Chapter 2

The ride back home seemed as if it was a sign of things to come.

Kalia drove as if her life depended on it (which it still kind of did)

Trevor sat and observed her. A maniacal grin, speeding past the other vehicles on the highway, bobbing and weaving in and out of traffic, overtaking cars, bikes and trucks. The shouts of threats, honks of anger and skids from emergency manoeuvring vehicles was a symphony.

"Woooooooo" Kalia squealed like she was a kid a roller coaster in a theme park. On more than one occasion, she deliberately drove into the other lane. If her reflexes had failed at any point, they would be roadkill.

Trevor of course, decided to play it as cool as possible, genuinely thrilled to be stuck in this life-or-death ride back to Sandy Shores that fuelled his fire.

Ron of course, could be heard in the truck, like a small child with his parents, near paralysed at this crazy lady's driving. Occasionally yelling in fear at the rate of speed, and sensing just how close they were coming with the other vehicles.

"Can't say I blame him much." Trevor mused internally, "Even I'm a safer driver than this lady from hell."

"You realise if we die, you don't get paid." He snarked, not selling any trace of anxiety.

Kalia pouted, nonchalantly dodging a Comet at the very last minute, almost crashing into the rear.

"The pay is only part of it, sweety. It's the thrill that makes this shit fun."

T raised an eyebrow, not in annoyance, but almost admiration, scratch that, it was reverence.

Finally, they arrived back. Home sweet home, the land of the free, a place where you can never be too drunk or too methed up.

Sandy Shores was the authentic America as far as Trevor Philips was concerned. A bastion of moral abjection and self-centeredness, where anyone with the ambition and Darwinian inclination can make something of themselves if they were brave and sociopathic enough.

"My place is over here." He informed Kalia as they neared the trailer park on Zancudo Avenue, to the perfect-sized homely trailer that was the centre and office of TP industries.

And Ron's place next door.

Parking up to the drive, Kalia seemed curious, "So, guess I'll see you around tomorrow or-"

"-You, darling." Trevor interrupted, "Are coming with me."

Once more surprising him, she gave another of what seemed to be a trademark twisted smile.

"I was afraid you'd never ask." The young woman remarked, all three of them now exited from the car. "I'll take any bed at this point, beats sleeping in that car again."

Trevor nodded, "Ron!" he called out, "Yes boss?" the skittery little man immediately responded.

"Take a shovel, I want you to dig me a hundred holes by tomorrow morning. Shoulder high and wide."

The former accountant looked positively bereft. He had walked for nearly three hours, and after such a long day, was likely beaming with the prospect of sleep.

As if sensing a coming question of why, Trevor spoke up, "Call it punishment for costing us that 50k, and you know there are worse things I can dream up." The crazed drug dealer said the last words with a growl.

"Sure boss!" responded Ron, immediately running off to his trailer next door, and retrieving an old rusty looking shovel and immediately went out to begin his penance.

"And remember!" Trevor yelled out from the porch of his trailer, "If I don't see a hundred by tomorrow, I will bury you in the desert and leave you there to die!"

Clearly that worked, as the little man immediately caught a spring in his jog.

Trevor sighed, turning back to a grinning Kalia, "And you… we need to go over some things."

She tilted her head, "What things?"

"Ehhhh call it a job interview. I need to know the people who work for me."

"What makes you think I'm working for you? Perhaps I just want my payment in whatever one-time deal you can find and then I'll move on."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong." He responded with a finger pointed to her. "Despite what you're trying to show me. I know there's more to you than some freelancer skipping town for jobs. You're looking for something, a full-time start. Now come on."

Opening the door that was never locked, Trevor led her inside. Nonchalantly the bloody white shirt, now in his still messy grey sweatpants and brown boots.

Kalia Rae stood at the doorway, hands behind her back, simply observing the room.

It was an average trailer, down at the front area, a kitchen and sitting area upfront with a TV and radio, and a bathroom and bedroom close to her.

Trevor walked into full view, casually grabbing an icepack from his freezer and placing it over his wounded head. Kalia seemed to analyse him fully now. Late forties but looking older from methamphetamine use and the receding hairline, although he had a relatively skinny build, he was very tall (she would need to stand on her tip toes just to reach his neck) and still looked solidly strong enough to handle himself.

Aside from his obvious and recent headwound, there were scars and marks all over his body. Either from wounds sustained in all sorts of fights or drug use.

His tattoos said a lot of about him. Around his neck, a pattern of dotted black lines and a phrase that said, "Cut here" and a crudely drawn one across his chest exclaiming "Fuck Cops".

But the one that drew the most intrigue was the one on his left arm, a large cross, with "RIP Michael, 1965-2004, Brother." Written in it. Unlike the others, this was clearly done by a professional.

Trevor took a beer from a nearby case and cranked it open before taking a sizable swig.

He sat down at the table and indicated to her to take a sear wherever, which she did, taking a spot on the couch.

Messy and likely crawling with cockroaches as it was.

"So, Kalia Rae…"

Trevor took a swig of the Pisswasser.

"Let me into that clearly messed up little head of yours."

