in every direction, some with grace and co-ordinations, others a mess of manic intoxicated movement, as multi-coloured lasers and smoke added to the wild atmosphere.

Cheers, screams, and shouts of joy emanated from the on-going party. This was what they were all here for, and they were going to damn well enjoy every single sweaty second of it.

The speaker system blasted the crash of angry sounds at such a ferocity that it too was red-hot, only adding to the already unbearable heat in the overcrowded establishment.

Brandon could feel the meat-factory’s smothering warmth sucking away what limited stale air there was. It was intolerable.

Can’t breathe.

Too many people.

But the club didn’t give a fuck about his comfort, any more than did the rest of the island. This was a place to party, which was something Brandon had no intention of doing. Instead, he had no choice but to take refuge at the bar, declining his friends’ offer to go on the ‘hunt’ with them. They’d bought him a drink and went about their business shortly after, and had not returned to him since.

Mal and Cole fancied themselves ladies’ men, so their hunt would go well.

It probably already had.

They could be balls deep in some exotic cunt by now, or have already moved on to the next target after a successful fuck in the bathroom.

Entirely possible, with those two.

Brandon regarded his untouched drink. The ice had melted before the bartender even poured the rum over it. Brandon didn’t care; he doubted he’d drink it anyway. It was a prop at best.

Look at me, I want to be here just like the rest of them … like fuck I do.

Too many people.

He, Mal, and Cole had been friends since childhood, but to say they’d grown apart was a gross understatement.

Well, no, Cole and Mal were as tight as ever -- probably even more so, sharing the same pussy on numerous occasions -- but Brandon’s status as one of the guys had expired years back. In their eyes, he was a dork, and a downer, and it had made him a third wheel in their friendship.

He didn’t smoke, hardly drank, had no interest in pussy, and was a complete bore.

They could have ditched him years ago, he knew that. But sometimes, friendships just lasted, even if they shouldn’t. Some built-in loyalty, perhaps, or reluctance to confrontation or drastic change. He’d tried to be more adventurous and be a part of things -- here he was in a club, for fuck’s sake! -- but it never took.

He’d get one or two drinks in, then stop, while constantly moaning about the taste.

He’d have a little smoke, but never enough to get fucked up, so what was the point?

He’d try now and then to chat to some random girl, but it most definitely wasn’t going further than that.

And when it came to anyone he was interested in, his mouth wouldn’t work properly.

He’d just stare like a dumbass. A creep.

I’m a loser.

His friends’ opinion of Brandon couldn’t be lower than how he saw himself. He was their charity case. The one they considered it being their ‘good deed of the day’ to hang out with, or even pay attention to.

He knew they’d brought him on holiday so they could get fucked up and score every night, while not having to worry about doing something dumb, like losing their passports. He’d look after them. Take care of everything. He’d organise the flight and hotel. Find the boarding gate at the airport if they started the party early. He’d make sure they remembered their luggage, and get them a taxi. He’d sort any arrangements which needed to be made.

And that’s exactly how it had gone.

He was basically their personal assistant, who they’d abandon the moment they needed to get their cool on. He definitely brought the vibe down.

Pathetic.

What was even more pathetic was, he knew every single one of these facts, and still went along with them anyway. What the hell else was he going to do? He was a boring loser. Not in their words, but his own. He knew. Barely any friends, hated his job -- although, who didn’t? Not a penny to his name, especially after going on a holiday he hadn’t even wanted to go on.

Brandon asked himself ‘what is even the point?’ on a far too regular basis, and had started fantasizing about his death like it would be some great relief.

He lived alone, would probably die alone, and be missed by absolutely no one. Even his fucking cat had run away, probably in search of a more adventurous life… or pussy.

The pun made him smile. His first smile all evening, if you excluded the fake ones he’d had to display when Cole and Mal suggested going out.

“We’ll be knee deep in snatch!” they’d declared, like they were in the Inbetweeners or something.

Like an idiot, Brandon agreed to come along. Much to their surprise, it turned out ... the invitation was a token gesture they were sure he’d decline.

The alternative was staying in the hotel -- which I should have done -- but he didn’t want another night alone, thinking about what a pathetic piece of worthless shit he was.

Why think it alone when you can do it in the middle of a disgusting nightclub full of people who correctly see you as nothing?

“Pitiful,” Brandon muttered to himself, then slammed down the honey rum he was sure he shouldn’t be drinking.

It had sat there for two hours, with the smug bartender giving him plenty of looks every time he walked by. No doubt thinking the same as everyone else in the club who accidentally noticed him: that he was a pussy.

And not the kind his mates were after.

Plus, the bartender probably thought he was taking up space, although no-one else seemed to stay at the bar for long. They just ordered their drinks and disappeared back into the tangled sweaty mess behind him.

I’m not even a waste of space, I’m just nothing.

*

“Jesus, you look fucking miserable.”

Brandon’s head shot up at the remark, thinking one of his friends had returned, but he was met by a complete stranger instead.

A rude one, quite frankly, but Brandon was willing to look past manners on account of the guy being absolutely gorgeous.

Has a lovely velvety voice, too.

Brandon had noticed him earlier in the night, but there was no way he’d ever do anything about it. He wasn’t confident like Cole and Mal. Wasn’t confident in any way. Talk to a complete stranger, in a bar of all places? Instead, he’d found ways to sneak looks without looking like he was looking.

But now, the hunk wasn’t a safe distance away. He was standing next to him, expecting an answer.

Brandon’s mouth dried up; he could’ve done with a refill of that rum.

The irony.

Damn, he was handsome. Up close, he had piercing brown eyes, and smooth skin which was botoxed to the max. Great cheekbones. Tidy facial hair. A slightly crooked nose, which raised some questions, considering how perfect everything else looked, but it only added to his allure. His short spiky hair suited him, a style which would have looked ridiculous on Brandon. His teeth were shiny, his smile… devilish. A cross hung from around his neck, but it was probably just for show.

Way above my pay-grade.

Handsome, all right, and he looked dangerous.

Brandon had many, many, many weaknesses, and handsome, dangerous-looking strangers shot straight to the top of the list.

“So, are you fucking miserable?” the guy asked with a charming smirk, he took a seat and ordered two shots of Wild Turkey.

It would have taken Brandon all night to get the bartender’s attention, but he just lifted two fingers and nodded to the bottle like he was Steve McQueen or something.

It made Brandon’s mouth even drier, and voice even quieter, but he tried his best to answer.

“This isn’t really my scene,” he offered in way of defence, waving at the horde of noise and limbs enjoying themselves behind him.

“Then why are you here?”

“Good question,” Brendan said wryly, more to himself.

The barman couldn’t help but laugh as the stranger slid Brandon one of the freshly poured shots. Probably wondering how long it will take me to drink this one.

“I’m Vince,” the good-looking stranger declared, manicured hand extended.

God, even his fingers are perfect, Brandon thought, as he eyed the gesture with slight suspicion.

Gorgeous guys way out of his league did not normally approach him in clubs -- or anywhere, for that matter. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had talked to him when they didn’t have to.

But, with no other choice, despite his doubt at this being some kind of setup, Brandon accepted the handshake. “Brandon.”

The firm grasp of Vince’s strong hand sent a tingle throughout his body. It had been a while since he had any contact with a fellow human being, let alone one with perfect cheekbones.

His last attempt at a relationship had been years back, and ended messily. When he’d realized, and tried to explain to his then-girlfriend why things weren’t going to work, she got upset and took it personally. The word ‘fag’ was thrown around with venom. In her eyes, he’d tricked her. Humiliated her.

Okay, maybe he could have handled it better, but in all honestly, she’d been a complete and utter cunt, and he was glad to be away from her.

Cole and Mal, naturally, saw him being free and single again as a good thing too.

“Don’t need a ball and chain,” Cole said, in his laddish way.

“Bin it,” Mal followed with.

When did they start talking like that?

But she had been the last person to offer Brandon any affection, even if it had been limited, turbulent, and ultimately doomed. He’d almost forgotten what the touch of another person felt like, if he didn’t count the agent who frisked him at the airport when the alarm went -- he’d left his phone in his pocket.

Brandon held on to Vince’s handshake a little longer than normal, though, for his part, Vince let his hand linger too. Eventually, something in Brandon’s brain told him to ‘let the fuck go and don’t be creepy,’ but by then the damage was probably done. Blushing, he pulled his hand away.

Vince smiled, which only made Brandon go a darker shade of red, this also apparently much to Vince’s further amusement.

But Brandon didn’t look away, despite the tinge of embarrassment from getting hot under the collar at such a simple everyday gesture.

He wanted to fully take in Vince’s appearance. Fit, well dressed and groomed; someone who looked after himself.

The opposite of Brandon, who of late struggled just to tackle a flight of stairs. Now approaching his mid-twenties, the fitness of youth was something that had to be earned, and he hadn’t.

What would be the point?

He’d still just sit around doing absolutely nothing with his mediocre life. What did he need to be fit for?

In a lot of ways, he’d rather the extreme opposite ... just be dead. He tried to never let those feelings loiter for too long, but they were always there. Growing more frequent every day.

“You been on the island long?” Vince asked, trying to initiate some sort of conversation.

Brandon awkwardly stared at him, stuck in his own little world.

Vince looked as if he didn’t mind the gawking. As if, even, he liked it, he lived for it, needed it.

But, his arched eyebrow hinted, they may as well chat too.

“Our last few days” Brandon replied, then became aware he hadn’t exactly answered the question properly.

Partly because he didn’t fully hear it -- Too noisy in here -- but mainly because he was lost in Vince’s big brown eyes.

“Our?”

“I’m here with some friends.” Brandon confessed, regaining some composure. “But they left me.”

“‘Cos you were being fucking miserable?”

Brandon nodded.

Vince let off a light chuckle, and sent a pleasing smile in Brandon’s direction, which practically melted him. Brandon tried to hide it, but didn’t do a great job.

He did, however, laugh at himself, as it really was the reason Cole and Mal left him, and he couldn’t blame them. If he was them, he’d have done the same.

It wasn’t a joyous laugh, though; more a nervous one. This Adonis in front of him was bound to notice how pathetic he was any second now. If he hasn’t clocked it already. Still, the interaction had been a nice surprise.

At least I got to touch his hand.

To his further surprise, Vince didn’t make a hasty excuse to leave. Instead, he leaned closer and placed a hand on Brandon’s thigh.

Brandon let a groan slip from his lips at the further contact. He admonished himself right away for being so needy and desperate, but he couldn’t take it back. He knew Vince heard, even with the racket blaring all around them.

“You want to know the secret to not being miserable?” Vince seductively whispered in his ear. He didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s to do whatever the hell you want.”

He nibbled gently on Brandon’s earlobe - which evoked another, louder groan - before sitting upright again. He knocked back his shot of Wild Turkey, and signalled for Brandon to do the same.

Brandon hesitated for a moment, before grasping the drink and downing it in one. The bartender cheekily clapped the achievement, which made him want to shout at the condescending prick, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment as he saw Vince’s approval.

“That wasn’t so hard was it?” Vince asked.

Brandon laughed, placing the glass back on the bar top, trying his best not to screw his face up at the taste. He guessed it wasn’t, but he’d never have done it without the encouraging stroke of his thigh, or without those big brown eyes looking expectantly at him. Nor the nibble on his ear, which had sent all kinds of happy signals flying around his body, and instigated the ultra-rare effect of his dick slightly stiffening.

If Vince hadn’t been here, he’d have never drunk the shot.

… And Vince clearly knew it.

“So, what now?” Brandon sheepishly asked, having no clue how to conduct himself in this situation anymore - or ever, for that matter.

“Wanna kill someone?” Vince suggested, his devilish grin growing abnormally wide.

It All Starts With A Kill

Brandon laughed again, despite not really getting Vince’s morbid sense of humour.

“Kill someone?” he repeated.

Vince just grinned.

But it wasn’t the sort of grin you’d expect after a throwaway joke. He was serious. Dead serious. It was written all across his face, despite the botox limiting his range of expression.

Suddenly, those big brown eyes looked less adorable, and more… ominous?

“We can’t just kill someone,” Brandon stated in a hushed tone, as if anyone could possibly hear them over the racket being pumped from the overworked speaker system.

“Of course we can. We can do whatever we want,” Vince cheerily replied, as if they were discussing a spontaneous road trip.

“Why would I want to kill someone?” Brandon countered, willing to entertain the delusional notion a little longer if it meant he got to carry on chatting with Vince.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s wrong. It’s cruel. It’s illegal. I really don’t want to go to jail; I can’t function in the real world, let alone prison. Oh yeah… and it’s wrong!”

Why are the cute ones always fucking insane?

Vince smirked indulgently, like he’d been expecting some resistance to the idea.

Brandon wanted to wipe the smirk from his face, but he also wanted to kiss it.

Could he really be serious? Surely not?

He looked around the club, making sure no one was listening in. They weren’t. No-one was looking in their direction, and if they were, it would have been at Vince, not him. And they’d probably be thinking what the hell is that good-looking dude doing near that sad ugly loser?

God, he hated all of them.

He didn’t know them, but he hated each and every one of them.

They all thought they were the shit, with their beautiful tanned bodies and cool dance moves. Their perky tits or chiselled abs. He bet they all spoke like his so-called friends did. Or worse. He could imagine their irritating voices grating under the booming robotic music, which he swore had been the same fucking tune since he got here.

He hated clubs. Especially this one!

So okay, maybe, gun to his head, he, maybe, could, imagine himself killing one of the arrogant assholes, in a fantasy sort of way. But, in reality…

“You know, I’ve been watching you all night,” Vince claimed, much to Brandon’s surprise, and disbelief.

As if.

“You look at everyone in this place with such discontent. Such hate. Just as you are now, because you know they all look at you like you’re nothing.”

The statement hurt, but Brandon knew it was soaked in undeniable truth.

“Why not show them otherwise?” Vince kept his eyes locked in on Brandon’s. Despite the subject matter, and assisted poker face, those eyes seemed softer now. Like he was on Brandon’s side.

Brandon got lost in them, but it didn’t affect his judgment. This is crazy.

“By killing them?” he mocked.

Vince nodded. Exactly that.

“I don’t think it will help me.”

“Don’t know until you try.”

“This isn’t some new food I haven’t eaten before. You’re talking about murder.”

Vince leaned closer to Brandon again. Put his hand on his leg once more, although higher up. Any further, he’d be cupping a ball.

He continued to look into Brandon’s eyes, holding the stare until Brandon visibly gulped.

“It feels ... amazing,” Vince told him, in a voice which sounded far too sexy to be talking about murder.

“It’s not right,” Brandon weakly replied, his resistance showing the first signs of crumbling.

