Katia N. Ruiz
Copyright 2002-2004
Disclaimer: this story is a work of fiction. It is extremely violent, about a woman who is a killer-for-hire. There is also HOT sex, as this is an erotic story also, so… If this bothers you, no problem, just click on the X and leave. This is the sequel to Murder For Sale.
Like what you're reading so far?? PLEASE let me know, J. I won't accept meanness, though, so be nice.
Ixtchel stood slouched against the wall by the small dance floor, eyes busily looking around the darkened bar. The crowd was moving fluidly, sweaty bodies brushing against each other in the hot place. She could feel eyes on her, but they were not hostile, merely interested. Shifting slightly, she could feel the bulge of her strap-on rub against her, and a soft smirk transformed her face from stoic to smug. She would take someone home tonight.
The woman's low moans served to turn Ixtchel on even more. The woman's hair fell over her face as they kissed, her hips moving in circular motions over Ixtchel's. Ixtchel groaned when the woman pushed down hard onto the dildo, her abdomen tensing as the strap rubbed against the hardness of her clitoris. Hands clenching hard in her hair made her look up and her eyes widened when it was Julia's face she saw.
"I'm going crazy!" She panted, her eyelids clenching tightly.
"Maybe it's guilt for killing me. " Julia whispered close to her face, sounding like she was both inside Ixtchel's head and outside it.
"I don't regret it." Ixtchel whispered, grunting when Julia pulled harder at her hair.
"Oh, but you will when I'm done with you. " Julia promised, bringing her hands down to Ixtchel's shoulders and sinking her nails into her flesh, scratching down hard.
The stranger on top of her cried out when her hands were snatched harshly from Ixtchel's shoulders. Ixtchel's hands were wrapped tightly around her wrists, painful in their grasp. Her eyes snapping open, Ixtchel realized her mistake. She let go of the woman's wrists and let her return them to their place. The woman moaned deep in her throat, instantly forgetting Ixtchel's faux pas as orgasm rushed a little closer.
The rush of pleasure faded for Ixtchel as the image of Julia's death flooded her mind, the feel of her neck snapping in her hand almost tangible. The woman above Ixtchel felt more like a nuisance than anything else now, and it was all she could do not to throw her off. She was almost done, Ixtchel could tell; her hips undulated slowly, her moans rising in volume and her breath growing ragged. When she was done, Ixtchel sat up, pushing the bewildered woman off and moving to get off the bed.
"What's wrong?" The woman asked; her voice was hoarse and trembled. She stared at Ixtchel's back, her eyes roaming along the definition of muscles along its length. My God, she's gorgeous!
Ixtchel closed her eyes, throwing her head back and taking a deep breath, white-blonde strands falling loosely back. Patience wasn't one of her virtues. "You're done, right?" She said in a low voice, half turning to look at her.
The stranger felt her blood run cold; those crazy eyes were even paler in the brightness of her bedroom light. Jesus Christ! She thought. I can only be so attracted to crazy women.
She didn't answer as Ixtchel reached for her jeans and slipped them on, removing the condom and throwing it to the side as she adjusted her dildo in her pants. She dressed methodically, finishing up with her black t-shirt, tucking it into her pants. Without a word, Ixtchel walked out.
Later, Ixtchel tossed and turned on her own bed, nightmares tormenting her.
"You see, we're the same, you and I. " Her father whispers as he bends over her weeping mother. She is bent over his desk, enduring his torture. He had entered her without her readiness.
"No!" Ixtchel whispers, her eyes taking in the scene before her as her fists clench on the arms of the chair she is tied to.
"Of course we are," He says calmly, thrusting into his wife. "You love doing this. You love it when they try to scream, when they try to make you stop."
Ixtchel fights against her restraints, grunting. "No!"
Laughing madly, her father pulls away from his wife and she falls to the floor, her back to her daughter, sobbing.
Ixtchel can see the long bloody scratches down the woman's back, her fury mounting.
Her father walks slowly towards her, and she can see her mother's blood splattered on his thighs and crotch. She looks away as he leans towards her, his hand harshly bringing her eyes back to meet his equally pale green eyes. "You are like me. You have my blood. I am a part of you."
