Disclaimer:
This story contains explicit content intended for mature readers (18+). It includes graphic depictions of sexual acts, disturbing themes, and intense psychological suspense. The narrative explores dark and unsettling interactions between consenting adults, with elements of horror and fear woven throughout. This story is intended to be frightening and suspenseful. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
The TV glowed dimly in my apartment, casting long shadows across the walls as I watched, half-interested, half-annoyed, at yet another report on the local news. The face on the screen looked familiar—young, light-skinned, maybe late teens or early twenties, smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world. I felt a strange twinge of déjà vu; this guy could’ve been my twin.
“Tonight, we report on the identity of the latest victim in a string of brutal murders targeting young men in the Black gay community,” the anchor’s voice came through the speakers, low and somber, laced with that detached, almost practiced sadness. I leaned back on the couch, watching without really seeing, irritation prickling in the back of my mind. To the news, it was just another tragedy, just another “incident,” like he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I knew what they were hinting at: that face, that profile—it was exactly the same type, the same look that all the other victims had.
The camera switched to a crowd of protesters gathered outside the police station. Signs in hand, faces drawn with grief and frustration, people were shouting into microphones, their voices rising over one another in desperate pleas. The news cut to one of the activists, a woman with a sharp voice and fierce eyes.
“The police have done nothing,” she shouted, holding up a photo of the latest victim. “How many more of our young men need to die before they take this seriously? Ten victims so far. Ten.” Her voice cracked, raw with emotion, as she looked straight into the camera. “When will it be enough?”
The reporter went on, listing the ages, appearances, and startling similarities of each victim, their names blurring together in a litany of faces that looked far too much like my own. The words “ten victims” echoed in my mind. They made it sound like some statistic, as if these people were just data points on a report.
The screen cut back to the anchor, who looked uncomfortable, almost forced, as he tried to explain that the police were “continuing their investigation.” A hollow phrase, repeated for the cameras, but we all knew what that meant: nothing. No leads, no suspects. Ten young men, gone, with nothing but unanswered questions left in their wake.
A flash of irritation twisted in my gut. Ten people, all dead, and still no answers. It was all just noise, recycled news about a nightmare everyone wanted to believe would never reach them. But watching that face on the screen—one that looked so much like mine—sent an uncomfortable chill down my spine.
Across the room, Terry was leaning forward, practically on the edge of his seat. “This is… unbelievable,” he muttered, glancing over at me. “That guy could be you.”
I shrugged, giving him a lazy smile. “Relax, Terry. I’m not planning on being anybody’s victim.”
But Terry wasn’t buying it. He shot me a look, the kind he always gave me when he was about to start one of his lectures. “Jordan, this isn’t a joke. These guys—they all look like you. You’re just… fitting the type, you know? You need to take this seriously.”
I held back an eye roll, crossing my arms. “You’re acting like he’s hiding around the corner, waiting just for me.”
“This isn’t about just you,” he snapped, his voice sharper than usual. “It’s about being smart. You’re not invincible, you know. Can you just stay in tonight? One night, Jordan. Just one.”
I let out a sigh, tilting my head back to give him a look. “You worry way too much, man. I’m not letting some guy on a killing spree keep me from living my life.”
He shook his head, muttering under his breath. “I swear, one day, your stubborn ass is gonna get you in trouble.”
I laughed, grabbing my jacket off the couch. “It’s Friday night, Terry. Have a drink, watch a movie. I’ll be fine.”
He shot me one last warning look, frustration written all over his face. I knew he was just looking out for me, but sometimes Terry forgot that I didn’t need a babysitter. Besides, he was always like this, stressing over every little detail, convinced the world would fall apart if he didn’t keep an eye on it.
The bar was packed, lights low and pulsing with the music that thumped through the speakers. I could feel eyes on me as I walked in, that subtle pull of attention I’d come to expect. It didn’t bother me; if anything, it was kind of nice, knowing people were looking.
I could still hear Terry’s voice in my head, that nagging warning about being “careful.” But the truth was, I wasn’t about to waste my night worrying. Let the world turn how it wanted. I was here for a good time, and no news story was going to ruin that for me.
A server handed me a drink, and I leaned back against the bar, taking in the crowd. Some of the guys here were tense, I could tell. Eyes darting around, whispering in low voices. Everyone knew about the murders, but nobody seemed to know what to do about it.
I took a sip of my drink and tried not to let it get to me. If people wanted to live in fear, that was on them.
