interested enough to care. Oh, they complained about his bad behavior but never really did anything to correct it.
His baby brother had been born with a severe birth defect. From the day his parents brought the baby home from the hospital, Lozada might just as well have ceased to exist, because in his parents' hearts and minds he had. They devoted themselves exclusively to his little brother and his special needs. They'd assumed that their handsome, healthy, precocious older son didn't have any needs.
Around age four he had gotten angry over their neglect, and he'd never stopped being angry at them for favoring baby brother over him. He learned that being disobedient won him a little of Mommy and Daddy's attention, so he did every mischievous and mean thing his young mind could devise.
He had been a hellion as a boy, and by the time he became a teenager he was already a murderer.
In high school the popular girls didn't date guys like him. He didn't use drugs, but he stole them from the dealers and sold them himself.
He went to illegal cock fights rather than the Friday night football games. He was a natural athlete but didn't play team sports because he couldn't play dirty and where was the thrill in playing by the rules? Besides, he would never have sucked up to an asshole with a whistle who called himself Coach.
The popular girls dated guys who proudly wore their letter jackets and would go on to UT or Southern Methodist and major in business or law or medicine, like Daddy. The desired girls went steady with the boys who drove BMW'S to the country club for their golf lessons.
The girls who dressed well and participated in all the extracurricular activities, the classy girls who held school offices and were members of academic clubs, avoided him, probably fearing they would be compromised if they so much as looked twice.
Oh, he had turned their heads all right.
He'd always been good-looking. And he had that element of danger about him that women couldn't resist. But his raw sexuality scared them. If he looked at one too long, too hard, too suggestively, she got the hell away from him.
He could never get near the nice girls.
Nice girls like Rennie Newton.
Now there was a classy woman. She was all the women he'd ever wanted wrapped in one beautiful package. Each day of his trial he couldn't wait to get into court to see what she would be wearing and how her hair was styled. Several times he'd detected a light floral scent and knew it must be hers, but he never got close enough to be certain.
Not until he entered her house. It was redolent with the fragrance. Recalling the essences of her contained in the rooms she occupied made him shiver with pleasure.
Mistaking the reason for it, the maid tightened her mouth around him. He closed his eyes and envisioned Rennie Newton. He fantasized that it was she bringing him to climax.
As soon as it was over, he told the girl to go.
"Don't you wanna--"
"No." The sight of her heavy breasts disgusted him. She was a pig. A whore.
Validating his thought, she ran her hands down the front of her body and swayed to silent music. "You're the best-looking guy I've ever been with. Even this is cute." She reached up and touched the scar, still pink, that bisected his left eyebrow. "How'd you get it?"
"It was a gift."
She looked at him stupidly. Then she shrugged. "Okay, don't tell me. It's still sexy."
She stretched upward, and when he realized she was about to kiss his scar, he shoved her away.
"Get out of here."
"Well excuse me for breathing."
Before she could get to her feet, he clamped his fingers around her jaw like a vise, holding it so tightly that her lips became scrunched and protruding. "The next time you talk about me with anybody, anybody, I'll come find you and cut out your tongue. Do you understand?"
Her eyes were wide with fear. She nodded. He released her. For a large girl she surprised him by how quickly she could move. Maybe she had a future as an exotic
His baby brother had been born with a severe birth defect. From the day his parents brought the baby home from the hospital, Lozada might just as well have ceased to exist, because in his parents' hearts and minds he had. They devoted themselves exclusively to his little brother and his special needs. They'd assumed that their handsome, healthy, precocious older son didn't have any needs.
Around age four he had gotten angry over their neglect, and he'd never stopped being angry at them for favoring baby brother over him. He learned that being disobedient won him a little of Mommy and Daddy's attention, so he did every mischievous and mean thing his young mind could devise.
He had been a hellion as a boy, and by the time he became a teenager he was already a murderer.
In high school the popular girls didn't date guys like him. He didn't use drugs, but he stole them from the dealers and sold them himself.
He went to illegal cock fights rather than the Friday night football games. He was a natural athlete but didn't play team sports because he couldn't play dirty and where was the thrill in playing by the rules? Besides, he would never have sucked up to an asshole with a whistle who called himself Coach.
The popular girls dated guys who proudly wore their letter jackets and would go on to UT or Southern Methodist and major in business or law or medicine, like Daddy. The desired girls went steady with the boys who drove BMW'S to the country club for their golf lessons.
The girls who dressed well and participated in all the extracurricular activities, the classy girls who held school offices and were members of academic clubs, avoided him, probably fearing they would be compromised if they so much as looked twice.
Oh, he had turned their heads all right.
He'd always been good-looking. And he had that element of danger about him that women couldn't resist. But his raw sexuality scared them. If he looked at one too long, too hard, too suggestively, she got the hell away from him.
He could never get near the nice girls.
Nice girls like Rennie Newton.
Now there was a classy woman. She was all the women he'd ever wanted wrapped in one beautiful package. Each day of his trial he couldn't wait to get into court to see what she would be wearing and how her hair was styled. Several times he'd detected a light floral scent and knew it must be hers, but he never got close enough to be certain.
Not until he entered her house. It was redolent with the fragrance. Recalling the essences of her contained in the rooms she occupied made him shiver with pleasure.
Mistaking the reason for it, the maid tightened her mouth around him. He closed his eyes and envisioned Rennie Newton. He fantasized that it was she bringing him to climax.
As soon as it was over, he told the girl to go.
"Don't you wanna--"
"No." The sight of her heavy breasts disgusted him. She was a pig. A whore.
Validating his thought, she ran her hands down the front of her body and swayed to silent music. "You're the best-looking guy I've ever been with. Even this is cute." She reached up and touched the scar, still pink, that bisected his left eyebrow. "How'd you get it?"
"It was a gift."
She looked at him stupidly. Then she shrugged. "Okay, don't tell me. It's still sexy."
She stretched upward, and when he realized she was about to kiss his scar, he shoved her away.
"Get out of here."
"Well excuse me for breathing."
Before she could get to her feet, he clamped his fingers around her jaw like a vise, holding it so tightly that her lips became scrunched and protruding. "The next time you talk about me with anybody, anybody, I'll come find you and cut out your tongue. Do you understand?"
Her eyes were wide with fear. She nodded. He released her. For a large girl she surprised him by how quickly she could move. Maybe she had a future as an exotic
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