The young fella, who'd been as quiet as a church mouse since he stopped the car, was now clutching a razor-sharp, blood-soaked stone in his mitt.

  His mug was darker than a storm cloud as he watched the big bruiser bite the dust.

  The gal caught the young fella's glare shifting her way, and her face went white as a sheet.

  She hightailed it backward faster than a jackrabbit.

  “I ain't gonna fight you. Don't off me. Let me be,” she yelped.

  Seeing him still coming at her like a freight train, she was so spooked she spun on her heel and ran.

  But she was weaker than a kitten, having not eaten in ages, and toppled over after just a few steps.

  Hearing his footsteps closing in, she whipped her head around, eyes wide with terror.

  The image of that stone smashing down was mirrored in her peepers.

  “Ahhhh...”

  She screeched at the top of her lungs.

  “Smack”

  The stone caved in her noggin, and her scream cut off like a light switch.

  The rail-thin young fella chucked the stone and wiped the blood spatter off his face.

  Looking at Billy Jean, he said,

  “I'm the last man standing. Hope you stick to your word.”

  A devilish grin tugged at Billy Jean's lips.

  “Oh, really? I beg to differ.”

  She peeked behind him.

  The young fella's back went ramrod straight.

  Just as he was about to twist his head, a tree-trunk-thick wooden stick whacked him upside the head.

  “Boom...”

  He saw stars and his body swayed like a drunk.

  The other guy didn't let up.

  Whaling on his head with that stick again and again finally sent him crashing to the ground.

  Blood pooled on the dirt, and he kicked the bucket, eyes wide open in disbelief.

  The scrawny fella held the bloodied stick, a cocky smirk on his face.

  “Ha ha... You suckers. I'm the king of the hill.”

  A round of applause broke out,

  “Clap, clap...”

  “Ha ha... Hilarious, truly a riot. Thanks for showing us what humanity really looks like,” Billy Jean cackled.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The scrawny fella beamed at her.

  “Well... ugh...”

  Suddenly, he hacked up a mouthful of blood.

  Intense pain ripped through his chest.

  He glanced down and saw a bone-like blade buried in his chest.

  He glowered at Billy Jean, fit to be tied.

  “Why? Why? I'm the last one. Why ice me?”

  Billy Jean shrugged and let out a soft chuckle.

  “Didn't you say it yourself at the start? I ain't got a heart.”

  The scrawny fella's eyes nearly bugged out.

  “You... you she-devil.”

  As his voice trailed off, the bone blade skewered him clean through and popped out his back, spraying blood everywhere.

  The spotless white bone blade zipped back into Billy Jean's palm and vanished.

  She watched the scrawny fella crumple, a scornful smirk on her lips.

  Heh! Humanity?

  Sorry, she wasn't human and didn't need that junk.

  Michael Joke had been watching from the sidelines, not lifting a finger, looking as cool as a cucumber.

  “Billy , let's blow this joint.”

  “Coming.”

  The sun was setting, painting the sky a fiery orange-red.

  He was slouched against the car, watching her sashay his way.

  The setting sun stretched her shadow out like a long, lanky ghost.

  Just like old times, as if they'd never been apart.

  In the hotel.

  “Michael , what's your deal?”

  Billy Jean glared daggers at Michael Joke, who'd muscled his way into her room.

  Michael Joke unbuttoned the top two buttons of his collar with one hand and plopped down on the sofa like he owned the place, his long legs sprawled a bit, oozing confidence.

  Looking at Billy Jean, who was steaming mad, he said,

  “Your trustworthiness rating with me is in the gutter. If I don't keep you in my sights, I'll be tossing and turning all night.”

  “Michael , I'm warning you. Don't push your luck. You're just my food stash. Piss me off and I'll take a chunk out of you.”

  Billy Jean bared her teeth and flexed her claws like a wildcat.

  “Then come and bite me,”

  Michael Joke said, spreading his hands on the back of the sofa.

  His shirt split open, showing off his ripped chest, looking like he was asking for it.

  Billy Jean's eyes nearly popped out of her head, and her mouth watered.

  "Damn it, Michael , this drop-dead gorgeous hunk. Does he really think I won't dare to bite him?"

  “You don't have the guts,”

  Michael Joke drawled, enunciating each word, clearly yanking her chain.

  Billy Jean took the bait.

  “Michael, you asked for it.”

  She pounced on him like a tigress, going for his long, smooth neck.

  Suddenly, Michael Joke clamped her chin with his hand, tilted her face up, and then mashed his lips against hers.

  “Mmm...”

  Billy Jean's eyes went wide as saucers in shock.

  After all these years, Michael Joke was kissing those luscious lips he'd been dreaming about.

  His hand dangling at his side trembled a bit, and then he cinched her slender waist tight, cradled the back of her head with one hand, and deepened the kiss.

  Suddenly, a haymaker landed square on his gut.

  He winced in pain, backed off a step, and then got nailed again and sprawled on the sofa.

  He lay there, clutching his bloody nose.

  Bright red blood seeped through his fingers.

  Billy Jean hadn't held back that punch.

  “Go back to Sea-city,” a frosty voice rang out.

  Michael Joke's body jolted.

  He lunged and grabbed Billy Jean before she could skedaddle. His voice shook.

  “Why?”

  Billy Jean coldly shoved his hand away.

  “We called it quits ages ago.”

  Michael Joke clung to her hand like a barnacle, refusing to let go.

  “Why...? I even forgave you for cheating. Why? Why the heck?”

  His eyes were bloodshot, and he hollered at her, emotions running high.

  “Michael , just think I'm sick of you. Go back to Sea-city. Don't make your family worry.”

  Billy Jean pushed his hand away and walked out, head held high.

  Seeing Billy Jean was about to vanish, Michael Joke shouted, frantic,

  “What if I agree to be your food stash?”

  Billy Jean's body went rigid.

  She couldn't believe proud-as-a-peacock Michael Joke would say something so meek.

  “I'm willing to be your food stash if I can stay by your side.”

  A whirlwind of emotions swirled in Billy Jean's eyes.

  She shut them gently and then opened them again, her gaze as cold as ice.

  “Don't need.”

  Billy Jean walked out, not looking back.

  The door whooshed shut.

  “Boom...”

  The not-too-loud, not-too-soft thud of the door closing was like the final nail in Michael Joke's coffin.

  He went berserk and trashed the room.

  It went on for over an hour.

  Finally, he stood in the middle of the wreckage, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous, icy glint.

  Billy Jean, you think I'm still the same pushover you could boss around three years ago.

  You ain't getting away.

  You'll never escape my clutches in this lifetime.