“How’s right worked for you?”

It was a cruel question. Vince knew the answer. Anyone could see it. ‘Right’ had not worked for Brandon in the slightest. ‘Right’ was what had him practically carrying his friends’ bags while they went off enjoying themselves. ‘Right’ was what made him stick with an office job he loathed, working with colleagues he hated.

And the worst part about ‘right’ was, often, his life revolved around other peoples’ notions of ‘right,’ not even his own. What his parents considered ‘right’ and proper. What his friends considered ‘right’ and normal. What society considered ‘right’ and the correct way to behave.

‘Right’ was always flexible to everyone else, too, but never for Brandon. Others could mess up and be forgiven; whenever he screwed up, he was shamed and made to feel the weight of the world. ‘Right’ had not served him well at all, despite living his whole life by it. ‘Right’ made him want to jump off a tall building or slice his wrists in the bathtub and be done with it all.

But that wouldn’t be deemed ‘right.’

The noise from the dance floor somehow got louder as foam dropped from the ceiling. Everyone raised their hands in the air as the tempo of the music increased and the flashing lights went ape-shit. Wet tops clung to breasts and chests, and a hedonistic wave caught the club. It felt like everyone was making out. Like they were all on the verge of some giant orgy, having the time of their young lives.

Which was something Brandon sometimes longed for, but he didn’t have their freedom. He couldn’t let his inhibitions go, like them. He was too responsible -- or stuck up, depending on who you asked.

He wanted to be like them, but also hated them with a passion. They represented everything he could never be, and paraded it in front of his bland face.

Was that ‘right’?

Why can’t I just have fun like them?

Let go?

Get out of my dull head?

A tear leaked from his eye, but Vince caught it with a fingertip before it reached the bottom of his nose. Brandon watched as Vince tasted the tear.

What the fuck?

Again, why didn’t he have the ability to do something that peculiar? He was considered creepy for just existing, yet this guy was licking a stranger’s tears like it was a perfectly normal thing to do. He’d have been mortified to do that in front of anyone… and they’d have definitely chastised him.

Why am I so goddamn responsible?

Why am I always trying to do what’s ‘right?’

Why?!

“I know how you’re feeling,” Vince said. “I’ve been there.”

“Bullshit,” Brandon immediately replied to Vince’s ludicrous statement.

He didn’t mean to; it was automatic. But there was no way this exquisite specimen in front of him had experienced anything like what he went through on an almost daily basis. No way in hell he looked at himself the way Brandon did. This was Brandon’s pity party, not his. Vince knew nothing of Brandon’s constant misery. No one does.

Vince couldn’t help but laugh, albeit sympathetically, at what he must have seen etched into Brandon’s eyes, his complete and utter lack of belief in anyone being able identify with him. We all think we’re the only one with problems.

“You think this happened overnight?” Vince asked, gesturing to himself. “It took work. A lot of work.” His fingers moved to Brandon’s face, caressed his cheek. “I once hated myself. Wanted to die. Considered putting an end to it, but I made a change instead.”

He leaned forward until his lips graced Brandon’s and gently kissed him. He let the soft kiss remain for a few seconds before pulling away slightly, but not so far he wouldn’t be able kiss him again.

“And it all started with a kill,” Vince added, as if finishing a bizarre and morbid sales pitch.

He kissed Brandon again, this time sliding his tongue into his mouth and putting more force behind it. It was still a tender kiss, rather than trying to devour him, but it had enough passion to make Brandon want more. The type of kiss which could change a man. Possibly get him to do something remarkably stupid.

Like kill?

Brandon wiped away another tear before sucking the rest back. Man, that kiss felt good! But a sadness washed over him. He’d reached a pivotal moment in his life, for which he was wholly unprepared.

He’d left the hotel partly to rid himself of thoughts of potentially ending his own life; now, was he truly considering taking someone else’s? Was he actually remotely entertaining the absurd and horrid idea?

And for what? A kiss? A chance of perhaps of being with Vince?

No, it couldn’t be that.

If he did it, it would have to be for himself. A defiant act against everything he was, in order to commence some much needed change. Out with the ‘right,’ and in with the new.

But ... killing someone?

Isn’t that a little drastic?

Maybe? But nothing else had stuck. He never had the discipline or nerve for real change. To permanently work at bettering himself. It wasn’t in his nature.

But ... murder? Could it really be the answer?

There was definitely no coming back from something like that. His hand would be forced. Once you killed a person, you were different. And you couldn’t un-kill them, either. No take-backs. If he took a life, his own would change forever.

Yet, wasn’t that what he wanted?

There was some definite twisted logic to it. Evil twisted logic, but still…

It wasn’t something he’d ever considered before, and probably never would have on his own. But now the idea had been planted, there did seem to be some benefits to such a crazy out-of-the-blue vile act.

Not for the poor person I kill.

Vince stroked his cheek again. “You can do this.”

Suddenly it felt like the noise in the wretched club muted. Everyone froze in place, no longer jumping up and down like hyperactive horny children. The crazy lights stopped flashing. The foam on the floor didn’t melt away.

It was just Brandon and Vince, looking at each other with their faces millimetres apart.

Brandon leaned in for another kiss, and Vince didn’t back away. He allowed it to happen.

Brandon couldn’t remember the last time he took something for himself. Sure, Vince was one-hundred percent compliant, and had kissed first, but for him, it was a bold and daring move, normally overly careful and shy as he was.

Maybe it’s already the start of something new.

“You can do this,” Vince repeated as their lips parted.

Brandon nodded, but it wasn’t a confident nod.

Far from it. It was full of doubt and self-loathing. Brimming with worry and disbelief. Disgust at even entertaining such reprehensible thoughts. Could he even do it? Wouldn’t he pass out at the first sign of blood? At the first scream or flinch of agony? There was no way he could look into someone’s eyes as he distinguished the light from them.

How could he go from being a weak pathetic pacifist who lived on the periphery of life, to killing some random stranger for kicks?

No, his nod most certainly wasn’t an assured and confident one, but it was something…

*

He was naturally against the idea of murdering someone in a club full of people ... or, as the police would call them, witnesses.

Not to mention the multitude of security cameras plastered around the building, but Vince assured him it would be fine.

Vince had, at some point in the evening, gotten his hands on a set of keys to the staff toilets located on the second floor. There wouldn’t be any cameras in the toilets, and the chance of more than one person entering was low. The place was already understaffed, and the boisterous party downstairs was only growing more rowdy, as everyone hammered back cheap booze. They’d be dancing until the sun came up, and no-one would be any the wiser.

Brandon doubted every word, but didn’t question it. Some of what Vince said made a kind of sense, but, an hour ago, he’d have called bullshit on all of it.

Now, he let Vince lead him the whole way with a tight grip around his hand.

Brandon gave the morbid thoughts of death and murder a breather while he allowed himself to enjoy the hand-holding. It wasn’t exactly a long walk on the beach under a beautiful sunset, following a delicious meal together, but it was a start. It was more affection he craved.

More intimacy he desired.

He thought about the kisses too. Plural.

It had been a while since he’d been with anybody, and an even longer time since he’d been with a man. He hadn’t exactly explored his sexuality, or ‘fucked like a king,’ as his friends would say. Did his dick even work anymore? He couldn’t remember the last time it had been hard.

But Vince had stirred something when he touched his leg, and Brandon yearned for more.

Isn’t killing meant to be an aphrodisiac?

Did I hear that somewhere? Or see it in a movie?

Will find out, I guess.

The thought brought nervous laughter, which led to Vince squeezing his hand tighter and smiling back at him in that devilishly handsome and dangerous way, which Brandon already knew held far too much power over him.

Am I being foolish?

It wasn’t like him to act with his dick, but then, it wasn’t like him to act at all. If Vince hadn’t shown up, Brandon would have been miserable at the bar for another hour or two, before heading back to the hotel and being miserable there. He would have probably sat outside while his friends banged their conquests. Jesus, they’d practically kicked him out the night before; made him go on a beer run like it was his idea, while they double-teamed the bikini babe they’d picked up.

So, yeah, he would have waited outside again tonight. Been a good boring friend while they enjoyed themselves.

What. A. Loser.

But still… this is quite the alternative.

Quite the one-eighty.

He almost smiled.

Part of his brain still wanted to continue to convince himself it was all some kind of prank, but did he really hope so? Really? Or was he somehow actually growing a little bit excited by the prospect, as he held a stranger’s hand and thought about them taking a life together? He knew he shouldn’t be intrigued. Someone as anal as him should be heading for the hills already. He was the type of person who turned up an hour early for everything no matter whether it was important or not. Always tried to please everyone else, often to his own detriment. Someone who, just this morning, had paid for breakfast because his friends overspent getting fucked up at the club the night before, yet could somehow mysteriously afford to go out again tonight.

He was a doormat. A worn, threadbare one at that.

But if I killed someone?

What would it make him then?

Strong?

Independent?

Powerful?

A murderer!

Vince looked positively overjoyed at the prospect of killing someone, Brandon wondered if that could ever be him. It seemed far-fetched, but so had everything else which had transpired in the last thirty minutes.

Am I really going to do this?

Could I talk myself into it?

Could Vince convince me?

They reached the staff toilets on the upper floor, out of sight from the partygoers below. Brandon glanced around, making sure no one was watching, while Vince marched inside without a care in the world.

They instantly saw one of the stalls was occupied, and heard the strains of a man taking a shit. Guess this is happening sooner rather than later.

Vince discreetly locked the door, and gestured for Brandon to be quiet.

We really are going to do this.

Holy shit!

I’m not ready for this.

It’s a joke… right?

Brandon’s head exploded with dark thoughts and regrets before the act even started. He’d been trying to convince himself he wanted this; that, in some messed up bizarro way, it was okay to kill a stranger for his own possible benefit. For his own chance at change, for betterment.

But of course it wasn’t okay!

You can’t just suddenly decide you’re going to kill someone! That it’s all right; you need this, so fuck everyone else. Bullshit. That wasn’t his decision. What kind of a selfish cunt was he being?

He began to hyperventilate as the room seemed to spin. His head felt light, and his eyes struggled not to roll back in his head. He felt like he was about to collapse to the floor, but held onto the sink beside him to keep upright.

Brandon turned back to the door, despite still feeling uneasy on his feet. He was ready to bolt it. Out of the room, the club, the whole island if necessary.

He couldn’t do this.

Vince must have noticed Brandon’s unease; he grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and planted another kiss on Brandon’s quivering lips. Brandon attempted to get his breathing under control. His whole body was trembling. A scared puppy, shaken to the very core.

It was natural. It would pass.

As the kiss finished, the toilet flushed. A burly man exited the stall, looking mightily relieved, until he noticed he wasn’t alone. He stopped and looked at them, instantly recognising they weren’t fellow staff members.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said sternly.

Vince nodded in agreement, let go of Brandon… and charged.

You Got To Humiliate Them

Carlos had just been enjoying a much-needed shit halfway through another long shift, getting ready to start his lunch break. He initially assumed the pair -- like many others -- had snuck into the staff toilets to snort something.

He’d been contemplating whether or not he should throw them out of the club altogether, not if he should get his arms up in defence in case of some unprovoked attack.

But one of them ran at him full speed, in a sudden assault, ramming Carlos against the wall.

Well, he thought, these assholes are going to get more than simply thrown out now.

Carlos was a big man who could handle himself in most situations. More stocky than ripped, he’d always been able to use his mass to his advantage when breaking up fights or ejecting the riff-raff who caused trouble. The most regular problem he had to deal with at the Paradise Night Club was the rampant drug use. While the club tried its best to turn a blind eye -- not wanting to lose the partygoers to rival clubs -- if they spotted it, then they had to do something about it.

He’d often walked in on clubbers snorting something, or dishing out pills. Normally, they made a run for it, and he let them get away.

But this time was different. There weren’t even any drugs involved, as far as he could tell; this asshole just attacked him.

*

Brandon watched the big man’s back smash hard against the unforgiving wall, but he had plenty of fight in him, bringing his beefy arms down and slamming them into Vince’s exposed back.

Vince tried to shake off the retaliation, and drove his shoulder repeatedly into the guy’s gut, attempting to knock the wind from him.

The man -- his name tag read ‘Carlos’ -- hammered with both arms again, making Vince visibly buckle. The first shot may have been a reflex, but now he was clearly pissed. As he seized Vince in a bear-hug, perhaps meaning to hurl him aside, Vince did a reverse head-butt, catching the underside of Carlos’s jaw with the back of his skull. The hulking security guard staggered, but did not drop.

“Little help,” Vince called in Brandon’s direction.

Despite the pain that had to be shooting through his jaw, Carlos laid in a couple of heavy punches to Vince’s kidney’s, making him wince as the powerful blows landed, and briefly dropping him to his knees.

Brandon wasn’t sure what he could do. Or what he should do? Moments ago, he’d been ready to get the hell out of there, but now he was uncertain. He didn’t want to abandon his new, albeit violent, friend in trouble. He owed Vince nothing, and he probably deserved to get the shit kicked out of him for this stunt, but Brandon couldn’t peel himself away.

He didn’t help either, though. Just stood there like a fucking lemon.

It didn’t matter.

Vince sprang back up, gaining a second wind, and unleashed a couple of his own fierce punches to Carlos’s liver. Carlos shoved him back, creating brief separation.

“What the fuck?” Carlos panted.

He looked on his last legs now, exhausted from the fight, and hurting from the blows. He probably prided himself on seeing a problem coming and dealing with it in a quick and effective manner, but neither of those things had happened, and he was paying for it.

Vince’s answer was to smash an elbow into Carlos’s face, rocking him. He’d been too busy holding his bruised stomach, and left himself exposed. Vince followed with a solid knee to the crotch, which doubled Carlos over. Another knee, this one to Carlos’s face on the way down, busted his nose, causing blood and snot to leak out.

“Not so tough now, are you?” Vince spat, though Carlos had never claimed anything of the sort.

He was just a man doing his job -- or, rather a man on his break -- when they’d jumped him. As he collapsed, any remaining resistance fading, Vince jabbed him several more times in the head.

Carlos slumped to the floor.

Defeated.

*

Brandon’s brain kept screaming for him to run, but something more primal begged him to stay and watch the violence unfold.

He’d never been this close to a fight before.

Sure, Cole and Mal got into the odd drunken scrap with other piss-heads, but those were almost good-natured affairs compared to this.

He’d never seen someone head-butted, or heard the crunch of an elbow connecting with a nose. He’d normally just see a couple of weak drunken punches, before the fight was either stopped, or one party staggered away muttering to themselves.

None had ever ended like this.

Not with a crumpled body, and blood everywhere.