It wasn’t long before I felt someone’s gaze settle on me. I glanced over and spotted a guy, maybe mid-thirties, standing at the far end of the bar, watching me. There was something off about the way he looked—like he’d been sizing me up, and not in a friendly way.
A chill ran down my spine, and I shifted uncomfortably. But before I could look away, I felt a light touch on my shoulder.
“Everything okay here?” a voice asked, smooth and low.
I turned to find a different man standing beside me, tall, handsome, with dark eyes that held just the right amount of calm. I didn’t know him, but there was something about him that instantly put me at ease. The other guy—the one with the weird look—quickly turned away and disappeared into the crowd.
“Yeah,” I replied, smiling. “Thanks for that.”
He nodded, his gaze lingering a little longer than necessary. “Some people just don’t know how to behave.”
I chuckled, letting my guard drop. He was different from most of the guys here—confident without trying too hard, intense but not overbearing. And that look in his eyes… it was like he could see right through me.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” I asked, tilting my head, curious.
“Just visiting,” he said, a slow, almost predatory smile creeping onto his face. “But I could get used to it here.”
There was something thrilling about talking to him, a strange, electric undercurrent I couldn’t quite explain. The warnings, Terry’s voice, everything started to feel distant, like background noise fading out.
“Want to get out of here?” I asked, my voice low, as if daring him to say no.
He held my gaze, his smile deepening. “Lead the way.”
As we left the bar, I could still feel the warmth of his hand on my shoulder, steady, reassuring. Maybe Terry would be pissed if he knew I’d gone home with a stranger, but for the first time all night, I didn’t care. This felt right. Or at least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
We walked into my apartment, and I tossed my jacket on the chair. Darius—he’d finally given me his name on the way over—took a slow look around, taking in every detail. His gaze moved across the room like he was committing it to memory. I brushed it off, chalking it up to him being the quiet, observant type. But there was something unsettling in how thorough he seemed, like he was sizing the place up, looking for… something.
I went to the kitchen, grabbing a couple of beers from the fridge. “Make yourself at home,” I said, glancing back at him as he lingered in the doorway, his eyes still tracking the layout of my place.
He gave a small nod, finally breaking his focus to look at me, that same calm but intense look from before. He stepped further inside, moving with this quiet, controlled energy, like he was deliberately measuring each step.
“Nice place,” he said, his voice smooth, almost too casual. “You live here alone?”
I chuckled, handing him a beer. “Yeah, why? Planning to rob me?”
He took the beer, his fingers brushing mine for a split second. “Not unless you give me a reason to.” There was the faintest hint of a smirk on his face, but his eyes held onto that intensity, locked on me like he was watching for a reaction.
I laughed it off, but part of me felt that chill again, the same one I’d felt at the bar. I shook it off, chalking it up to nerves. He was just being playful, that’s all. Maybe I was letting Terry’s paranoid vibe get to me.
We settled onto the couch, the silence between us thick and charged. There was something magnetic about him, the way he looked at me, like I was the only person in the world. He leaned back, calm and collected, while I tried to figure out what it was about him that had me so on edge and yet so drawn to him.
He took a sip of his beer, still watching me with that steady, unreadable gaze. “So, you’re not scared, are you?” he asked, his tone smooth and calm.
I raised an eyebrow, smirking a little. “Scared of what?”
“Everything you heard at the bar.” He let the words hang between us, his eyes fixed on mine. “The news… the warnings.”
I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “Please. Some little-dick psycho who can’t handle rejection?” I shook my head, chuckling. “Probably just some sad, angry incel who couldn’t get with them, so he’s off terrorizing everyone instead.” I shrugged, waving it off. “Not worth losing sleep over.”
For a split second, I saw something flicker in his expression—a hint of darkness, barely masked. Then, a slow smile curled across his lips, controlled and unsettling. “Interesting,” he murmured, his tone almost too calm. “Not everyone has that kind of… confidence.”
He held my gaze, his eyes lingering, unreadable, and that glint of something unamused, dangerous even, flashed before he leaned back, settling into that unnerving calm. I got the sense he’d filed my words away, as if savoring them, but I brushed it off, completely unaware I’d struck a nerve.
Something about the way he said “confidence” felt like a dare, like he was testing me. I felt a shiver run through me, but I leaned into the feeling. “What about you? You seem pretty calm yourself.”
His smile was slow, dark, almost predatory. “I’m always calm.”