"You're one to talk." She quipped, sitting legs crossed, the crustiness of the chair seemingly not bothering her, sporting a self-satisfied grin. "Not every day I see a grown man threating another to dig a hundred goddamn holes."

Trevor leaned in, "That bother you?"

Kalia did the same, "I didn't say that."

"So, tell me something, doll face." At this point, Trevor was back to contemplating on if he should put a bullet in her head if she continued to not be straight with him.

Kalia tiled her head, "You went up to that place fully intending to steal those guns." She paused for a moment, staring at, and appreciating the blood splatter on his sweat pants, "I'm guessing not all that is yours…"

Trevor nodded.

"You did that basically on your own. No offense to Ronnie out there. But I don't picture him as much help in a firefight. It tells me you're either batshit crazy, or you have a death wish. You're not some two-bit dealer, you're a man with a plan, Stan."

This time, Kalia's grin changed, less shit-eating, and more seductive, "As it happens, I like crazy, and I also like ambition. Ambitious girls like ambitious guys..."

By now, the girl who was half his age had begun to straddle him, bodies now grinding on each other. Trevor had always had his fair share of women, granted most were prostitutes, and the rest were desperate enough that they'd even sleep with him, not often looking like much themselves. It had never bothered him; a hole was a hole. That wasn't even counting the guys, or the ones who's gender he couldn't remember due to drugs or alcohol, or likely just a psychosis episode.

But this, from a girl who looked like she was out of a playboy catalogue, this was something.

she moaned, licking his tats.

"How many guys have you killed?" Trevor spoke in pure bliss.

"Six." She whispered, "The first two when I was just twelve, my most recent was for the car, I told him to hand it over, if he did that, he'd still be alive." She sighed, "Sometimes with a gun, but I love using something sharp." Her voice turned downright lustful, eyes closed, "Digging in, cutting. That tickles me, makes me wild."

Trevor lost it, and so did she.

The two's mouths crashed into each other. Tongues fighting for dominance. Trevor's calloused hands found their way to her ass, pushing them into the shorts, feeling that perfect peach…

She stopped momentarily, "Tell you all about it after this if you want." She almost growled before diving back into kissing.

By now, Trevor's hard-on was as solid as a rock. He pulled Kalia Rae up. The two began violently crashing into everything in sight, messing up the already unclean trailer even more. Neither cared, lost in a haze of lust.

Trevor forcefully placed her on the counter. She squealed in delight as he forcefully ripped the shorts off with inhuman strength that still caused a delicious pain in the red mark it left.

He then made much shorter work of her panties, swiftly dropping his own pants and underwear.

She was soaking wet to the point that he shoved it right in with no preparation.

The wet slaps of flesh on flesh, grunts, as well as Kalia's screams filled the trailer (and probably could be heard on the outside too. Not that either cared one way or the other)

"First two I killed; I used a corkscrew." She blurted out, bringing them back to the story she had already started before they began violently fucking.

"I waited until the first one was asleep, then I shoved it in his throat. I sat on his chest as he died. It made me want to cum right there."

"SHIT" Trevor gasped. Taking the two down onto the dirty infested floor, but for whatever reason, doing it there, filth all around them, it made it all hotter.

Kalia now sat on top and quickly began riding him to her heart's content like the lustiest cowgirl in history.

"The other one, I waited until he came home. I was there, blood all over me, kinda like you. I leaped on him and began, stabby stabby stab stab stab, I can't forget his screams!"

At the last part, the naked young lady only seemed to ride him harder and harder.

Trevor could not help but let out a near animalistic moan of pure pleasure as he came like a man possessed, her own following closely. "MOMMY!" he screamed, half emptying into her sleek warm pussy before the rest spilled onto the floor, another stain among many.

What they had was near transcendent. It was pure twisted bliss, lust tainted and pure.

They lay there, both breathing heavily. Neither saying anything for what felt like eternity.

And here, Trevor thought Ashley was a good of a lay he could get without cash. Whatever this was, he did not want it to end.

"Mommy issues?" she suddenly spoke, tone plain and curious, almost as if a different lady than the one he had just screwed the brains out of and got off on recounting her first kills.

"You could say that." He responded, tired but neutral, "She was so perfect… none of those foster homes could ever compare to her… it was the general stuff from some of my stepdads. Good old beatings with the occasional hands down my pants."

"I get it, killer." Kalia remarked, slick smile on her features again, still looking incredible in the sunset haze, and post-orgasm.

Trevor staggered up "Do you now." He remarked, still nude and walking with zero shame to lay on his own unmade bed.

Kalia soon joined, crawling on all fours until she lay on top of him.

"Those guys you killed." Trevor spoke, turning to Kalia, "Who were they?"

Kalia Rae shrugged, as if explaining that she did not a trivial question when chatting with a friend.

"They were my daddy and big brother, and I was their sex slave from when I was eight until I killed them on my twelfth birthday." She pouted, "Didn't even get a birthday cake that year."

Trevor said nothing for a minute, taking in the sheer disturbed nature of what she had just told him, before a maniacal smile arose.

"Well, don't we make a fucked-up pair."