With Carlos down, Vince drove several ruthless kicks into his head. Each one sounded horrible, the bathroom’s echo exacerbating the vicious impacts.

Brandon stepped forward, but was unsure why. Vince didn’t need his help anymore; that much was clear. And he still wasn’t sure if he wanted to, anyway.

They weren’t the good guys here.

They’d come to kill someone, and it looked like Vince was going to go through with it.

There was no doubt in his mind anymore. It wasn’t some bizarre prank, or cruel joke. They were here to kill, to take their pound of flesh, and Brandon still wasn’t entirely sure why.

He’d somehow just got swept up in it all, but the reality of the situation was right in front of him, as he stared at Carlos’s mangled face. Vince had finally stopped kicking and let him sprawl on the floor, looking half-dead and unrecognisable from the man they’d seen when they first entered.

“Whooo,” Vince shouted, to no-one in particular, as he let the built up adrenaline escape his body.

He grabbed Brandon and planted a passionate kiss on his lips. While Brandon was still stunned at what had transpired, he let himself melt into the feral kiss. No one had ever kissed him like that before. He literally felt his knees wobble, but it could also have been the shock of the sudden brutality.

“Do you love me?” Vince asked, with a cheeky grin on his blood speckled face.

Carlos’s blood, not his.

Love was the furthest thing from Brandon’s thoughts, after having seen him just absolutely decimate an innocent man. The surprise of Vince actually talking to him in the club, and then kissing him, was nothing compared to what he felt witnessing what Vince had just done.

Yet I’m still not running for the hills.

Carlos had somehow rolled onto his back, and looked beyond fucked up. His nose was a mushy, dribbling scarlet mess. His breaths were severely laboured, like he was on the verge of a heart attack. His face had swollen to double its size, like the Elephant Man. He was clearly concussed, too; his eyes were rolled back, exposing the whites.

Vince had been savage. Unforgiving, and unrelenting.

From gorgeous to unhinged in the blink of an eye. But Brandon had sensed instantly that he was both, and shouldn’t have been surprised.

Handsome and dangerous.

*

“Your turn.”

“What?” The words shook Brandon from his thoughts.

“Get in there.” Vince proudly pointed to the destroyed heap of Carlos. “Have some fun,” he suggested, as he wiped the sweat from his brow. The staff toilets were just as hot as the rest of the stuffy club, and the extra exertion hadn’t helped.

“I…” Brandon wasn’t sure how to finish.

He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say. How he felt about all of this was still at the forefront of his mind, but had been left completely unanswered. He should have been sickened by it, he knew that much… yet ...

“Everything’s gotta be love or death,” Vince stated, like he was a fountain of knowledge. As if it was an indisputable, undeniable, holier-than-thou, stone-cold fact.

“What does that even mean?” Brandon asked, in an almost sarcastic manner.

He wasn’t sure if this side of Vince made him more like his douchey friends, or somehow even hotter.

Do I like bad boys now?

“It means, unless you love this motherfucker… kill him!” Vince smirked, with a grin saturated in such pure evil it made Brandon want to piss himself ... or maybe jack off.

Man, I’m confused.

Brandon took a careful step towards Carlos, absolutely certain he was under some kind of spell. This wasn’t him. But he was intrigued.

He remembered having seen Carlos working the door when they’d arrived at the club, and pictured in his head the guy looking down on him, laughing while high-fiving his friends. It hadn’t happened, but it felt like it could have. He was yet another person who probably turned his nose up at Brandon. Everyone else did, so the chances of this motherfucker doing it as well were high.

But now, he could do something about it. Fight back.

‘Show them,’ as Vince had said.

Brandon stood above Carlos, willing himself to do something. Either hit him, or get the hell out of there.

Anything but more indecisiveness. More nothingness.

Make a decision for once.

Take a chance.

This wasn’t right, but where had ‘right’ gotten him? Those words still stung, but also motivated. He closed his eyes and gave Carlos a feeble punch. It was closer to a slap, but either way, it was the first time in his life he’d ever struck someone.

He was still uncertain how he felt about it.

Carlos didn’t respond. No doubt, the pathetic punch hadn’t even registered. Mocking him even now, while half-dead on the floor.

Sounds about typical.

Vince, bemused, carefully placed his hands around Brandon’s shaking mitt and curled his fingers into a fist. He held the fist tightly, compacting it, while softly kissing the side of Brandon’s neck.

Then he pulled Brandon’s arm back and mimicked a quick punching motion. A much stronger, more confident movement than the previous half-hearted attempt.

“For real this time.”

Brandon took a deep breath, then let Vince guide his closed fist into the bouncer’s puffy face as he exhaled. A bolt of pain shot through his hand as his knuckles crunched against Carlos’s fractured orbital bone. The downed man stirred, but it was still hard to tell if he registered the blow.

I actually punched someone.

Despite the pain, Brandon couldn’t help but smile. As far as shared new experiences went, it wouldn’t have been top of everyone’s list, but to him it felt special. He’d done something he’d never dreamt of doing before, with a guy who looked like he’d walked straight out of that same dream. It was surreal, intoxicating. He knew it was wrong, but already wanted a little more. A second chance to feel the sensation of punching someone.

Where did that come from?

Vince drew Brandon’s fist back once more, then shoved it forward. This time he let go, so Brandon landed the punch all by himself. The training wheels were off, the big boy pants on…

He felt the skin scrape from his knuckles, but he also experienced the damage done to Carlos, and the unquestionable thrill which accompanied it.

Carlos moaned, with the punch definitely leaving a mark this time.

Brandon examined the new bruise and indentation left on the bouncer’s face.

He’d caused that. And ... well… it did feel kind of great. A part of him didn’t want it to, but that part had already shrunk. His previously bold declarations of pacifism and never wanting to hurt another human being had failed during their first real test. Apparently, all he’d lacked in the past was opportunity; when presented with the chance to inflict damage, he took it. Maybe not gleefully, but not far off.

He looked to Vince, who nodded for him to carry on. ‘Enjoy yourself,’ his slight movement suggested, so Brandon hit Carlos again.

And again.

And again.

Losing himself in the violent act. Or am I expressing myself? Either way, it felt good. He let out his own triumphant yell, similar to Vince’s, who was beaming like a proud parent.

Brandon giggled nervously. Is this really happening? Did he actually just punch a real human being, and enjoy it? He really had considered himself non-violent, but maybe it really was just that he never fancied his chances in a fight.

Or hadn’t experienced the thrill of violence.

Because, make no mistake, it was a thrill. His heart was fluttering, and not just because of Vince’s repeated touches to different parts of his body. There was something primal in the assault, which had lit up some dormant part buried deep inside him.

He was enjoying himself.

Had a big old smile on his face; a genuine one at that. He didn’t feel ‘fucking miserable.’ Quite the opposite in fact. He felt happy. Dare he say, even a little confident.

“Now kick the bastard,” Vince ordered.

Brandon took a step back, then drove his foot forward into Carlos’s chin without hesitation, which felt like a miracle. How could he kick someone in the face without even thinking it through? Yet, he just had.

Carlos’s head snapped back and smashed against the wall, eliciting a whimper. He was in bad shape, and Brandon had contributed towards it. His newfound smirk grew.

“You know, it’s not enough just to hurt someone,” Vince monologued like a megalomaniac. “You got to humiliate them too. Embarrass them. Take away any power and dignity they ever had. You’ve got to break them, before you kill them.”

“Why?” Brandon asked, like he was listening to some wise old professor in class, rather than a fucking psycho.

“Cos it’s more fun,” Vince replied, in his normal, charming, sinister, and totally messed up manner. If he revelled in being an evil cunt, at the moment, he was in his element.

Vince checked the stall Carlos had left prior to the attack, and shook his head. “Lucky boy, you flushed. But it won’t save you.” Dropping his trousers, he crouched so his toned, bare ass hung over Carlos’s disfigured face.

Brandon gawked, focusing on Vince’s girthy cock, which was now on full display. It was impressive, to say the least. He felt his own mediocre dick shrivel up in embarrassment, his extra confidence already fading.

“What are…?” was all Brandon managed to say before his unfinished question was answered.

Vince took a dump on Carlos.

Just shat all over him.

Several thick lumps spilled onto Carlos’s eyes and busted nose. They slid towards his chin and ears, smeared brown trails marking their progress. Vince then pushed his shitty asshole directly against Carlos’s mouth and unloaded the last of his excrement between Carlos’s busted lips.

Carlos reflectively coughed, choked, and puked.

Brandon didn’t know whether to laugh out loud, or follow Carlos’s example and gag.

“Got to break them,” Vince offered in way of explanation, as he stood. It wasn’t much of one, but seemed to make sense to him.

He gestured Brandon forward, as if, once again, it was his turn.

“I can’t shit on a guy,” Brandon practically shrieked, bemused by the very notion. Punching someone was one thing, but taking a crap on them? Really?

“Of course you can,” Vince replied, nonchalant while he wiped his ass, using the bouncer’s hair and shirt as toilet paper, leaving more disgusting stains.

Carlos whined feebly, but was still too out of it; poor guy probably didn’t even know he’d just been shat on.

Maybe it’s for the best.

“I don’t need to go,” Brandon weakly argued.

Vince tugged his trousers back up, seeming to make sure Brandon got one last good look at his trouser snake before tucking it away. He manoeuvred himself behind Brandon, kissing his neck once more. Then, he reached down and pressed his hand against Brandon’s groin. His dick had slowly began to un-shrivel after Brandon got a good look at Vince’s majestic member, which he now felt bulging against his ass.

Vince started to unzip Brandon’s trousers.

“What are you…?”

Vince shushed him as he took Brandon’s dick in his hand and began stroking it. His hand smoothly glided up and down the shaft, which was quickly hardening.

Brandon felt embarrassed, but let him continue.

What a weird situation to be in ... but God, it feels good.

He couldn’t believe he was allowing this to happen. It was absurd. Depraved. Getting a handjob in a toilet from a complete stranger was sleazy enough, but doing it in front of some dying man they’d beaten up?

This was not Brandon. No part of it felt like him. Yet, it clearly was him.

With the proper motivation…

Vince nibbled his earlobe, pecked his neck and cheek, then turned Brandon’s face to the side and kissed him, all while working his stiffening cock.

Brandon could already feel the cum building, his blue balls having stored it up for longer than he cared to remember. He’d considered himself all but dead down there, but Vince had resuscitated his forgotten dick.

Vince aimed Brandon’s dick at Carlos’s shit-stained face as he jerked him harder.

Brandon couldn’t hold it any longer.

String after string of cum jetted from him, onto Carlos.

It felt almost endless. Comical really.

What is happening to me?

Was it Vince?

The violence?

The absurdity of it all?

Or just good old-fashioned, ‘it’s been a fucking while.’?

Either way, Brandon had never cum like that before, much less over some shit-stained beaten, broken, unconscious bouncer on the verge of death.

Damn! That felt good.

Brandon reeled, spent, while Vince gently held him in his arms, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. An almost sweet gesture, if he hadn’t just cum over a half dead guy who Vince had shat upon.

“That should break him,” Brandon snickered, still disbelieving of what he’d just done, but finally embracing the spirit of the obscene situation.

“Then it’s time to kill him,” Vince pulled a flick knife from his pocket and handed it to Brandon. “Time to change your life.”

Brandon held the small knife in his hand. The weight wasn’t much, but the power was immense. The little instrument of death held the ability to end life. To change worlds. Change my world. The last thing he’d expected when he woke this morning was to be killing a guy, or being jerked off by a handsome stranger. Funny how quickly things can happen. But here he was. A massive, life-changing decision to make.

To kill, or not to kill?

He didn’t contemplate and overthink it like every other decision in his life.

He just did it.

He stuck Carlos in the throat with the knife and slid the blade sideways, releasing a gushing waterfall of crimson.

He took the innocent man’s life with less thought than he’d given downing the shot of Wild Turkey earlier.

“Everything’s gotta be love or death,” he repeated to Vince, then kissed him.

Yep. I’m definitely under his spell.

The Night Is Still Young

Despite the hour, the heat of the day still clung to the air. The full moon had replaced the sun, but done little to battle its warmth. A light breeze offered no help outside the walls of the increasingly busy nightclub, either.

It seemed that past midnight was when the rowdy night spot really came alive. The queue to get in was exponentially growing.

But two people had left; Brandon and Vince strolled hand-in-hand away from the noisy, excitable place, leaving behind the mess they’d created.

Carlos remained slumped on the floor, the blood having finally stopped streaming from his slit throat. They’d considered dragging him back into the stall, but it would have made little difference in hiding the crime, unless they also wanted to clean up all the splatters of blood, cum, and shit where they’d wickedly humiliated and murdered him.

Neither was in the mood for the extra work.

The night had only truly just began, and they weren’t going to spend the rest of it cleaning up after themselves. Plus, at the end of the day, there was still a brutalised dead body; wasn’t like they could flush it down the toilet. So, they simply locked the bathroom door and got the hell out of there.

Carlos would be discovered soon enough, but whether his death could be tracked back to them was neither of their concern at the moment. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people had come and gone from the club. Even if an investigation narrowed it down, they’d be long gone by that point. Off the island, and denying absolutely everything.

At least, that’s what Vince reassured Brandon as they made their way out of the death toilet.

Ignorance is bliss when it comes to the array of DNA.

It should have been more of a concern for Brandon. His usually neurotic mind should have been doing flips over killing someone and leaving the body to be discovered, with his cum all over the victim’s cold dead face. It was about as far from the perfect crime as you could get.

But, instead, he went along with Vince’s flawed reasoning.

Fuck it.

He was enjoying the feeling of holding Vince’s warm hand as they wandered along the beautiful walkway above the seafront. He was trying his damndest to finally live in the moment, something he’d failed at his whole life.

But what better time to start than after you viciously rammed a knife through some random guy’s throat and left him there to be found by some unsuspecting bartender?

Brandon wondered if he was going a little mad. In fact, it wasn’t a wonder; he’d lost his fucking mind and knew it.

I’ve murdered someone and am taking a gentle stroll afterwards. Crazy.

The gorgeous sea was calm under the bright moon. There appeared to be no storm coming, or any other obvious symbolic warning letting Brandon know he’d pay for his brutal crimes. He’d imagined there would be; when they first left the club, he envisioned a platoon of armed police officers waiting for them, while heavy rain belted down and thunder cracked in the background. Something with a biblical feeling, Old-Testament. But for all intents and purposes, they’d gotten away with murder, at least for the time being.

Early days yet.

*

It was early days in their relationship, too.

If that’s what this was? Brandon didn’t really know.

He knew they’d killed someone together, and Vince had masturbated him over the dying body after shitting on the guy in front of him; that had to mean more than just casual acquaintances? Surely?