We kept talking, but there was an edge to it now, like he was skirting around something unspoken, something just out of reach. I told myself it was all in my head. He wasn’t dangerous—he couldn’t be. He didn’t have that kind of look. Or maybe… maybe that’s what he wanted me to think.
As the night wore on, the tension between us grew, tightening with every glance and subtle touch. Darius leaned in close, his hand resting on my knee, his voice dropping low, almost a whisper.
“Most people would have heeded those warnings,” he murmured, fingers trailing up my thigh with a deliberateness that sent a thrill down my spine.
I raised an eyebrow, letting a small smirk tug at my lips. “And miss out on meeting you?” I teased, trying to steady my breath. “Besides, I’m not like most people.”
A slow, dark smile spread across his face, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that was both thrilling and a little unsettling. “No,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re definitely not.”
I felt his fingers brush down my arm as we made our way to the bedroom, his hand slipping around my waist. His movements were controlled, measured, like he was savoring each second. And as I sat on the edge of the bed, he slowly began unbuckling his belt, his gaze never leaving mine. The metallic click of the buckle felt loud in the quiet room, almost ominous, but the thrill of it overrode everything else.
He slipped the belt from its loops with a deliberate slowness, letting it hang loosely in his hand as he took a step toward me. There was something about the way he held it, his fingers wrapped around the leather, that made my breath catch.
“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice almost a purr as he leaned down, resting his hands on either side of me.
“Get on your knees, Jordan,” he whispered, his voice low and husky.
The sound of my name on his lips sent a shiver through me, a mixture of arousal and fear that only seemed to heighten my desire. I found myself obeying without hesitation, sinking to the floor, my fingers fumbling with his zipper.
His dick sprang free, hard and ready, and I took it in my hand, marveling at the weight and size. It was thick and smooth, and as I slid it into my mouth, I couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement. The taste was musky and salty, and I could feel my own erection straining against my jeans.
Darius groaned as I took him deeper, his hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. I could feel the tip of his dick hitting the back of my throat, and I gagged, my eyes watering.
Darius let out a low moan, his fingers digging into my scalp as I began to bob my head, his dick sliding in and out of my mouth. I could feel the blood pulsing through it, the veins throbbing against my tongue.
I could sense him losing control, his hands gripping the back of my head as he began to thrust, his dick sliding down my throat. It was a struggle to breathe, and I could feel my vision starting to swim, my hands clutching at his hips.
It was a moment before he pulled away, gasping for air, his chest heaving.
“Turn around,” he growled, his voice barely above a whisper. “On the bed. Hands and knees.”
The urgency in his voice sent a shiver through me, and I did as he commanded, my body trembling with anticipation. He knelt behind me, his hands caressing my ass, his dick pressing against my entrance.
“Fuck,” I breathed, my fingers digging into the sheets.
The sensation of his dick sliding into me was both painful and exhilarating, and I could feel my body arching back, meeting his thrusts. His hands gripped my hips, holding me in place as he picked up speed, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
I could feel myself starting to come undone, my body trembling beneath him, and I buried my face in the pillow, trying to stifle my moans.
But as the pleasure began to ebb, I felt a cold fear creeping in, a sense that something was wrong.
He was moving faster now, his thrusts becoming more erratic, and I could feel his grip on my hips tightening, his nails digging into my skin.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice almost a whisper.
Just as I started to lose myself in the moment, the belt still lying beside him on the bed, a loud knock shattered the quiet. The doorbell. I froze, my heart skipping a beat as the sound echoed through the apartment.
Darius stilled, his jaw clenching, and for a split second, I caught a flash of something in his eyes—anger, maybe even something darker. The moment passed as quickly as it came, but the way he looked at me, like he was barely holding something back, sent a chill through me.
“Stay here,” I murmured, pulling away and grabbing my shirt, barely registering the way his gaze hardened as I moved toward the door. In the hallway, the thrill of the encounter had shifted, the tension lingering as I opened the door to find Terry standing there, his face a mix of relief and frustration.
I froze, my heart pounding. Darius looked at me, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something—annoyance, maybe even anger—that flashed across his face. I shook it off, grabbing a shirt and heading toward the door.
Standing there, looking tired and definitely pissed, was Terry. His eyes scanned me, and I could see the relief that was almost immediately overtaken by frustration.
“You seriously couldn’t just stay in for one night, could you?” he muttered, pushing past me and glancing around.
I felt a flash of irritation. “What are you even doing here, Terry?”
“I’m making sure you’re not doing anything stupid,” he snapped back, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of Darius in the hallway, looking calm as ever.
