Stepping out of the shower, Trent stood in the tiny bathroom, dripping water on the floor. The small sink counter top overflowed with a menagerie of bottles and jars. Dirty clothes lay piled in the corner. Spying a towel in the stack of soiled clothes, he picked it up and towel-dried his hair before wrapping it around his waist. He wiped the steam from the mirror and stared at his reflection. Running his hand across the dark stubble on his face, he debated whether to shave.

"Well, Trent, my man, it comes down to sex with Sherrie or a beer with the remote. The way I see it, that's a no brainer." Chuckling, he rummaged through the bottles of lotions and colognes looking for a stray razor. Finding one that looked useable, he lathered his face and shaved.

"Smooth as a baby's butt." Slapping aftershave on his face, he ran a comb through his hair and admired his reflection. "Lookin' good."

After Reilly divorced him, his life slid downhill. His career as a stock market analyst plummeted with the market crash. His lifestyle of gambling and fast women remained intact until his "nest egg" finally ran out. In desperation, he sold his BMW to pay off gambling debts, only to turn around and make more. Old friends suddenly turned their heads, not recognizing him. A two-room apartment, not much bigger than a cardboard box, replaced the state-of-the-art bachelor pad. Hitting rock bottom, he sat in a corner bar, drowning his sorrows, when Sherrie plopped down beside him. She stroked his ego, or maybe it was his manhood, until he took her home with him.

Streetwise and able to turn a quick trick, Sherrie made enough money to put a meager meal on their table and buy her favorite bottles of wine. Trent's worthless job at the cafe paid the rent. Yesterday, he was fired, but he hadn't told her yet.

Sherrie stretched her long, lanky body across the bed. The steamy romance novel she'd been reading made her blood run hot and she needed her man. She moved her hand back and forth between her thighs.

"Trent, honey, how long you planning on keeping a lady waiting?" Her voice oozed like honey.

The bathroom door opened, letting the steam escape. He stood in the doorway wearing only the towel. His muscles rippled across his chest. A failure by most accounts, his boyish grin and muscular physique still demanded a second glance by most women, Sherrie included.

She moved cat-like across the room, stopping mere inches from him. He felt her warm breath against his damp skin. Her fingers touched his cheek, tracing the outline of his lips with her fingertips, and then, moving slowly across his chest, continuing down toward the towel. Slipping her fingers under the towel, she caressed his naked skin, purposely ignoring his erection. His hands grasped her head, twisting her vibrant red locks between his fingers. Kneeling, she removed the towel with her teeth, placing her hands on the back of his bare legs. Her lizard-like tongue flicked his manhood, teasing him, reveling in her power. His ragged breath filled the room.

Unable to bear the torture any longer, he pulled her to him, his mouth latching on to her breast. Sliding his hands under her tight bottom, he lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he slowly slid into her. She was warm and soft. Turning, he put her back against the wall and began to pump, harder and harder until she screamed in ecstasy. Like a bomb detonating, he exploded inside her.

Depleted for the moment, he carried her across the room, laying her gently on the bed. He was a jerk in many ways, but he knew how to treat a woman until they were both satisfied. Slowly he started kissing, licking, sucking every inch of her body until she moaned, begging him to take her. He plunged into her again and again until they simultaneously climaxed together. She screamed in wild abandon as he continued to pump into her, finally collapsing in exhaustion. For several minutes, they both lay limp across the bed, satisfied.

Brushing her forehead with a kiss, Trent reached for the remote, turning on the television. Sitting on the bed, he lit a cigarette, taking a long drag before blowing out the smoke. He was more relaxed than he'd been in a long while. The sex had definitely been good.

Daydreaming, he jumped when the telephone rang. Irritated by the unwelcome disturbance, he grabbed the receiver and snarled, "Hello!"

He quickly followed the abrupt hello with an apology. "Oh, Shaker, sorry man, I didn't know it was you. Me and the woman were just getting it on and well, you know."

"You're into me for 10 big ones, my man. Cause we been friends for a long time, I'm delivering this message personally." Shaker was hard-core. He was climbing the ladder fast and being easy on people wasn't his style. There wasn't any proof, but the street said he'd knocked off two people for falling behind on payments. "I'm going to extend you the courtesy of living until Friday. I expect the 10 you owe me plus another thousand in interest. Am I making myself clear?"

"Shake, can't you cut me some slack? I can't get my hands on that kind of money, right now."

"That's your problem. You've got till Friday."

The line went dead and Trent hung up the phone, visibly shaken. He lit another cigarette, smoking it in silence before grinding the butt in the ashtray. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead.  

The Early Morning News was on the television. Pictures of the courthouse and Max flashed across the screen as the reporter verified that the jury would be announcing the verdict this morning. Footage of Reilly talking on the courthouse steps caught Trent's attention.

"Look at that bitch. She's got everything, money, a fancy house, high-powered friends. Things that were mine. I am living like yesterday's trash." Reilly's success and his failures always ate at him, but today, he couldn't control his anger. Jumping off the bed, he threw the table lamp across the room. It crashed into the wall, shattering into pieces. He was acting like a cornered bull, snorting through his nostrils, stomping the ground, waiting to gore his opponent. "I deserve some of that dough. Why should she have everything?"

Sherrie tiptoed up behind him and began massaging his shoulders, trying to ease his tension.

"You okay, honey?" Tugging gently on his arm, she coaxed him back toward the bed. "What's got you all riled up?"

Trent's shoulders sagged as he dropped to the edge of the bed, overwhelmed and scared. "I'm a walking dead man. Shaker wants his money by Friday or else."

"My God, you don't have that kind of dough. Can you get it from your ex-wife?"

"Haven't talked to her in six years or seen the kid. Besides, we didn't part on friendly terms. She'd probably rather see me dead then give me money."

She didn't answer; her eyes remained glued to the television screen. Footage of the discovery of the little girls' bodies played while a reporter explained that authorities believed a serial killer, preying on young girls, was at large.

"Bet those families would pay plenty to get their daughters back alive."

Preoccupied with his own thoughts, Trent didn't hear her.