But he wasn’t sure, and didn’t dare to ask. Not yet.

It was time to just live in the moment and not overly worry about the future. The night was still young. Life was just beginning.

Not for Carlos.

“I thought it would feel worse,” Brandon said, truly acknowledging the disgusting act of violence for the first time.

Everything after the murder had been a practical blur. Locking the door. Cleaning themselves. Getting the hell out of the club undetected. But now, with time to reflect, he was surprised at how calm he felt about it all.

Quizzed beforehand, he’d have answered he’d be a fucking wreck, in the midst of a mental breakdown from which he would never recover. That he’d kill himself rather than live with the guilt of taking an innocent man’s life in such a barbaric and obscene fashion.

But the reality felt shockingly different.

Maybe it was the striking company, or the luscious full moon, or the fact he really had gone fucking loopy, but Brandon was in high-spirits. Excited for his future, for the very first time. He felt a confidence and power flowing through his body, the likes of which he’d never felt before.

He’d let go.

Allowed himself to be a little reckless.

Well, a lot reckless.

He’d had fun, even if others would look at it differently. To hell with them. He didn’t care what anyone else thought now, except maybe Vince.

Vince, who’d strolled into his life and told him he could change. Vince, who’d given him the power to make that change, in the form of a victim. A victim to replace his own victimhood. A vile, but simple, solution.

There really was no going back to his old boring monotonous ways now. No point even trying. The Brandon everyone trod over or ignored had faded from existence. A new and improved Brandon now stood in his place.

And all it cost me was my soul, he inwardly thought, but pushed to the side.

“I was almost sick when you shat on that guy.” Brandon laughed, trying to lighten the darkness taking root inside him.

No going back.

Vince tightened the grip on his hand in an almost loving way, giving Brandon another endorphin hit. It had been too long since anyone had held his hand. He hadn’t realised just how much he’d missed any sign of affection. He was done chewing himself out for his desperate responses; he needed this, and wouldn’t deny himself such sweet little moments.

“You were too busy checking out my dick to be sick,” Vince cheekily replied, kissing Brandon’s hand as he held it in his own.

They stopped to look out at the peaceful sea. Barely a wave broke. Brandon had never seen a sea so serene this late at night. It was like it was trying to tell him everything was going to be all right. He desperately wanted to believe it. Wanted it to be a sign, an encouragement of this blossoming romance. Better times ahead.

Even the stars were shining brighter. How had this perfect stranger walked into his life and changed everything so quickly? Changed him? He’d brought him out of his awkward self-imposed shell within hours.

From wallflower to murderer.

From not being able to talk to a guy he liked, to letting him wank him off over a fucking corpse! That was some rapid progress.

But there were a few things he needed to know before he fell head-over-heels. He wanted to just go with the flow, live one-hundred-percent in the present, and would do his best to do so, but a large part of him was still the same Brandon who woke in the morning having never been remotely spontaneous in his life. He could deny that Brandon’s existence from now on, but it lurked within him.

You don’t change overnight. Or do you?

“How many people have you killed?” he asked, under the blanket of gleaming stars. His tone wasn’t an accusing one, more curious. He wasn’t even sure what an acceptable answer would be. One was too many, yet a part of his new dark soul was hoping for double-figures.

“Not enough,” Vince smirked back, with the dangerous look which could steal hearts and minds, and was currently doing both.

Brandon shook his head. “You’re crazy,” he teased, still hoping for a solid figure.

“Yeah, but you love me,” Vince replied, grabbing a handful of Brandon’s ass and tightly squeezing it as he briefly jammed his tongue in his mouth before letting go to gauge his response.

“Can’t love someone I don’t know.”

Brandon was surprised by his answer, but it was the truth. Love was in the details. What he had at the moment was a very severe case of lust, and loneliness. Years of neglect and being on his own had whittled down his defences for sure, and his need for any kind of affection had indeed reached embarrassing levels -- which tonight had been proof of -- but love still meant something more than a lovely stroll and satisfying handjob.

“What do you want to know?” Vince questioned, with a skip in his step as they continued their walk above the picturesque coastline.

They passed a set of narrow stone steps which led down to the deserted sandy beach and still sea. The noise of the club had faded, and with no-one else around, the only sound was the gentle breaking of the timid waves washing ashore. They were all alone, a perfect opportunity to get to know one another.

“What do you do for a living?” Brandon started with.

“I murder people.”

“No, I mean for money?”

With a sly grin, Vince revealed Carlos’s leather wallet, which he taken from the corpse.

They laughed. It should have been an uneasy ‘what the hell’ laugh, but it wasn’t. It was genuine, which made Brandon even more concerned and happy at the same time with the path he was going down.

Definitely no turning back. And yes, I have gone fucking crazy.

“Where are you from?”

“Everywhere.”

“You have family?”

“Somewhere.”

“You ever been in love?”

“Working on it,” Vince replied, with more charm than Brandon could fathom.

Who is this guy?

Brandon paused, and stared into Vince’s breathtaking eyes, trying to work out anything about him. Some clue to this enigmatic stranger trying to steal his heart, and succeeding.

“Tell me something real about you. I need something,” he told Vince, with a hint of desperation in his voice. He wanted to dive right in and explore all the possibilities, but twenty-plus years of programming still whispered in his ear that this was all nuts and would go horribly wrong.

He tried to ignore the sensible, responsible, part of his brain. It’d gotten him nowhere up until this point in life, leaving him alone and unhappy, devoid of hope. He wanted to be daring instead, take a leap of faith and see what the future could bring. But he really did need something…

Vince took Brandon’s hand and returned the stare.

“I’m going to change your life,” he declared, with a ravishing smile which made Brandon’s whole body flutter.

Goosebumps for everyone. Responsibility be damned.

“You already have,” Brandon sheepishly replied, as his cheeks grew red once more.

“See. So that’s real,” Vince knowingly told him.

*

They began to walk up a slight slope leading away from the beach and towards Brandon’s hotel. The surrounding area was quiet. The restaurants had emptied, and all the nightlife was on the club side of the area. A few stray cats were kicking around, but no one else. A perfect venue for a intimate walk.

Brandon wasn’t sure why he’d led Vince back to the hotel. Maybe he was hoping for a good fuck before bed, or maybe he just couldn’t bear the idea of letting him out of his sight. He needed to be around him, that much was for sure. The pull and allure was strong. This night couldn’t end, and if it did, it had to be with Vince laying by his side and them cuddled up together.

Can murderers cuddle together?

He assumed so; after all, he’d killed a man and it was exactly what he wanted to do now.

I really did kill a man…

Whether he deserved comfort or not was up for debate, but not by him. He’d done the good Boy Scout act his whole life, and it had gotten him absolutely nowhere. He’d been the responsible one, the decent guy. The doormat! And it had all been without getting a single thing he ever wanted. Sure, it meant he’d been a good citizen, but that only got you so far, and Brandon wanted more.

How’s ‘right’ worked for you? Vince’s previous statement still rattled around in his mind. Cruel, but undeniably correct.

Then, the one time he did something outrageous and massively irresponsible, to put it fucking lightly, he found himself in the arms of a handsome hunk, feeling the best he’d ever felt about himself.

There had to be a lesson there.

Although, it’s probably not ‘murder is good.’

But, damn if it doesn’t feel great.

They stopped outside Brandon’s room. The simple hotel complex was as silent as the rest of the area. The odd murmur sounded in the distance from one of the occupied rooms, but everyone seemed to be either still out, or in bed. Each room was separated with enough space for a little privacy, not much, but enough. It was one of the things people liked about the complex.

‘Not on top of each other,’ they’d write on the various review sites. Along with, ‘seaside view and close to the nightlife.’ They hadn’t been wrong.

A sign hung from the door.

‘Do Not Disturb.’

Guess someone is on top of someone after all.

“Your roommates getting lucky?” Vince inquired, holding the sign with a bemused but sinister grin. His forehead may not have been able to express his impulses, but his disturbing smile certainly made up for it.

“Always,” Brandon replied, failing to hide the bitterness in his voice.

With his recently seized-upon freedom came some cold, hard facts. Things he’d done his best to hide from in the past, in fear of even more loneliness. The honest to God truth was, he hated Mal and Cole. He wasn’t sure when this change had happened, down the years, but he despised what they’d become. The way they mistreated him, and the arrogance of how they looked down on him, like he was nothing.

Charity friend, my ass.

He wanted nothing more than to grab his bag and leave. Never speak to, or see, those assholes ever again. Fuck them; they could manage without him. And if they couldn’t, well, it wasn’t his problem anymore. He’d done his time. He wanted them out of his life. If he was to sincerely start afresh, then there was no point taking any of his toxic past with him

Vince had a better idea. “Want to kill them?”

Disturbed

Brandon swung the door open to the sight of Cole with a naked blonde bent over the coffee table, jack-hammering her amongst half-drunken spirit bottles, while Mal sat on the couch with his dick balls deep in a red-head’s large ass.

“Can’t you see we’ve got company?” Cole chuckled, clearly inebriated, but not breaking his rhythm.

The blonde, for her part, didn’t even acknowledge Brandon’s sudden arrival, she was too busy telling Cole to screw her harder as her perky tits swung against the bottles and her face twisted in a mixture of pleasure and pain. She was having a great time.

“I brought someone back too,” Brandon said bluntly, years of anger giving his words an unsavoury edge. It didn’t even sound like him, but it was.

He instinctively grabbed the nearest half-empty whisky bottle and smashed it over the gorgeous blonde’s head, completely ruining her buzz.

She planted face-first on the table as the glass shattered, cutting into her creamy temple and sending her into a half-conscious dream.

Brandon couldn’t believe he’d just done that.

He’d seen red the moment he opened the door. Vince’s words about killing them had still been ringing in his ears, but they’d held no truth until he laid eyes on his friends. Then, it was on.

Did I just do that? he thought, with a wild laugh, and some form of shame buried deep in the pit of his stomach which he refused to acknowledge.

Vince burst past Brandon and donkey-punched the red-head, who was too busy getting rammed in the ass to be aware of what had transpired. Half cut on a mixture of booze and drugs, lost in a moment of ecstasy, now she was possibly lost forever.

Her head violently jerked forward and smashed into Mal’s, fracturing the bridge of his nose. He wailed in pain while the red-head flopped against him. Blood freely spewed from her mouth, where she had inadvertently bitten off her own tongue, but she made no sounds of distress.

Blood also pissed from the blonde’s head, as she collapsed onto the table just as Cole came all over her back. The sight would have been hilarious to him if it was some drunken finish to their fuckfest, rather than because of someone smashing a freaking bottle over her head and knocking her out cold.

He didn’t get a chance to question Brandon’s actions, as Brandon stabbed him in the chest with the broken bottle he was still clutching, then went to work on his arms and legs, getting more frantic and bug-eyed with each stab.

He’s fucking lost it! Cole’s eyes said. His spent cock quickly shrivelled at the sight of his own blood, and that of the blonde.

Mal pushed the limp and motionless red-head off his lap and tried to defend himself as Vince cracked a table lamp over his head. The ceramic base exploded on impact, forming an instant lump above Mal’s ear. He tried to protest the beat-down, but Vince wasn’t listening, laying blows into Mal’s face and chest, cracking a few ribs to go with the broken nose. Mal crumpled on the sofa, unable to do anything other than take the vicious assault, and likely wonder how his night had taken such a drastic turn.

He wasn’t the only one.

Brandon stabbed Cole several more times with the broken bottle, until it was ripping up his own hand more than it was doing damage to Cole. He picked up a second bottle and busted it over Cole’s head, dousing his cuts in rum and signalling an end to the first stage of his fury.

A heartless start, and the night was still young.

*

Within less than a minute, Mal, Cole, and their female companions had been neutralised. The red-head still hadn’t moved a muscle after Vince’s sickening donkey-punch.

Brandon closed the door, leaving the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hanging outside as he turned the key; they most definitely had fucking been disturbed! He put the TV on some shitty show to mask any further noise, but the only sounds currently emitting from the victims were whimpers and heavy breathing.

Cole looked like he’d been ejected from a moving car straight through the front windscreen, with cuts and slashes over his naked body. Blood ran from his chest, arms and thighs, with muscles nearly exposed. His face remained relatively untouched ... barring the top of his head, which had glass sticking from his short hair thanks to a final blow.

The blonde was semi-conscious, not knowing what the hell had happened. Her previously golden hair was now crimson, and while the assault may have sobered her up, a concussion left her pretty much where she had started.

Only, enjoying it a lot less. She’d probably never been hit before in her life, much less bottled.

Mal was struggling to breathe. The kicks to his face and chest, plus his broken nose and ribs, had him in a full-blown panic attack. He tried sucking in some much needed air but it wouldn’t come. His face was turning a dark shade of purple and he started to choke. The tears streamed from his blackened eyes. He looked up at Vince, silently pleading and begging for help, but got nothing back other than a cold stare and sinister grin.

The red-head’s neck was broken and she was almost in the clutches of death. There was a light pulse fighting to keep her on this mortal coil, but you’d have to look damn hard to see it. One second, she’d been enjoying a good ramming; the next she wasn’t aware of anything at all. Like going under anaesthetic, or falling into a coma she would never wake from.

Brandon ripped a strip of material from Cole’s vest top, which was lying on the floor -- he hated those vest tops -- and gingerly wrapped it around his injured hand, the pain kicking in from the dousing of alcohol into the cuts caused by broken glass. Luckily, there was still enough adrenaline coursing through his body to mask the vast majority of it, but it still hurt, and he was kind of regretting going medieval with the bottle.

*

Vince spun Brandon towards him and laid a hard kiss on him, jamming his tongue deep into his mouth and running his hands all over his back.

“You did good babe,” he said, as he released the strong kiss, looking like he wanted to fuck him there and then.

Brandon had done good, indeed ... relatively speaking.

He hadn’t hesitated. Hadn’t even thought, for that matter. He’d just flown into a rage.

Only, if he was honest with himself, it was more than that. He fully knew the damage and torment he was causing, and it felt natural to him. The violence he’d avoided his entire life had suddenly become second nature.

Can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube.

His inner wild side had been unleashed, and he had no intention of capping it. He wanted to explore his new found viciousness, this sudden depravity he was now capable of. Smashing the bottle over the blonde’s head had even got him a little hard. He’d have been disgusted with himself for that less than a few hours ago; now he wanted to pull his cock out and do something about it.

Life’s fucking weird.

And he felt nothing for his former friends, as they lay covered in blood, struggling to breathe, with shocked looks etched on their busted faces as they tried to work how why he would do this to them.

