She was mentally transported for an instant to the old castle in Herculis. She would buy a Greyhound ticket to New Orleans, make a kill or two, then travel into Texas and seduce some wandering man into taking her to Mexico, feast upon him once they got there. My father was Colonel Pellissier. Piercing through every crevice in the clothes, it, in some cases, tore them from the wearer's limbs, or from his grasp. She felt his erection against her naked thigh. “Ohmigod, Katy, you fucking killed her!” A trio of girls sniggered. “I’ve plenty of pals,” he said, “who, when they’ve been doing Paris on the Q.
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