Sinners Retreat (Slaycation #1)

by Lauren Biel

“I showed a guy my tits, and he let me in.” My eyes drop to Cat’s chest. Cat’s very full, very perky chest. Possibly fake, but still impressive, nonetheless. But top-secret info for a flash of nip? I don’t buy it. I raise an eyebrow. “Okay, I let him titty-fuck me, and then I pretended to smoke some meth with him. Once he was good and gassed, he forgot I was there, and I was able to access his laptop while he talked to the men in the wallpaper. See? My acting skills come in handy sometimes.”

“I might consider myself an equal-opportunity sex god for the right person.”

“A blind gynecologist sees more pussy than you do.”

Tall, dark-haired, and handsome, with glasses perched on his perfect nose. It’s very Clark Kent chic, and the only thing physically defective

I’ve never wanted to be woven cotton so badly in my life. I would allow this man to use my tongue as a loofa.

“How’d you get over the fear?” “How does one get over any fear? I faced it. Sometimes when you look into the face of the thing you fear, it doesn’t seem so scary anymore. You tend to realize you built it up into something it’s not.”

“For almost shitting myself? Or did you mean the sex toy going off above a fucking priest?”

“If you’re worried about kids, I have an implant. If you’re worried about STDs, I suggest not seducing random women you meet at airports.”

The night is still young, pet, and we have miles to go before we sleep.”

“I cannot believe you let me eat a person!” she says between heaves. “I tried to get your attention.” “Cannibalism deserves a bit more effort than a whisper, don’t you think? Grab my fork and throw it across the room. Yell fire. Do something!” she screams, then retches again.

“This was non-consensual cannibalism. You know that, right? I didn’t choose to eat this.” “You dove right in.” “Because I didn’t know Jeffrey Dahmer was cooking tonight!”

“After allowing me to eat braised butt cheek, you have the audacity to ask me for help?” She shakes her head with a laugh. “Ain’t happening.”

I wish he wouldn’t stand so close. His body heat is like waving a packet of cocaine in front of 1980s Bobby Brown. I’ll slip and do a line of Ezra’s dick if I can’t get some space.

“I’ve eaten human flesh before, Kindra. I once went on a few dates with a self-proclaimed cannibal.” “Weren’t you worried he’d eat you?” Kindra asks. “Oh, he ate me, all right.” Cat flicks her blonde hair over her shoulder and smirks. “No one eats human flesh like a cannibal, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I can’t decide what to wear.” “Wear? To what?” “Dinner. At the mansion.” “You’re really going all in on this cannibal thing.” “Maybe, but when in Rome . . .” “I don’t think that counts when we’re discussing eating human flesh.” Cat shrugs and opens her suitcase. “What happens on the island stays on the island, so I might as well go big.”

God, her bloodlust is like foreplay for my brain. I don’t know how I’ll climb this log with a cock like a steel rod in my board shorts, but we’re all about to find out.

“Will you grab that arm for me?” he says. “I think I want to take a trophy for once. This arm was from the man whose death made Kindra say she cares. Do you think I could make it through TSA with it?”

“Gross!” I say, wiping at my skin. “I thought you were kidding about that hand.” “I thought you needed a laugh.” “And you think my sense of humor extends to being lovingly caressed by the dismembered limb of a man who tried to kill me?”

Ezra’s momentary doubt recedes as we both discover that yes, my sense of humor extends just this far.

“Don’t kink shame me, Ezra. I didn’t say shit when you wanted to truss me up like a goddamn Christmas goose.”

“Don’t think about it like drowning me,” I say. “Instead of drowning, think of it as holding me underwater.” “So . . . drowning you.”

“Are you going to keep your glasses on?” “Do you want a blind man to watch for your life-saving hand gesture, or . . . ?”

“Is this like when you rub your belly and pat your head? You can’t drown me and fuck me at the same time?”

She holds the penis toward me as she steps closer to the man. “Hold this. I’ll need both hands.” With a grimace, I take the offered appendage. I don’t imagine a penis is the most attractive part of a man, but when it’s reduced to a limp slug of flesh, it’s even less appealing.

“If you don’t hold still, it’s going in your ass next,” she says. Could she be any sexier?

Can’t I do it at the airport right before we part ways?” A smile slides onto his face. “No, you can’t. If you want me to help you dig the hole, I want you to fight your way out of it. You have to do it the right way for her, not the easy way for you. She needs time to cuss you up one side and down the other, and I want to see it.” “So your payment will be my public humiliation?” “Yes.”

there she stands, looking incredible in a skin-tight all-black outfit. She’s even smudged a bit of dark eyeliner around her eyes. She’s the picture of an assassin. God, if I ever have to die by someone’s hand, I hope she’s holding the blade.

I watch with bated horror as she brings the rim of the glass to her mouth and takes a long gulp. This is a come-laced defeat if I’ve ever seen it. She moves the liquid around in her mouth, as if she’s savoring a fine glass of merlot on a fancy wine tour. “What is this?” she asks, taking another sip for good measure. “Did you make this yourself?” “You could say that.” I try to take the drink away, but she pulls it against her chest once more.

“Let me have one more swig. I’m under a lot of stress right now.” She tips it back and downs a quarter of what was left, then coughs. “Well, that was a little tangy . . .” “Because it’s a piña cum-lada.” She blinks and looks up at me. “Come again?” “I don’t think I can because I already did. In that glass. Just before you arrived.”

I try to stop her, but she’s already at my crotch, and all I can do is defend my balls from the dual blades. The legs of my expensive pants fall, and jagged, frayed fabric hangs at heights it shouldn’t. I look like a plonker. “My khaks,” I whisper in mourning. Khaki booty shorts shouldn’t be a thing. For anyone. Ever. They aren’t so short that my balls might hang out like Grim’s, but they’re still a little too Richard Simmons for me to pull off. But if it makes her feel better and brings that smile onto her face, I’ll wear the damn things.

“Who’s up for a game of truth or dare?” Bennett asks as he walks over. He’s double-fisting beer bottles, one of which he hands to Ezra. “Are we twelve?” Ezra clips. “No, even better,” Bennett says. “We’re adults.”

Please don’t leave me with this fruit fucker.

I suppose if I have anything to forgive you for, it’s the new scar I’ll bear on my cheek.” “Oh, shit! I completely forgot.” I sit up and turn his face so that I can see the thin red line my throwing star gouged into his perfect flesh. It’s fairly superficial, which relieves some of my regret. “Chicks dig scars, right?” he says with a chuckle. “Though I’m only concerned with your opinion. What do you think? Do I pass muster?”

With a smile, I reach into my pocket and pull out a sachet of Imodium AD. I snagged it from Bennett’s travel bag before we set out. “I’ll always protect you when I can, even from blowout diarrhea.”

He steps to the side, and I see his pumpkin. It sits on a small table. The top has been cut away, and a hand sticks from the opening. Whoever created this fake appendage has a real eye for detail because it looks incredibly realistic. They even took the time to chip some of the nails and add a really convincing yellowish glaze to the skin. And is that bruising? Ezra pulls the hand—complete with attached arm—from the pumpkin and turns it over. Attached to the palm is a small velvet box. “Is that the fucking hand from the beach?” I screech as realization dawns on me. Ezra winces. “I wanted to use that one, but the gulls had already destroyed it by the time I went back for it. I had Jim go into the ravine and cut the arm from that woman who attacked me. He shipped it to me, and I’ve been storing it in the freezer at mine.”