All the memories of them playing together as kids had faded in an instant for Brandon. The good times long forgotten like they never happened, and the more recent history fully rewritten to paint them as undisputed villains. They’d mistreated him and abused his friendship at every single opportunity, so fuck them. They deserved this. And more!

As for the girls… wrong place, wrong time. Sucks to be you.

Tears trickled from Brandon’s eyes, like his heart was trying to counter this newfound nastiness, but the rest of him wasn’t having any of it. He wiped them away and sniffed back any more trying to escape.

He wouldn’t shed tears for these assholes, or the life he wanted to forever put behind him. The past was the past. Miserable memories from a mundane existence. It could burn.

Vince waved Brandon forward like he was the one conducting the ultra-violence. It was Brandon’s turn to take the lead this time. At least to begin with.

“Got to humiliate them first right?” Brandon asked, although it was rhetorical.

He knew the answer. Vince shitting on Carlos was still fresh in his mind. And he wanted to humiliate his friends. They deserved it.

Vince beamed back. “Exactly.”

Brandon scanned the room before his eyes fell on the cum puddled on the blonde’s back. He addressed Cole like he was reprimanding him.

“Look at the mess you made.” He grabbed Cole’s head, angling it towards his spilt load, treating him as a dumb mutt who’d shit on the carpet and needed to learn a valuable lesson. “Lick it clean,” Brandon demanded, with a power in his voice he’d never conjured before.

“What…” Cole weakly questioned, as if wondering who the hell this person was. This person who looked like Brandon, but the words coming from his mouth couldn’t belong to Brandon. Nor his actions. Brandon was meek, harmless. A pushover, quite frankly. Not this callous asshole barking at him and smashing bottles over people’s heads.

“I said fucking lick it up, or I’ll slit her throat.” Brandon picked up a glass shard and pushed it against the blonde’s neck. “You want her death on your conscience?”

“Please, don’t --”

“No point begging, Cole. You either lick your spunk up, or watch her die.”

Brandon had to suppress the laughter building in his belly. This is wild. He’d never spoken like that before in his whole life, and the look on Cole’s stricken face was priceless. Poor Cole, questioning everything. The fabric of his whole universe had unravelled. He couldn’t understand how any of this could be.

If only he knew.

Although, he’d find out soon enough.

Cole, who’d often boasted about not being one to cry, couldn’t hold back his tears. This was clearly way too much. One of his oldest friends was threatening to kill a person. He’d just wanted to enjoy a week away in the sun with his mates, now he was fighting for his life? Expected to lick up his own cum, or Brandon would slice someone’s throat? What the actual fuck!

Brandon started lowering Cole’s conquered head towards the mess on the blonde’s back. The mess he’d probably made accidentally, when her reaction to being glassed made her body shake in a great way.

Only not so great for her.

Cole must not have been able to help himself as her pussy tightly clenched, but then she’d fallen forward and his dick popped out just as he let loose. Possibly the greatest orgasm of his life, but he hadn’t even been able to enjoy it, and now he had to clean it up.

Brandon jammed Cole’s face into the cum. The pressure on her back roused the blonde, who started to stir. Upon reviving, she naturally went to scream for help, but Brandon let go of Cole and punched her in the face.

Even his punches had improved over the course of the night; he loosened several of her teeth.

Cole raised his head, his mouth and facial hair smothered in his own cum.

“Why are you doing this?” he whined.

“Because I can,” Brandon answered, looking to Vince for acceptance of his response.

Vince’s Cheshire Cat smile suggested he highly approved.

“Now lick the blood from her hair,” Vince chimed in, itching to get in on the fun and humiliation.

Brandon could see Cole wanting to protest, but he still held the glass shard to the girl’s throat, making it perfectly clear he’d ice her if Cole did anything stupid.

While Cole was often prone to doing stupid shit, he got the message.

“Lick the blood from her hair,” Brandon repeated, on Vince’s behalf.

He nicked the blonde’s chin, making her yelp and flinch, and almost stab her own neck on the shard. She began to ugly cry, her face contorted in utter misery. Fear for her life reflected in her wet vulnerable eyes.

Her own begging failed to soften Brandon’s stance as he cut her again, taking perverse satisfaction from her childish whimpers. She wasn’t some sexy goddess anymore, just a scared little girl who wanted her mummy.

Now who’s pathetic?

The second cut succeeded in motivating Cole into action. He began to suck on her blood-soaked hair, to a soundtrack of laughter from Brandon and Vince.

“Eat it,” Vince ordered.

They watched Cole trying to munch on the stained hair, while the blonde sobbed beneath him. Brandon eyeballed him the whole time, daring him to try something. Maybe make a grab for the glass. But Cole didn’t have any fight left in him.

Vince booted Cole aside, knocking him onto the couch beside Mal, who was still trying to get his breathing under control. “Now eat her pussy,” he commanded.

Cole looked confused; he’d likely been expecting something a hell of a lot worse. Vince smiled at him, knowing he’d puzzled the poor fellow. All part of the fun.

“I know, right? Doesn’t sound much like torture, eating a fine cunt like that.” He kicked the blonde as he finished his sentence.

Brandon just managed to pull the glass away in time, otherwise that would have been it for her.

Vince’s attention returned to Brandon. “Gag the whore,” he said, pulling the flick knife from his pocket.

Brandon wrapped her discarded mini dress around her mouth. She frantically tried to fight, but both he and Vince gave her simultaneous punches to the stomach, amused by their synchronicity.

We’re meant to be, Brandon found himself thinking, even amongst the pandemonium.

As Vince forcefully spread her legs, it evidently dawned on Cole what really was about to go down. Cole miraculously found some fight in him after all and made a grab for the knife, but Vince was waiting. This wasn’t his first rodeo … or genital mutilation. He smashed his free fist against Cole’s jaw before stabbing him in the side, being careful not to puncture any vital organs; wasn’t time for that yet.

Handing Brandon the knife, he went to town on Cole. Fist after fist crunched. Both eyes blackened, nose misshaped, jaw dislocated. Then he punched the knife wound, to get the blood really pumping.

By the time Vince let up, Cole must’ve wished he was dead, but he wasn’t. Not yet.

Brandon watched the assault without remorse. He was amazed how little he cared for Cole’s well-being, and found himself frothing at the mouth after each of Vince’s punches caused more damage.

Earlier in the night, they’d all headed out together to enjoy themselves, but a nightclub was never Brandon’s idea of enjoyment. It turned out, something a lot more sinister caused him the delight the club failed to deliver, as he watched Cole take a beating he probably wouldn’t survive.

Without acknowledging the savage attack he’d just unleashed, Vince beckoned for the knife back. Brandon tightened the gag around the blonde’s head as Vince again spread her legs, exposing her pussy to the sharp blade. He held her legs in place with his own, then began hacking.

A river of blood poured from the mutilated cunt as Vince performed the butchery. Her screams failed to break through the gag, but her essence had no such trouble escaping. It was all too much, especially with Brandon suffocating her with her own dress. The blonde went into shock and bucked, trying to get free, but it only worsened Vince’s rough cuts.

Not that he was working with surgical precision down there to begin with ...

As Vince sliced through her tenderest ‘meat,’ the blonde lost consciousness. Or died; Brandon couldn’t be bothered to check..

Vince threw the bloody fragments of pussy lips onto Cole’s lap. “I don’t have time to cook them, so you’re going to have to eat them raw,” he said, as tears somehow squeezed through the swells of Cole’s broken face.

Cole made an unrecognisable sound as he stared at the body in front of him. She’d been beautiful. Sexy. Had a lovely smile to go with her flirtatious personality. She’d been so full of life, but now there was no sign of it. It had been savagely snatched from her, and for what?

And he couldn’t even properly apologise to her, or beg for forgiveness. She was in this mess because of him. Wrong place wrong time yes, but if she had’t met Cole, she’d still be alive.

“I said, fucking eat up, or I’ll start cutting some place else.” Vince eyed Cole’s dick, which was in full hiding at this point.

Cole must have known the threat was real. That they were crazy, and there’d be no end to their degradation.

“No please, I can’t.” The words he spluttered out barely made sense. Between the tears and the dismantled face, Cole couldn’t even beg properly, not that it would help.

“If you don’t, then it’s a waste, and she died for nothing,” Brandon scolded, realising the blonde really had stopped breathing.

Oh well.

Cole further refused. He was practically begging for his own death.

“Fuck it; he looks humiliated enough,” Vince said, as if bored of the whining piece of broken shit in front of him who was clearly no fun anymore.

He stabbed the knife into Cole’s eye and twisted.

“Died cos he didn’t want to eat pussy,” Vince joked, with a shake of his head, like Cole was some pathetic loser, rather than someone refusing to take part in genital mutilation cannibalism.

Brandon was trying to fashion a clever reply when ...

… Mal suddenly leapt from the sofa and bolted towards the door.

Beg For Your Life

Mal tugged at the door, but, of course, it wouldn’t open.

Brandon mockingly twirled the keys in his fingers as a not so subtle reminder that the door was well and truly locked.

It was the first time in his life where he felt he had the power over Mal, and it was exhilarating. Mal was utterly helpless, while Brandon quite literally held the key to his survival. He was beginning to understand why people got off on this stuff.

Mal took a step back and readied to throw himself against the door as his desperation grew, but Vince grabbed him from behind like a shopkeeper catching some little brat thieving, and flung him back towards the sofa. He landed atop the red-head, who still hadn’t moved.

Mal instinctively climbed back to his feet, ready to try and fight his way out. Forget fight or flight; he’d unfortunately need to do both. Looking Vince up and down, Mal came to what had to be a very obvious conclusion.

It wasn’t a fair fight, or one he could win. But he had to try.

He darted towards Vince, wildly swinging his fists as if hoping for any kind of decent connection, but none arrived. Vince easily snatched Mal’s wayward arm and twisted it high behind his back, making Mal yelp, before throwing him back to the floor with a shake of the head.

Pathetic attempt.

With Mal on the ground, Brandon joined in the abuse, both of them repeatedly kicking him, cracking a couple more ribs to add to the already messed up ones. By the time they were done, Mal was once again struggling for breath, and had to be contemplating the very real possibility of death.

“Well, that was stupid,” Brandon joked, as he punted Mal in the side one last time.

“You don’t need to do this, Brandon,” Mal pleaded, between struggled breaths and a burst of tears.

The words caught in his throat, but Brandon understood them just fine.

Mal was right; Brandon didn’t need to do this… but he wanted too.

His warped grin told Mal as much, along with the fact Cole was lying dead at his feet. Whatever their friendship once was, it was no more. And whoever Brandon used to be had clearly left the building. All Mal could see now was some bullying corrupted stranger occupying the shell which used to belong to his life-long friend.

Life-long takes on a different meaning when you’re at the end of it.

Brandon could tell what Mal was thinking. He had the same look of betrayal in his eyes Cole had before Vince stuck a fucking knife into one.

No take-backs.

They weren’t friends anymore.

Not too long ago, maybe Brandon would have taken a bullet for Mal or Cole, but it would only have been because he deemed his own life completely worthless, rather than some noble loyalty bullshit.

Now, he wouldn’t piss on them if they were on fire. He’d seen the truth. How they had used him. How they looked down on him. How he meant nothing to them.

Mal may have acted now like there was something to lose, but only because his life was on the line.

That’s what you have to lose, you asshole, not friendship!

Vince interrupted with a sinister smirk on his face; something nasty clearly cooking in his demented mind.

“I’ll tell you what.” Vince leaned towards Mal who’d just about got his breathing back under control. “You finish her off, and I won’t kill you.”

His cold eyes flicked to the red-head, who’d been knocked to the floor in all the commotion. She lay naked, face down, still not moving as an ugly purple and black bruise ringed her broken neck.

Defiantly, a faint hint of breath escaped her bloody lips, but death had a far stronger hold on her than life. If there was such a place, she was definitely en route to Limbo and preparing for whatever judgment came next.

Mal shook his head, but it didn’t hold much conviction. Of course, he didn’t want to kill the girl, and was certain he couldn’t ... but he didn’t want to die either.

“It’s you or her, buddy, and she’s already got one foot in the grave,” Vince teased. He took his knife from his pocket and offered it to Mal, whose eyes briefly lit up. “Don’t even think it,” Vince chuckled, seeing his reaction. “You try using that on me, I’ll cut your dick off and feed it to you.”

His eyes once again directed Mal to the dying red-head.

Mal reluctantly took the knife, as Brandon grabbed a fresh bottle from the table, ready to pounce if he tried anything. Mal dragged himself next to the red-head with his tears already intensifying.

*

I can’t do this.

She’d had been a good laugh and a lot of fun. A sweet girl, with a kinky cheeky side to her, which he’d instantly taken a shine to.

He and Cole had picked up the two in the Paradise Nightclub after getting blowjobs off some other hotties in the toilets earlier in the evening. They’d invited them back to the hotel, leaving Brandon alone at the bar, moping over the same untouched drink they’d bought him hours earlier.

At the hotel, she’d climbed on top of him and took her dress off, revealing her big sexy tits, and showing off her gorgeous smile. Normally, Cole went for the big tits and Mal preferred the smaller ones, but it wasn’t a hard and fast rule ... and the red-head, Kelly, was absolutely lovely.

She made it very clear he needed to stick his hard cock deep inside her ass; she wanted him to ‘impale her.’

The way she’d put it made Mal laugh. ‘So demanding,’ he’d joked as he unzipped.

She’d been a great kisser too, he thought, as he relived the experience. But now, catching a glimpse of her severed bloody tongue on the sofa immediately snapped him out of his reverie.

“I think you broke him,” Brandon chuckled.

The other guy slapped Mal hard in the face, getting his attention. “Earth to douchebag, stab the bitch in the head already.”

Mal eyed the knife in his hand, all too aware of the horrible predicament he was in. His fun time with Kelly had abruptly ended. He had a busted nose and cracked or broken ribs, and her half-dead body to remind him of that.

Cole and the blonde were dead too. He was the last man standing, so to speak, and really didn’t want to die like the others.

He’d thought he had his whole life ahead of him. Adventures to be had. Experiences to undertake. Life to live. He’d pictured all kinds of grand things in his head. Life had been good up until this point. He was having fun. Living.

His fingers ran over the hilt of the knife. It felt heavy in his hand, despite its lightness.

Can I really do this?

There was no doubt she was going to die, no matter what, but could he be the one to end her life?

The idea made him sick. He puked, trying not to get any vomit on her. He remembered the kind laugh she had, and it made him want to stick the knife through his own fucking head for even thinking about doing this.

“I can’t…” he mumbled, defeated by his humanity.

“You saw what happened to your piece-of-shit friend when he couldn’t.” The guy accompanying Brandon lifted Cole’s head to show his disfigured face.