Terry crossed his arms, giving Darius a once-over. “Didn’t realize you had company.”
Darius’s face was unreadable, but I could feel something shift in the air, a tension I hadn’t noticed before. His gaze stayed on Terry, quiet and intense, like he was sizing him up.
“I’ll go,” Darius said, his voice even, though I could see a hint of frustration in his expression.
“No, you don’t have to—” I started, but he was already grabbing his jacket, his movements quick, controlled. He gave me a short nod, eyes lingering on me for a beat longer before he brushed past Terry without another word.
The door shut behind him, and I turned to Terry, irritation bubbling up. “You just scared him off, you know.”
Terry shook his head, crossing his arms tighter. “Yeah? Maybe he needed to be scared off.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair, feeling the sudden weight of the night crashing down. “Not everyone is out to get me.”
He met my gaze, his expression hard. “You don’t know that, Jordan.”
I woke up with a dull ache in my head, a mix of last night’s drinks and the uneasy tension that lingered even after Darius left. Terry had stayed late, watching me like a hawk after our argument, eventually muttering something about me having “too much damn luck for my own good” before finally heading home.
I pulled my phone off the nightstand, squinting at the bright screen. And that’s when I saw it—the notification lighting up my screen from a local news app: Another murder in the series of killings targeting young Black men.
But this time, the details hit way too close. This time, the latest victim had been killed right in my building. I sat up, my heart pounding as I read the words again, hoping they would somehow change.
“A young man was found murdered in his apartment early this morning,” the article read. “The victim fits the pattern of previous attacks, leading police to suspect the same individual may be responsible.”
The description was almost identical to the others: young, light-skinned, handsome. A cold dread washed over me. This wasn’t just another headline anymore—this was right next door, and all I could think about was Darius.
That chill I’d felt around him, the way he seemed so controlled, so… intentional.
I was still trying to shake off the shock when my phone buzzed again—this time, it was Terry. He didn’t even let me say hello before he launched into it.
“Jordan! Did you see the news?”
I took a breath, feeling the tension knotting up in my chest. “Yeah, I just saw. It was practically right here.”
“Right there, Jordan!” he repeated, his voice a mix of fear and frustration. “That could’ve been you.”
I didn’t know what to say. The words were there, but none of them felt right. Instead, I just listened as Terry’s tone softened, his worry cutting through the phone.
“There’s a witness, you know,” he said, his voice dropping. “They released a sketch.”
I swallowed hard, a sense of dread pooling in my stomach. I opened the news app again, scrolling down until I saw it—the sketch. My heart nearly stopped. The hair was a little rougher, the jawline not quite as sharp, but the eyes… those were unmistakable. Intense, dark, focused, just like Darius’s.
I felt the room spin around me as flashes of the night before flooded back: Darius in my apartment, his hand brushing down my arm, his quiet, almost predatory gaze, and the click of his belt coming undone.
“Jordan?” Terry’s voice brought me back, his tone now calm but firm. “You have to go to the police.”
The police station smelled faintly of coffee and stale air, the kind of place that seemed stuck in time. I felt like I’d been sitting in this hard plastic chair for hours, though it was probably only twenty minutes. Across from me sat a middle-aged cop with a rough, weathered look, his sharp gaze never wavering. He listened quietly as I gave him a rundown of the night.
“So,” he said, leaning back, “you’re telling me this guy just… appeared? Right as you’re about to have trouble with some random at the bar?”
I nodded, feeling the weight of the officer’s stare. “Yeah. It was like he knew exactly what was happening. Came out of nowhere.”
The cop narrowed his eyes, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “And this… ‘Darius’—you’re sure that’s what he said his name was?”
“Pretty sure, yeah,” I replied, shifting under his gaze. The memory of Darius’s eyes watching me, calm and focused, flickered in my mind. “It was almost like he was watching the whole time.”
The cop scribbled something in his notepad, glancing up briefly. “You mentioned he… removed his belt when you were back at your place. Describe that for me.”
I paused, suddenly uncomfortable. The way Darius had pulled the belt from his pants, that deliberate slowness, the way he’d let it hang from his hand… something about it made my skin prickle, but I hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Now, the memory sent a chill through me.
“I mean… he just took it off, you know?” I said, trying to brush off the tension creeping into my voice. “Let it hang there, kinda. I didn’t think much of it then, but now…”
The cop’s eyes sharpened, and he leaned forward, his expression suddenly intense. “And he took it off slowly, you said? Just… held it?”