"No!" She screamed, sitting up and gasping. Stumbling to her feet, her hands swiped at the bedside table, sending the lamp and phone flying to shatter across the room. "No!" She screamed again, feeling the fury she felt then anew. Gasping for breath, she grasped her hair in her hands, falling to her knees and screaming out her fury.
"Hello. " The cool voice said.
"Ixtchel!" Fernanda D'Agostino felt tears come to her eyes at the sound of her daughter's voice.
"Hello, mother. " Ixtchel said in a low voice, the background sound of the streets nearly drowning out her voice. "How are you? "
"Oh, honey, I feel better now that I know you're alright!" Fernanda glanced gratefully at her cousin, Marie, as the woman poured her a cup of tea. The monthly calls from her daughter were the only source of calm she had. "Where are you?"
"You know I can't tell you. " Ixtchel said evenly.
"I guess, honey." Fernanda whispered. "Listen to me, they've been coming around the house again." She sounded afraid. "What are you doing, honey? This needs to stop!" She pleaded.
Ixtchel greeted her with silence on the other end.
Fernanda knew her husband would screw her baby up, but she had never thought of how far Ixtchel's madness would go. When John died, she thought her daughter would end it then, having avenged her mother's suffering. But when she disappeared and the news was graced with similar murders across the country, she knew it hadn't ended. Ixtchel was in an endless cycle, and she needed to stop it before it was too late.
"I'm going to go now, mother. " Ixtchel said, sounding farther away than when she'd first called.
"I love you, honey. Please be careful!" She said, and seconds later, the dial tone was her reply. At least she heard me, she thought, lifting a shaking hand to her temple.
"Is she alright, Fernanda?" Marie asked, handing her the teacup.
Fernanda placed the teacup on the coffee table, ignoring it. "I don't know. I could never tell with her, she kept her emotions so tightly reined. The only way I could tell was when I looked in her eyes and even then sometimes I couldn't." She frowned, her brown eyes clouded. "Damn John!"
Marie reached out and patted her cousin's scarred arm. "John got what he deserved, even his own father thought so." Marie said in a low voice.
"I can't believe I didn't see it." Fernanda said, blaming herself once again for her failure to see the madness in John.
"Fernanda," Marie said in a gentle voice. "He did not want you to see it. He was a great actor, none of us saw it. We all thought Ixtchel might have had an attention deficit disorder or something. We never imagined he was doing what he did to you both."
Fernanda fought tears. "If they catch her, they'll give her the death penalty!" She sobbed.
Marie grimaced. "Honey," She hesitated, not sure of how to put it. "Ixtchel is not sane. They won't be able to convict her."
Fernanda knew the truth of her cousin's words, but she could not stop worrying. She thought back to when Ixtchel was just 15 years old and John had once again injected her with heroin.
Fernanda sneaks into her daughter's room, and finds the young woman sprawled on the floor, half-conscious and drooling. Crying out, Fernanda runs to her daughter's side, falling down to her knees. "Ixtchel!" She gasps, tears spilling down her cheeks as she gathers her daughter to her.
Ixtchel's eyes open slowly and she gazes up at her mother with cloudy though surprisingly cognizant eyes. She pulls her face away when Fernanda reaches down to wipe the drool from her chin. "Oh, baby, what did he do to you?" She exclaims, sobbing softly.
"I-" It is plain to her mother that Ixtchel is struggling to form words, but the anger is evident in her eyes.
Crying softly, Fernanda lifts her hand to caress her daughter's face. In a surprisingly quick move, Ixtchel grasps her hand before it touches her face.
"I'm… going to kill… him!" Ixtchel grunts.
"Ixtchel, no!" Fernanda gasps, shocked.
"This… will end."
"He's your father!"
"No!" Ixtchel pushes her mother away, struggling to sit up unsuccessfully.
"Ixtchel…" Her mother pleaded.
"He's… a monster!" Ixtchel spat, nostrils flaring as the pent up fury inside her threatened to make her head explode.
At a loss for words, Fernanda could do nothing but pray that her daughter would fight the dark feelings inside.
Not more than a week later, to Fernanda's utter dismay, John D'Agostino had been found brutally murdered.