Like Mal needed a reminder? That was his best mate, and the person who mattered most to him in the world, who’d just been massacred in front of him; the memory was still pretty fucking fresh.

“Please. I can’t,” Mal tried to plead, to no avail.

“You can and you will,” the guy told him. “Now finish this cunt, or i’ll finish you, and I won’t be as civil about it as was with your dickhead mate.”

Mal started blubbering, which made his ribs hurt even more, leading to him coughing up blood and trying his best not to piss himself. He was a mess. He just wanted all of this to be over, but preferably not with his death.

“Does this place have a cheese grater?” the guy asked, seizing Mal’s balls and squeezing them while winking at Brandon.

Brandon appeared mesmerised by the whole interaction. There’d be no help from him. Mal’s friend -- both of his friends -- were gone, one way or another. And he had to choose which path to follow. Do what Brandon’s insane accomplice demanded, or follow Cole into certain death.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Mal wept to Kelly as he sank the knife into her temple.

He instantly regretted it, feeling like complete shit the moment he committed the mercy killing.

He should have tried to use the knife against his tormentors or himself, , but knew it would be futile.

I’m a coward.

This was his only chance of life, but it came at too much of a cost. The second the knife slid in, he’d have done anything to take it back.

No take-backs.

He drooped himself over Kelly, his whole body shaking as he profusely apologised over and over again. He stroked her hair, being careful to avoid the fatal wound he’d just created, but the blood still found a way to smear his culpable fingers.

The knife absently slipped from his hand and the evil guy quickly gathered it, taking away any remaining chance Mal had to fight. Not that he would have. If he was going to do it, he would have done it before he murdered Kelly.

The tears wouldn’t stop coming; he was beyond crushed. His chest ached, and it was no longer from the broken ribs. His soul had been torn in two. It felt like his heart had burst, but it couldn’t have, because for the moment, Mal was still shamefully alive.

“Congratulations. I’m not going to kill you,” the guy announced, like Mal had just won the cash prize on some popular gameshow. “What about you, Brandon?”

“Oh, I think I still might,” Brandon grinned.

It was a terrible, unfamiliar expression on his face. A predator playing with his injured prey.

As if he was glowing in his new role of vicious, murdering cunt.

“Please…” Mal begged, in-between sobs.

While it felt like he was dying, he still didn’t want to. And haven’t I just killed someone for the right to live? The atrocious act couldn’t be for nothing. He crawled to Brandon on his hands and knees, placing his bloody fingers together as he begged for mercy.

“Lick my shoes,” Brandon demanded, his tone oozing with disrespect and contempt.

Mal licked the grubby blood-stained shoes without hesitation, his dignity long gone, his fragile sanity on the verge of being lost forever. His eyes did their best not to stray towards the corpse of his best friend, or the girls they’d brought back to the hotel.

If anything, Brandon’s shoes offered some mild sanctuary.

“Now suck my cock.”

*

Mal looked up to see Brandon smirking down at him. Vince chuckled in the background as Mal reached for Brandon’s trousers.

“What the fuck.” Brandon slapped his hands away. “You don’t deserve my cock!” he said, inwardly amazed to hear himself use such words.

Not too long ago, it would have seemed crude to Brandon, speaking in such a manner. But, once you’ve cum over a dying guy, glassed multiple people, and killed a man, such vulgarity no longer mattered.

“I don’t deserve any of this,” Mal bawled.

“That’s a matter of opinion, and I don’t give a fuck about yours,” Brandon bit back, giving Mal a smack to the face he’d rightfully earned for speaking out of place.

While not the same circumstance, this could have been him just an hour earlier. He recalled the way Vince had grasped his fist, showing him how to punch. He saw the same doubts about committing atrocious acts now in Mal, that he had experienced himself.

He wanted to tell Mal it was all okay.

But the truth was, it wasn’t okay. Mal and Cole already had everything Brandon never did, and this was his thing.

“You care more about this asshole than your friends?” Mal cried, finally finding some courage as he pointed in Vince’s direction with all the power he could muster.

“Make him suck the other one’s dick,” Vince coolly replied, not remotely fazed by Mal’s outburst. “Better yet, make him fuck him.”

“I can’t do that!” Mal exclaimed, his new found courage already disarmed.

“Why not?” Vince questioned. “You some kind of homophobe? You hate fags? You think we’re all kiddy fiddlers and rapists? You prejudiced asshole. It’s people like you…” He could barely keep a straight face.

“No! It’s because he’s fucking dead!” Mal screamed.

“Barely,” Brandon interrupted. “Still warm.”

Vince could no longer hold in the laughter, bursting into a fit of hysterics, which Brandon promptly joined in with, feeling fantastic that he’d made Vince laugh. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made someone laugh at a joke, rather than at how pathetic he was.

Only Mal didn’t seem to find it funny, as if unable to work out whether they were being serious or not. Brandon had never been known for his morbid sense of humour, but then, he’d never been known to attack and kill anyone before either.

“Please…” Mal begged once again.

“We’ve played this game already, Mal. Begging won’t help. You either fuck Cole, or I’ll fuck you ... with this.” Brandon held out his hand and Vince gave him the knife. “So, get to it.”

Mal tried to plead with his eyes. He could probably barely look through them, as the outpouring of tears streamed. His whole world had crashed down.

How do you go from partying with your best mate and having sex with a beautiful woman, to fucking your dead mate in the ass next to the corpse of said beautiful woman, within the space of half an hour? It just couldn’t be real; but the buckets of blood and gore surrounding the brutalised dead bodies sure suggested otherwise.

Mal looked down at his cock. It was as far from hard as it could possible get. “I can’t,” he told Brandon, indicating his shrivelled penis, maybe hoping that would be reason enough not to have to go through with the repulsive necrophilic act.

“Stick it in anyway,” Brandon retorted.

“I think I created a better hole in the eye,” Vince suggested.

Brandon grinned. He pointed Mal towards the oozing empty eye-socket. “You know what to do.”

Mal threw up over himself. His whole body started to shake, his breathing more erratic. Dark blood leaked from his mouth and he started to cough up thicker chunks as the internal bleeding took hold. He was on the verge of a full on breakdown.

Then, he wasn’t…

Brandon, out of patience, drilled the knife into Mal’s heart without warning, and let the blood spray all over him.

Vince hugged him from behind, like they were enjoying a shower together, only this one was bright red and came from the fresh corpse of Brandon’s former friend.

When the blood finally stopped spraying, Brandon let the body drop to the floor. Mal landed across Cole’s bare ass.

They’d probably woken in that exact position before, after an insanely drunken night out, and had a great laugh about it the next day. They always found a way to laugh about everything.

But they wouldn’t be laughing about this.

Skinny Dipping

Brandon had felt very little guilt or remorse over the death of Carlos, but it surprised him even more to have the same apathy for the death of people he’d known most of his life.

They’d met in the school dinner hall, becoming instant friends due to all having the same Simpsons lunchbox. They used to swap their food, trading yogurts and crisps, while quoting whatever episode aired that week. It wasn’t long before they started to hang out after school. Thick as thieves.

They all knew each others’ parents due to countless sleepovers; even their parents became friends. Sure, they didn’t see each other nowadays, but they still sent Christmas cards and would ask how the others were doing.

They were practically family. Always there for each other.

But all that history had been erased. All those memories tainted and destroyed, without Brandon really giving a shit. There’d been no moment from stepping into the hotel room to knifing Mal in the heart where he had doubts or regrets. No second thoughts on what was about to take place. No sudden clarity where he remembered the good times they’d had.

It simply hadn’t entered his deranged mind.

He just wanted to hurt them in the most excruciating way possible, and then experience the thrill of killing them. He’d considered maybe some kind of safety switch would trigger in his brain, stopping him from committing the heinous acts, but no such failsafe existed. He was free to do what he wanted, and what he wanted to do was tear them apart.

How could people who once meant so much, now mean so little?

“Everything’s gotta be love or death,” Vince told Brandon as he continued his embrace him from behind. “And you didn’t love them anymore,” he stated as fact, despite having never seen the friends together outside of these moments of butchery.

Brandon nodded in agreement. “Haven’t for a long time.”

He studied the unholy mess on the gore-soaked floor. Cole’s face looked distorted and unreal, caked in blood and cum, with an eye missing. His body appeared angry with all the stab wounds and gashes. An array of dark colours marked his tormented skin. He’d suffered greatly, and died in a lot of pain.

Mal looked betrayed and shocked, even while sprawled on Cole’s ass. Brandon couldn’t help but grin a little at how pathetic he was in death. Mal was someone he’d looked up to once upon a time, maybe even wanted to be; now he regarded him with total disdain.

Should have ripped his fucking heart from his body.

The blonde was nearby, the floor beneath her a deep evil red after Vince had diced her pussy and left her to die like some kind of demonic sacrifice. Brandon had lost track of the pussy meat. He chuckled at the notion.

How do you lose pussy meat?

“What’s so funny?” Vince inquired.

“It’s odd how little I give a shit about them,” Brandon offered in way of explanation. A part of him wanted to doubt his own statement, but he didn’t. He truly didn’t give a shit they were all dead.

“’Freeing’ is the word you’re looking for,” Vince informed him, like a cult leader giving a sermon to his most blindly loyal followers. He gave him a tight squeeze and a peck on the cheek before letting go.

Brandon glanced at the red-head, who lay face down with a hole in her head, the blood getting lost amongst the colour of her hair. She’d gotten off lightly, having been out of it before even knowing she was in danger. Died peacefully in her sleep.

Well, not quite peacefully.

Brandon felt bemused by his sick train of thought once again. He really had fully embraced his newfound monstrous side. An evil edge which he’d had no clue existed, yet, once unleashed, had quickly become the dominant force. He could barely remember how he’d lived without it. He was already looking forward to the next kill. The next instance of savagery.

He knew it was all massively wrong, that something inside him had most definitely short-circuited. But the notion didn’t sicken him; it empowered him.

I’m a nutcase.

He wondered whether knowing he was crazy made him more culpable, or let him off somewhat.

Can you still plead insanity?

It didn’t matter; he’d already gone too far. All this couldn’t end well. Whether it meant prison, the nut-house, or death, there was no going back to life before Vince.

But it didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy himself in the meantime.

Plus, Vince had been living this insane lifestyle for some time, and didn’t seem worried about ever being discovered. So, while there was no going back -- which is the whole point -- maybe there was plenty of hope for an adventurous future before he was eventually caught and tried for his grievous crimes.

Brandon scanned the blood clinging to his body, mostly being a concoction of Cole’s, Mal’s, and the dead blonde chick. He liked wearing it as a trophy, a souvenir of his newfound freedom and brutality, but still had enough sense of reality to know he couldn’t walk around the island in a blood-soaked state.

He wanted to lick the blood from his hands and taste the suffering they’d caused, but was embarrassed to try. He guessed he shouldn’t be; Vince wasn’t going to call him on it after the disturbed shit they’d already done. But a little bit of self-consciousness remained. He hoped to rid himself of it very shortly. Much like with Carlos, the rest of the mess they’d created could wait.

“Showers this way,” he told Vince.

“We don’t need to use a shower,” Vince announced in that way he did. Everything had to be bigger than it was with him, a quirk Brandon was quickly learning to adore. “Showers are too confined. We’re on an island! The whole world is ours!” He gleamed, throwing his hands in the air for extra emphasis. “Grab some fresh clothes for both of us, and come with me.”

*

They locked the door as they departed, leaving the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign where they found it, despite the room clearly having been fucking disturbed.

Rule breaker now.

Vince guided him back down the slope towards the awaiting sea. They once again saw no one on their way, which was just as well, considering they were both coated in multiple people’s blood. There was very little light, however, so the chances of the layer of crimson being spotted were slim, but Brandon couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit on edge. Leaving two crime scenes and walking around blood-splattered seemed like pushing their luck. He knew it would all catch up with them eventually; he’d accepted that. But the further away that eventuality was, the better. He was having too much fun to be stopped now.

Need half a lifetime of this.

Vince still appeared completely oblivious to the dangers of being caught, like he knew a secret.

Brandon could only aspire to be that carefree. On the right path, he thought, once again observing his friends’ blood soiling his arms and face.

They dropped the bag of fresh clothes onto the sand halfway to the water’s edge. Vince stripped off as he walked, leaving behind a trail of bloody attire. While getting cooler, the night temperature was still very much bearable. Pleasant, even. The water looked inviting ... at least, to Vince.

“I can’t swim very well,” Brandon confessed.

“Then you better keep hold of me,” Vince cheekily told him as he kicked his boxers aside and began dancing nude under the full moon, without a care in the world.

Some of the blood from the evening’s activity stained his body, but it was barely noticeable from a distance. Who of the five victims the blood belonged to was anyone’s guess, although it was probably a mixture of all of them.

Vince jumped into the water, letting the sea soak him head to toe. He beckoned Brandon to join him as he stood butt naked in the water, eyeing his new partner in crime in a playful manner. Come hither.

Brandon couldn’t help but get swept up in the moment. The idea of skinny dipping with some gorgeous stranger on a tropical island was the sort of things dreams were made off.

Romantic as hell, even ... if you ignored the stack of corpses leading up to it.

Although, for Brandon’s newfound mindset, the pile of bodies only added to the fantasy. He’d gone from living a boring, shitty, uninteresting life to living something wholly unique. Very few people would understand how he felt. It wasn’t the type of profound thinking and truth he was accustomed to, but it was amazing. Unique was not a word he ever associated with himself; at least, never in a positive light.

He was a loser. A boring nothing. Not a free-spirit who took what he wanted and threw caution to the wind.

Only, now, he was that unique maverick. He’d made it happen, with a little help from his new psychotic friend.

He ripped off his clothes with disregard and made his way to the water.

Brandon had never been naked outdoors in his life, much less in front of someone else. While he was still slightly intimidated by Vince’s impeccable six-pack and big dick, he wasn’t as nervous as he thought he’d be.

He wasn’t in good shape himself. Skinny, but with a slight pot belly, wasn’t an attractive look, he felt. And his dick wasn’t big at the best of times, let alone at the dead of night, near water. But he wanted to let all his inhibitions go. Nothing and no-one should hold him back anymore, including himself.

Live in the moment.

Vince didn’t give a shit, so why should he?

He’d killed two people tonight! What did it matter if he had a bit of a gut and felt awkward about his body? It shouldn’t bother him anymore.

All part of the new Brandon.

Vince took his hand and led him further out into the serene ocean.

They swam until they were just out of their depth. Far enough away from the shore not to be easily seen, but not so far they couldn’t get back simply enough.

With their legs lightly kicking, they kissed under the beautiful moon lit sky. The still water felt silky around their bodies. Vince ran his hands over Brandon, washing away some of the blood, moving delicately over his stomach and back, and occasionally teasingly going lower, as far as his pubic hair.