“Yeah,” I replied, my heart thudding a little harder. “Why? Is that… important?”
The cop exchanged a look with another officer nearby, his brow furrowing. “We kept that detail out of the public reports.”
My stomach twisted as his words sank in.
The cop’s voice lowered, his gaze fixed on me like he was trying to make sure I understood every word. “Look, kid, I don’t know what you think this guy was, but that belt? That’s not just some accessory to him.”
A sick feeling settled in my stomach. “What do you mean?”
The cop hesitated, as if weighing his words, but then he continued, his tone clipped. “The victims we’ve found so far… that’s how he kills them. Strangles them with a belt, takes his time. The way you’re describing this guy, he was holding it like he was about to do just that.”
I felt the color drain from my face, a chill settling over me as his words sank in. “So… he was going to—?”
“To kill you? Yeah, probably,” the cop replied, his tone laced with a grim certainty. “You’re lucky as hell your friend showed up when he did.”
The weight of his words hit me, the realization flooding in waves. Darius had been in my apartment, just a heartbeat away from doing to me what he’d done to those other men. And I’d practically handed him the opportunity.
The cop let out a sigh, shaking his head. “You know, I get it. You’re young, having a good time, thinking nothing can touch you. But the fact that you’d bring a stranger home with all this going on?” He gave me a look of pure disbelief. “I’d say that’s just reckless.”
“I… didn’t think—” I started, but he cut me off.
“Of course, you didn’t think. That’s the problem,” he said, his tone hard. “You gay guys think you’re invincible, acting like nothing’s gonna catch up with you. Just out there, flirting around with people you don’t know from Adam.”
A flare of anger rose in my chest at his comment, but it was hard to ignore the pounding in my head, the growing sense of how close I’d come to not making it out alive. The whole night replayed in my mind—the way Darius had looked at me, his touch, his calm, focused stare. I’d been inches from death, and I’d been too distracted by the thrill of it to see.
The cop just shook his head, letting out a low chuckle that held no warmth. “You’re damn lucky, that’s what you are. First person to see him and make it out in one piece. Maybe now you’ll think twice.”
I nodded numbly, the truth sinking in like a lead weight. I’d made a stupid, impulsive choice, one that had almost cost me everything. I was alive—barely. And now, knowing what Darius had been planning, knowing what I’d almost let happen, I felt a chill that I knew wouldn’t go away anytime soon.
The ride back home felt like a dream—cold, unreal, my mind racing with everything I’d seen and heard. Terry kept glancing at me, but for once he didn’t say anything. I knew what he was thinking, though. We both knew how close I’d come.
Back at my place, the quiet felt suffocating, the shadows darker than they’d ever been. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched, that any second I’d look up and find those intense, unrelenting eyes staring back at me from the corner of the room.
Every creak of the floor, every distant sound outside made me jump. Darius’s face flashed in my mind, that smile, so calm, so sure. I’d trusted him, let him get close. And for what? A thrill?
Days passed, but the fear didn’t. I started keeping my blinds shut, checking every lock twice, my stomach twisting every time I got a call from an unknown number. Terry came over a few times, always watching me with that familiar, worried expression, but he didn’t push. I think he knew he didn’t have to.
At night, sleep felt impossible. Every shadow seemed to stretch and shift, and every barely open door or darkened hallway felt like a hiding place he could emerge from. I’d lie there, heart racing, eyes fixed on the corners of the room, waiting for the glint of his eyes in the darkness, convinced he’d slip out of the shadows at any moment. It was as if he was watching, somewhere just out of sight, waiting for the perfect moment to finish what he’d started.
Then one night, as I sat in the dark, trying to convince myself I’d gotten lucky, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.
I opened it, a cold dread washing over me as I read the message.
“I wasn’t finished with you. 😈”
My stomach dropped, my heart pounding as a second message followed—a photo of me, not from the bar, but from my own apartment. I was asleep, barely visible in the dim light, covers pulled up to my chest, completely unaware.
The realization hit hard, a wave of nausea twisting in my gut. He’d been here. Close enough to see me at my most vulnerable. I remembered the comfort of my bed, the illusion of safety that now felt shattered. Every trace of security was gone, replaced by a chilling sense of violation that made my skin crawl.
The phone slipped from my hand, a cold wave of terror washing over me as the realization set in. He’d been here. He was still out there. And he was watching.
All the safety I thought I had left was gone, shattered by that single, haunting image.