Goosebumps sprang up all over Brandon’s body, but it had nothing to do with the temperature of the water.

He returned in kind as he traced his fingers from Vince’s head, over his crooked nose and luscious mouth, towards his nipples and abs. He loved the feeling of Vince’s toned body and smooth skin. For someone who’d considered himself practically asexual earlier in the day, he now wanted to bite and claw Vince with ravenous passion. Devour him.

What is happening to me?

Vince guided Brandon’s hand towards his cock, smiling as Brandon seized the meat.

Brandon wished he could suck it, but he could barely swim even without a dick in his mouth. That’ll have to wait. He gave it a few strokes instead. Gentle at first, until Vince urged him to be a little rougher.

“You love me yet?” Vince asked, as Brandon caressed his thick cock.

“Getting there,” he coyly replied, smiling at the man who had undeniably changed his whole world in a single evening.

“Nice night for a swim right?” The budding moment was interrupted by a voice.

They turned to see someone swimming toward them, a slender girl, her outline just about visible under the full moon.

She spoke in a pleasant, overly friendly manner. The beaming smile on her pretty face would have been infectious to most men.

Vince and Brandon scanned the calm waters, seeing she was alone.

As she neared them, they pounced.

It wasn’t discussed, and there wasn’t even an acknowledging look between them. They both just knew.

The bitch needed to die for daring to interrupt them. And for kicks.

They took it in turns holding her under. Her arms flailed, and she tried to gulp in the limited air on offer whenever they briefly let her surface; enjoying a cruel contest of how long could she last. She tried screaming for help, but was never above water long enough to make a sound.

The girl scratched and clawed at them, trying to find purchase to break free of the sea’s suffocating grasp, no doubt with the intention of swimming away from them as fast as possible and alerting the authorities.

But they wouldn’t let up. It was a game to them, and she was losing.

All she’d probably wanted to do was say ‘hello’ and maybe make some new friends to hang out with during her vacation; now she was being fucking drowned!

Growing tired of her resistances, Vince and Brandon held her down together until she stopped moving. They let her body float after it was clear she was dead, keeping her between them as they kissed, smiling at the macabre threesome, but soon were bored with her presence and let her drift away.

They didn’t need anyone else.

*

Back on the beach, not far from where they’d left their spare clothes, they also found the mystery dead girl’s bag. She must have purposefully swam out to say hi to them.

That will teach her.

Still nude, they made for the inviting shelter of a bed of flattish rocks, which were tucked away, with little light from the quiet street above reaching them, and far enough out of view of the beach to not be noticed.

Brandon dropped to his knees, not caring about any potential coarseness from the rocks, and took Vince’s cock in his mouth. He’d been thinking about doing so ever since laying eyes on it while Vince shat over Carlos. His jaw worked over-time as he devoured every inch, letting the huge member tickle the back of his throat, before bobbing his head back and forth. His tongue glided up and down the shaft.

Vince held Brandon’s head in place, clearly enjoying the blowjob, as water dripped from his body. He ran his hands through Brandon’s hair, whispering compliments, letting Brandon know he was just as into it as him.

After several minutes, Vince lifted Brandon’s head from his granite-hard dick and switched places, licking the tip of Brandon’s stiff dick. Brandon, ready to cum almost straight away after just a handful of sucks, exploded in his mouth.

He wanted to apologise for the quick -- albeit very satisfying -- eruption, but Vince didn’t seem to mind. He stood up, kissing Brandon, swapping Brandon’s load between them, before they both gulped down the cum

He then turned Brandon around and bent him over the flat rocks.

Vince’s tongue began to expertly explore Brandon’s asshole, something Brandon had never experienced before. He’d thought about it once or twice in the past, but always concluded getting his ass eaten out probably wasn’t for him.

He’d been wrong.

Fuuuccckkkk.

After thoroughly cleaning Brandon’s tight hole with his tongue, Vince began to gently slide his cock inside it, using the saliva as lube. He was careful every step of the way, clearly feeling how nervous Brandon was at having the large member penetrate him.

Brandon definitely wanted it, but it was a much bigger dick than he’d ever taken before.

Although the sample size is only two cocks, including this one.

Vince guided his rock hard dick in and out of Brandon’s asshole, slowly stabbing deeper every time, until finally Brandon was taking it like a champ and groaning at the top of his voice.

Brandon couldn’t believe he was allowing himself to get fucked on the beach like this. Never in my wildest dreams. He couldn’t have imagined a guy like Vince even looking in his direction, let alone fucking him in such a passionate and rugged manner. Brandon fully let himself go, ridding his mind of any overthinking, or thoughts at all for that matter.

One-hundred-percent in the moment.

Live in the present.

All those bullshit ‘well to do’ sayings suddenly meant something.

For the first time in his life, Brandon wanted to live in the moment. In fact, he wanted the moment to never end.

But it wasn’t to be, as Vince took one last hard pump and blew his wad deep inside Brandon. They each let out a massive, satisfactory sigh.

Damn.

What a night.

And it wasn’t over yet …

Island Of Death

After getting changed, they tossed their old clothes and the dead swimmer’ bag into the sea -- she wouldn’t be needing it anymore -- before heading inland to find some food. All the fucking and killing had left them both starved, and neither was ready for the night to be over yet.

As they strolled towards the main stretch of road which led to the livelier parts of town, they could see a flurry of activity around the Paradise Nightclub. Several cop cars passed them, heading in that direction with their sirens blaring and lights spinning. There were hundreds of silhouettes outside the club, dotted beside the blinking lights of the police.

And an ambulance, which they both knew wouldn’t be needed.

Need a hearse.

“Took them long enough,” Vince joked.

He gave Brandon a hug while they walked. If he was worried about Carlos’s body finally being discovered, he certainly wasn’t showing it, at least not outwardly. He was still in the phase of post sex bliss, and enjoying the beautiful night.

Brandon, on the other hand, glared at the blur of action with a blend of fading pride and immense worry. Not that it hadn’t been real beforehand, but now they’d been discovered -- or, at least, the beginning of their trail of destruction has -- the thought they’d be coming for him intensified.

His mind returned to the armed cops and accompanying thunder and lightning as everyone closed in on him. He could picture his shocked parents saying what a sweet boy he’d always been, while the nosy neighbours suggested he’d always been a bit shifty, and how it was ‘always the quiet ones.’

He shook the image of his distraught parents from his head, and instead began to wonder which poor bastard found Carlos, and pondered whether anyone had discovered the bodies in the hotel room yet.

A quick glance in that direction suggested not, but it would be only a matter of time.

It wouldn’t take the world’s greatest detective to place him at both crime scenes, either. The barman would recognise him in an instant, after him sitting there for hours like an idiot, nursing his one drink. And he’d been the one to book them into the damn hotel. The reception had a picture of his passport, and his clothes were still in the room. He couldn’t have left more evidence if he tried. May as well have pinned a signed confession to the wall.

Vince, on the other hand…

He’d bought drinks at the bar, but it was with cash. He’d been seen, but there were thousands of people going in and out of the club. Could he be recognised amongst them? He had no relation to the hotel, either, and Brandon doubted the CCTV could produce anything more than one of those grainy night-time images where you couldn’t tell someone’s gender, much less recognise their face.

“I could kill for a burger,” Vince announced, breaking Brandon’s worrying train of thought. “Oh yeah, I already have,” he quickly followed, waving Carlos’s leather wallet at Brandon with a beaming smile, like killing the man was some sort of fantastic awe-inspiring achievement.

For a while, to Brandon, it had been. He’d been astonished and infatuated by Vince’s ruthless aggression and no-fucks-given attitude, but the increasing amount of cop cars at the club -- and the bodies in the hotel room -- were chipping away at the accomplishment.

Live in the moment, he repeated in his mind once more, but it didn’t help curtail the creeping suspicion that this ‘moment’ wouldn’t last till sunrise.

Really, he just wanted to focus on what a wonderful night he was having. How he’d just had the best, most intense, sex of his life, after freeing himself from the shackles of society, and being involved in the deaths of six people. But the last part of the wonderful equation was also threatening to take away the very same freedom he’d only just found. A cruel twist of fate.

He wasn’t regretting his actions, just growing more concerned he’d be discovered all too soon.

It didn’t seem fair. His life couldn’t be snatched from him when he’d only just started living it. Yeah, he’d taken other peoples’ lives, but he was sure they’d at least done something with theirs, whereas he needed to live a little first.

I deserve that much.

He desperately wanted to sink into the same post sex ecstasy Vince was in, but his mind wouldn’t allow it. Trouble was coming and he knew it.

“Should you be waving that around?” he asked, with a degree of apprehension.

He didn’t want to be the same old boring worrisome Brandon he’d been before Vince crashed into his life, but also, there were armed police less than a hundred meters away, unknowingly searching for them.

Vince glanced in the direction of the club with his trademark happy-go-lucky, but evil, smirk. “They don’t know shit.” As if sensing Brandon needed more, Vince gave him another hug as they turned towards a row of burger joints and closed restaurants. “We’re safe. I’d never let them catch you.”

He spoke with such conviction, Brandon couldn’t help but want to believe him.

*

They stopped outside the only food joint still open at this hour: Tropical Burgers. The shutters were in the process of being closed, but stayed in limbo while the various advertising boards were being dragged inside. The door remained open and the lights were on, but the place was empty, barring the friendly owner.

“You still serving?” Brandon asked through the doorway, expecting a shake of the head.

“For you guys, I can rustle something up,” the burger man declared in a friendly manner.

It was typical of all the food merchants and shop owners on the island Brandon had come across. Everyone had such big personalities, always smiling and adopting an approachable tone. It had annoyed him when they first arrived; their ability to fake happiness far out-stripped his own. But this guy really was going out of his way, considering he’d been practically on the verge of locking the door.

Maybe he is just that friendly.

Vince stepped inside first. “I’ll have the biggest baddest burger you’ve got,” he said, without even looking at the menu.

Normally, Brandon would have agonised over the choices for a bit before going for the ever reliable cheeseburger, but after the night he’d had, throwing caution to the wind seemed appropriate. “Make that two,” he said with a smile, inwardly impressed with his quick decision making.

A new Brandon.

They took seats inside the quirky establishment, which was full of coconut and palm tree decor. Pictures of the beautiful island littered the walls, and there seemed to be some kind of feature board of accomplishment, with photos of people with impossibly huge burgers in front of them. Brandon was starving, but he hoped that wasn’t what he’d just accidentally ordered.

“Two Tropical Storms, it is,” the burger man happily declared, disappearing into the kitchen.

Is that the Tropical Storm? Brandon thought, still gazing at the pictures of customers with their mammoth burgers.

If it was, would he and Vince have a picture taken like them? A memento of their crazy night together?

Another police car turned from the main road towards the frantic nightclub.

How many police do they need?

Brandon was beginning to think air raid sirens would blast any moment,.

Have they closed the airport too? he inwardly mocked, but was beginning to believe it could be a possibility. Hopefully not, that’s our escape route.

Vince laughed to himself, probably thinking the same thing.

The burger man came from behind the counter and eyed the back of the latest patrol car as it disappeared from sight towards the club.

“You lads know what that’s all about?” he asked, with a concerned edge to his voice.

They may have been used to the odd stupid drunk causing trouble on the island, but this had to seem like massive overkill. It had to be the tenth car to head towards the nightclub; who knew the island even had that many?

“They found a body at the club,” Vince said, as a matter-of-absolute-fact.

“No shit?”

“No shit. Some fat asshole called Carlos got stabbed in the throat. Apparently, the sick cunts shat and jerked off on him as well.”

The burger man paled, instantly picking up on Vince’s sinister change of tone, and how he knew far too much information for something which was clearly still in the process of being discovered. Before he could make an excuse to get back behind the counter, maybe to press a silent alarm under the till, Vince was on him.

As quick as a flash, he was out his seat. Flick knife in hand, he drilled it into the man’s shoulder, forcing him down before smashing his head into the cold hard tile floor.

That will keep him quiet.

“Lock the door,” Vince barked at Brandon.

Brandon, meanwhile, sat there wondering what the hell they were supposed to do now. He was starving after all the evenings excitement, and had been looking forward to a nice big juicy burger. Now, apparently, they’d have to cook it themselves?

Couldn’t he have waited ten minutes? Brandon selfishly thought, not giving a shit about the burger man’s actual well-being as his stomach grumbled.

He stood and closed the door, as Vince dragged the burger guy into the kitchen. He found the light switches and flicked off the front ones, leaving just the back room lit. The burger man had already fired up the grill, and the meat sat beside it. The patties looked thick, but definitely weren’t the mammoth burgers from the pictures, not that it mattered now.

“Couldn’t you have waited?” Brandon said after all, half joking but most definitely meant.

Vince, as always, disarmed Brandon with a quick charming smile and a kiss.

Fucking kryptonite.

“Why, you hungry?” he asked.

“Starving.”

“Well then, help me get this cunt on the grill.”

“What…”

Vince didn’t wait to explain. He heaved the burger man up from the floor. Stunned and dazed, he threw his arms around in an attempt to swat Vince away, but just received a nasty punch in the stomach for his trouble.

Brandon automatically started helping, once again feeling he was under Vince’s spell.

Or is that just an excuse now?

After all, he had no qualms hurting someone else. It may have been instinctive to follow Vince’s command, but it was his choice. He wanted to continue the carnage. He wanted to fuck this guy up, although he still wished they’d gotten their burgers cooked first.

But when it really came down to it, at this point, nobody else mattered. It was him and Vince versus the world. Fuck everyone! He’d kill the lot of them if he could. Whether he was under Vince’s ‘spell’ or not, his violent actions were definitely his choice.

“Everything’s gotta be love or death,” Vince told Brandon once more, like it was still some profound spiritual bullshit to live by.

“I would have loved a burger, though,” Brandon replied, surprised by his own wit.

“This will be better,” Vince reassured him.

He grabbed the burger man’s face and forced it towards the heated grill. The burger man’s neck strained as he tried to keep his head away from the spitting heat. Grabbing at the kitchen counter, he tried to stop the inevitable, his fingers desperately clasping the edge, but it was only ever going to be a brief delay. Brandon knocked his hands away as he finally got into the spirit of things.

Vince kicked at his legs, making them buckle and sending him plummeting down onto the awaiting grill. His face hit the heated plate, instantly sizzling his cheeks. Using both hands, Vince held him in place, making sure he’d be well done rather than rare.

The smell of frying meat caught the air and made Brandon’s stomach grumble loudly.

Vince couldn’t help but laugh as he heard the obvious growl. “Patience.”

Brandon searched the kitchen area as Vince continued to cook the burger man. Finding several salad trays and a bag of fresh rolls, he chucked some lettuce, cucumber, and tomato into a couple of rolls before checking the fridge for some cheese slices to go with them.

Then he snatched a small meat cleaver, spatula, and carving knife from the magnetic strip on the wall, uncertain what exactly they’d need to continue torturing the guy, and get his face off the grill.

Have to humiliate him.

Brandon went to throw the waiting beef patties onto the grill, but Vince stopped him, tipping a head toward the burger man like it was all the meat they needed.

“Are you actually serious?” Brandon almost shrieked.

Having played along to this point, he’d still been thoroughly believing he’d be tucking into some good old fashioned beef soon enough.

“Got to broaden your horizons, try new things,” Vince smirked.

“You seriously want to eat this asshole?”

Vince shrugged, like, why not?

The burger man’s face continued to hiss under the unrelenting heat. His cheek blistered and turned a nasty black. Vince pushed down harder, making sure the whole left side of his face was touching the hot grill. The corner of the burger man’s eye began to bubble.

His screams for help had been barely audible to begin with, given the amount of pressure being applied to his head -- not that anyone was listening anyway. Plus, the shock of the sudden attack had rendered him unable to get the correct sounds from his body to raise any alarms. But now, even those muffled sound had been reduced to sniffles as his mouth crumpled in on itself and his tongue blackened.

He was helpless. His one good remaining eye rolled as if frantically seeking the silent alarm button, but it may as well have been the other side of the island.

Strong as Vince was, he was even more powerful than he appeared, especially when he smelled blood.

Or, apparently, cooked human flesh.

Finally, Vince decided the face meat was cooked to perfection. They struggled to rip the man’s cheek from the grill -- the melted skin stuck -- but, luckily Brandon had had the foresight to grab the spatula. They had a good laugh about it while digging under the poor guy’s face and forcing it away from the red-hot grill.

The burger man’s head drooped onto the kitchen counter as it became unglued from the grill, while piss dribbled down his trousers.

Vince took the carving knife from Brandon, who pocketed the meat cleaver, ready to use for seconds if the burger man tasted good.

Which he definitely had his doubts about.

Am I really going to eat a fucking human being? Wild.

Blood spat from a grotesque wound as Vince sawed into the grilled cheek with the carving knife. He severed a couple of meaty portions, to the soundtrack of distraught wails from the burger man, who’d suddenly found his voice, much to Vince’s amusement.

Brandon held the burger rolls open as Vince manoeuvred the meat inside, before letting the distressed burger man flop to the floor with half his face missing. The inner workings of his mouth were visible, or at least, what was left of it.

They each held a burger in their hands. Or, maybe, technically, sandwich ... it wasn’t ground beef, after all. While the meat was well done, the buns were soaked in blood as well as meat juice.

“You first.” Vince winked at Brandon.

“After you,” Brandon replied, in a gentlemanly manner.

While it didn’t look the most appetising, it did smell fucking divine. Heavenly even. But still, neither knew how this would go.

“On three,” Vince compromised.

Brandon nodded in agreement.

At the count of three, they both took hungry bites from the man burger.

And, in Brandon’s opinion, it actually tasted pretty damn good.

Vince disagreed, as he spat out the mouthful.

“You taste disgusting.” He laughed in the man’s half burnt-off face.

It didn’t stop him helping himself to a second bite, though, as he leaned down and sank his teeth directly into what little remained of the charred cheek, causing a wail the burger man no longer seemed capable of, with fifty-percent of his face missing.

“He looks pretty humiliated,” Brandon remarked, as liquid shit joined the piss in the burger man’s trousers.

“Will be even more humiliated when we cook his cock!” Vince announced.

Before Sunrise

Morbid curiosity got the better of them after they cooked the burger man’s dick.

It didn’t take long before fingers and toes were on the grill, alongside cuts of his rump, as they jokingly put it. A surprisingly succulent tongue was next up, and got absolutely devoured.

Then they tried his fucking eyeballs, but the eyeballs did not taste good.

Unfortunately for the burger man, he was still alive at this point, so they force fed him the not-so-delicious delicacy instead.

He died shortly after. Whether the two incidents were related or not neither Brandon nor Vince gave a flying fuck. They were stuffed and content.

By the time they left Tropical Burgers, the first flickers of sunrise were beginning to peep. Embers fringed the skyline, welcoming what was to surely be a beautiful morning on the picturesque island. The temperature, which hadn’t relented much at any point during the night, was already getting noticeably warmer.

The nightclub down the road was taped off, and while there was still a police presence, it was less significant than when they’d started their spontaneous cannibalism.

Maybe they discovered the other bodies.

Still no sirens sounded from the direction of the hotel, or the beach, but there was every chance they’d missed them somewhen between their third and fourth helpings.

Brandon’s eyes went back to the first crack of light as the fiery ball slowly peeked from the skyline. The dawn of a new day, he considered, as he started to playback the previous one in his head.

At the start of the evening, he’d had fairly little expectations outside of having a miserable time, and having to put up with his drunk friends banging chicks while he tired to sleep.

But it had all taken a dramatic, world-changing turn when Vince entered his life.

Since then, he’d committed several counts of murder, desecrated corpses, fucked on a beach, and eaten human flesh. And that was just a brief overview. The whirlwind of emotions he’d been through probably covered the whole spectrum from self doubt, guilt, and shame, to euphoric happiness and vengeful lust.

He’d lived. Truly lived.

It had cost many others their lives, so it was obviously not the most appropriate way to go about significant change, but none-the-less, for what felt like the very first time in his entire pathetic existence, he felt alive.

It was magical. Perfect.

They walked hand-in-hand in near silence, stealing sweet glances at one another as they strolled up a small grassy incline just outside of town. It led to a breathtaking view of the multiple bumpy hills spread across the middle of the awe-inspiring island.

The place really was a paradise, even if they had turned it into an island of death.

As Brandon looked out at the spectacular view, he could understand now why his friends wanted to come here. They may have been mostly just searching for pussy and enjoying the cheap booze, but the island had an almost spiritual feel to it. A grace of God, where one could find themselves, just like he’d done over the course of the majestic evening. A place of calm and wonderment, which they’d disrupted with their unruly chaos. Their actions hadn’t taken away the beauty, though.

He could see why burger man had been so confused by the convoy of cop cars. What possible heinous act could take place in somewhere so exquisite?

Several wooden benches sat at the top of the hill, the locals having obviously realised it was a beauty spot where tourists and visitors would want to sit and take in their surroundings, but Vince and Brandon remained standing.

As Brandon looked out at the rolling hills and gorgeous landscape, Vince wrapped his arms around his waist, cuddling him from behind while taking in the sight himself.

“Breathtaking,” he said, although Brandon could see he was looking at him, as well as the magnificent scenery.

“Thank you for changing my life,” Brandon told Vince, in complete earnest.

He still didn’t know whether they’d be caught within an hour, or live dangerous for weeks, months ... or continue their rampage for years, even. Whatever the case, he was grateful for the monumental change.

Thoughts of killing himself had become more prominent of late. Anger and bitterness had built to a point where he couldn’t enjoy anything. The little pleasures in life had began to escape him, and the bigger obstacles had felt insurmountable. He had been stuck. On the verge of giving up, and checking out. He’d seen no future to the little life he’d let drag on.

But, in a single evening, Vince had restored hope. Lit a fire in him. Made him feel, and want to live the best life he could.

He may not have been a person anyone who knew him would be proud of anymore -- his parents wouldn’t even recognise him, -- but fuck all of them. He was finally happy, and that’s what mattered.

Tears trickled down his face, the most radiant tears he’d ever shed. He wondered whether he’d ever cried happy tears before, but already knew the answer was no.

Vince turned Brandon so he was facing him, wiped at the tears, and sucked his fingers dry. Brandon couldn’t help but smile. Not so long ago, he’d considered it weird, maybe even a little creepy. Now, he never wanted to live without the kooky gesture.

“I’ve taken you for dinner and dancing,” Vince said. “We’ve had a beautiful midnight stroll and swim. I’ve met your closest friends. We’ve made love ...well, fucked, anyway. Surely you’ve got to love me now?” He asked it with a confident grin etched on his face.

Brandon couldn’t hide how enchanted he was.

He didn’t think, before tonight, it was possible to fall in love so quickly, but lust had given way to something more profound and powerful.

Love.

Real love. Something he never thought he deserved, or would ever have, yet here it was, standing right in front of him.

He’d never even considered what form it would come in before, because he never felt it would happen. It was a concept he’d given up on. Yet here it was, Vince-shaped. Beautiful, head to toe.

He nodded.

“Say it,” Vince teased.

“I love you.” Brandon told him, losing himself in those gorgeous eyes.

He wasn’t afraid to show how much Vince now meant to him. They weren’t strangers anymore. In Brandon’s eyes, they were a couple in love, with an intoxicating future ahead of them, however long it may be. The world was theirs.

“Everything’s gotta be love or death,” Vince said.

The smile slipped from his striking face, turning it instantly ugly.

“And I don’t love you, Brandon.”

Before Brandon could comprehend the words, he felt a sharp pain puncturing his side. His hand instinctively grabbed at it. When he pulled it away, he saw a thick wave of his own blood trickling between his fingers.

Then he spotted the bloody flick knife in Vince’s treacherous hand.

“Got to humiliate them first.” Vince laughed. “You should see your face…”

He barely got the words out before the meat cleaver bit deep into his neck.

“What…” was all Vince could manage to say, as he stumbled backwards and dropped his knife, groping at the wound.

The meat cleaver remained buried in his neck, squirts of blood already escaping around the embedded blade. Pressure built behind it, more jets ready to fly the moment Vince tried to removed the weapon.

Vince’s eyes locked with Brandon’s, who glared back, absolutely furious amongst the tears and blood.

“You asshole!” Brandon screeched, wincing as the pain from his side shot through his weakened body. He held a hand tightly to the wound, but couldn’t stop the crimson leaking through his stained fingers. Colour drained from his already pale complexion, but veins in forehead appeared, ready to pop as his rage increased. “How could you?”

He genuinely wanted to know. Seconds ago, he’d been contemplating a life with Vince, and then the heartless cunt tried to kill him! What gives?

“I’m not the nicest person,” Vince wheezed by way of explanation, trying to laugh, but the meat cleaver sticking from his neck made it difficult.

“I fucking killed because of you!” Brandon shouted. “Shit! I killed my friends because of you.”

I really did kill them.

“Hey now, don’t lay that all on me. You wanted this.”

Brandon looked to his bleeding side and the life pouring from it, incredulous at Vince’s remark.

“Well, okay. Not this part. That’s what I wanted.”

“Fuck you, you fucking cunt!” Brandon screeched.

He turned away from Vince’s smile, charming and menacing even now. The one he’d known was dangerous from the word go, yet choose to ignore.

The single time I don’t do the responsible thing ...

His whole body felt ablaze, but it was nothing compared to his corrupted soul. All the crazy shit he’d been romanticising moments ago suddenly hit him as the wicked, evil acts they were.

Unforgivable.

The death and torture. The humiliation and cannibalism.

What had Vince called it, dinner and dancing?

And his friends! How could he have let this happen? How could he have lost his goddamn mind so easily? Over a hot piece of ass? A charming smile? Attention? Was he that much of an idiot?

He may not have felt highly about himself before the evening started, but for fuck’s sake! People don’t kill their friends and eat kind strangers just because they’re a little lonely and starved of affection.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“How could you?” Brandon asked again through the tears, hoping for a better answer this time. Maybe something which would exonerate his own behaviour.

Who am I kidding?

Vince shrugged. “Everything’s gotta be love or death,” he struggled to say as bubbles of blood built in his ruined throat. “So, do you love me?”

Brandon shook his head. He’d never hated anyone more in his entire stupid existence… except himself.

“Then it’s death,” Vince said simply, reaching for the cleaver.

“Don’t I get to humiliate you first?” Brandon coldly asked.

“That was just my own fun little rule.” Grasping the handle, he tugged the blade free.

Blood fountained from the deadly wound, spraying everywhere, cascading over a nearby bench like a waterfall, flooding the grassy incline.

Vince dropped to his knees as the blood made a hasty exit, before face-planting dead on the ground.

As Brandon watched the grotesque death, he returned his attention to his own vicious wound. He staggered to the bloody bench and sat down, with Vince’s unmoving body at his feet.

Part of his old self returned as he considered what to do next. The carefree, ‘live in the moment,’ philosophy had already escaped his mind. It was never truly him.

And where the hell did it get me, anyway?

The logical side he’d abandoned was returning, as the sun began its ascent.

Could he blame all this on Vince somehow? Pin the murders squarely on him? Convince everyone he was being held hostage, coerced against his will? He was just a weak-minded victim. Manhandled and forced to do Vince’s terrible bidding.

No, officer, he made me stab my friends and cum all over that guy in the club.

It seemed unlikely.

He had his passport in his pocket. He could skip town, fly someplace far far away and live on the lam.

It wasn’t a lifestyle he’d ever envisioned for himself, or one he felt particularly capable of surviving, but it seemed like the best option. He knew there was no going back, as that’s what had made it all so alluring to begin with.

Once you kill, someone you can’t go back.

Foolproof, only… he was the fool.

Vince had played him for his own damn amusement, and Brandon was such a sad sap, he’d not only fallen for it with embarrassing ease, but considered it beneficial to him.

The ultimate mind game. How the hell was committing murder and killing his friends ever ‘the right thing to do?’

How’s ‘right’ worked for you?

What an idiot.

What a desperate pathetic loser.

What a moron.

What the hell is wrong with me?

He stared at the dark blood pooling on his lap from the knife wound. It was grim, and he knew he desperately needed to do something about it. He was sure there was a hospital in town, although he wasn’t sure where, or what he’d say by way of a convincing explanation. But he knew before he jumped on a plane and got the hell out of here, he needed to get it fixed.

First though, he needed a little rest.

It had been a long night, and he hadn’t had an ounce of sleep. Wreaking death and destruction was fucking exhausting. And he was still full up on burger man, which only added to the drowsiness.

The rhythmic drone of sirens closing in played as background noise. He shut his eyes to catch some much needed sleep, and dream of the new life he was about to embark on, while he bled out.

The End.

Books by Stephen Cooper

Abby Vs The Splatploitation Brothers: Hillbilly Farm

Near Death

Blood-Soaked Wrestling

The Rot

Not Four Children

Elephant Cock (Godless Exclusive Novelette)

Ensuring Your Place In Hell

Hack

Addicted To Vengeance

Abby Vs. The Splatploitation Brothers: Savage City

Everything’s Gotta Be Love or Death

www.splatploitation.com