Damnable Grace
Page 20
Meister’s eyes lit up. “He likes to kill?” he asked me, as though Flame were his new favorite toy.
“I live for it,” Flame snarled, then, as if to prove he was the psycho I’d made him out to be, he dragged his blade down his arm, hissing and getting fucking hard when the blood began to pour.
Meister clicked his fingers at Himmler. No less than two minutes later, Himmler dragged in another man kicking and screaming. “This one was with the other. He killed one of my best sluts today, fucked her so hard the bitch bled out. I was going to leave killing this fucker until later tonight when I was bored.” He paused, a cold smile on his lips as Flame’s attention fell to the accused man. “But now I’m thinking you might want a taste of his blood.”
If Flame was waiting for a green light, that was as much as he needed. He leaped out of his chair and charged across the rapidly filling bar. As he passed me, I heard him say “Maddie” under his breath. Then his blades were drawn, and before Himmler could even let the guy go, Flame had slit his throat with one blade and sliced across his gut with the other.
The man gargled as he choked on his own blood, as his innards began slipping from his stomach. Himmler released the walking-dead prick, and he fell to the floor. Flame didn’t let up, slicing and stabbing until the body no longer resembled anything but a bloodied pile of meat.
Meister practically got a boner for Flame’s kill.
I knew Flame was seeing Maddie in the slut’s place. Meister was lucky Flame had managed to sway his anger from him and onto the redneck.
Flame stepped back, panting, chest heaving, his tatted arms covered in blood and his wife-beater a bright shade of red. Meister clapped his hands, laughing, and signaled for more drinks.
“It’s no wonder Beau called you to Texas.” Flame looked my way, and I indicated for him to sit. Thank fuck the fucker did as I asked.
About an hour passed of Meister talking about nothing but white-power politics and the details of how he thought the coming race war was gonna go down. He boasted that the town funded firearms and any other fucking Nazi shit the Klan could think of to acquire.
Night fell.
Men got wasted.
Music blared.
Then Meister clicked his fingers.
I had no idea what the fuck he’d ordered Himmler to do this time, but a few minutes later, Himmler came back into the bar, dragging a drugged slut toward us.
A skinny slut with pale skin. Dressed in a soiled white dress. Fucking flame-red hair, and freckles on her face.
My chest tightened, my palms sweated and it took everything I had not to get up from my seat and drag the bitch from Himmler’s arms. Meister pushed back his chair, and Himmler dropped her onto Meister’s lap.
Meister gripped her hair and wrenched up her face. All the fucking air slipped from my lungs . . .
. . . the slut was Phebe.
“Real pretty, ain’t she?” Meister said. Phebe’s head lolled under his grip, her blue eyes unable to focus. Mark after mark mottled the skin on her arms. Needle marks. Her long red hair was greasy and riddled with dirt; her see-through dress showed her tits and pussy underneath. Bones jutted out at every angle.
But worse was her face. Swollen eyes, bloodied, cracked lips, and bruises—old and new—marring her cheeks and jaw.
The bitch was a mess.
A moan slipped from Phebe’s mouth as Meister ran his hand down her chest and palmed her tit. His lips traced down the side of her neck, and the bitch tilted her head to the side to allow the fucker to lick along her sweat-coated skin. She cried out in pain as his teeth bit into her, leaving an angry, red mark.
Viking shifted on the seat behind me and coughed. I knew he was trying to say something. He subtly tipped his head toward the rest of the room. The brother’s face would have looked neutral to anyone else, but I knew the fucker was livid.
I looked around to see several bitches, dressed similarly to Phebe, being brought to men, the men pulling them onto their laps, doing whatever the fuck they wanted to them.
“You want one, just pick,” Meister said. He raised a brow at me. I tried to form an answer, but I had to work real hard just to keep my shit together when I saw Phebe’s dress was pulled up, baring her pussy. Meister’s hand was between her legs, his finger pumping inside.
“Maybe later,” I managed to say. But I was fucking seething inside. Sick, murderous thoughts were zipping through my skull, all with Meister’s dead body at the center. All with his pale-ass skin coated in his blood and his eyes gouged out by the tip of my knife.
Flame’s chair flew back, and suddenly my brother was on his feet and storming out the door. “What the fuck’s his problem?” Himmler asked from beside Meister. The fucker hadn’t stopped watching any of us.
“Ain’t good with crowds,” Cowboy answered.
“Who gives a fuck? Look at how he kills. Who gives a shit if he isn’t into public pussy?” Meister winked at me, then he placed his hands on Phebe’s cheeks and turned her head to face me. She flinched and moaned, her eyes struggling to focus. I wasn’t sure if it was due to Meister’s hand being all up in her pussy or the hard grip he had on her face.
Probably both.
“This is the fucking promised land, Carson. All of this is our reward for our service to our race, the service we gave to our country. We can take what we want, when we want.” He smiled. “Watch.”
Meister reached to the front of Phebe’s dress and ripped the material open. The scraps fell to the floor, leaving Phebe’s too-thin body exposed. There wasn’t an inch of her that wasn’t marked.
“This slut is mine. But she tried to disobey me, tried to fight back, so I’ve been schooling her on how to behave.” He turned Phebe’s mouth to his and bit down on her bottom lip. She cried out, her body jerking. He laughed. “Haven’t I, Phebe? Showing you who the fuck you belong to, in the dentist shack?”
His face morphed into a strict expression. “Who do you belong to?” he demanded.
Every one of my muscles tensed when she said softly, as if by rote, “Meister.”
“Good girl.” He pushed her to her feet. “So show me.” He leaned forward. “Show me how much you love me.”
Phebe got up from his lap and turned to face him, a fucking puppet on a string. She leaned forward, her ass in the air. I gripped the arms of my chair, almost ripping the fucking wood clean off when I saw that he’d been teaching her lessons, all right. In every fucking orifice.
“I live for it,” Flame snarled, then, as if to prove he was the psycho I’d made him out to be, he dragged his blade down his arm, hissing and getting fucking hard when the blood began to pour.
Meister clicked his fingers at Himmler. No less than two minutes later, Himmler dragged in another man kicking and screaming. “This one was with the other. He killed one of my best sluts today, fucked her so hard the bitch bled out. I was going to leave killing this fucker until later tonight when I was bored.” He paused, a cold smile on his lips as Flame’s attention fell to the accused man. “But now I’m thinking you might want a taste of his blood.”
If Flame was waiting for a green light, that was as much as he needed. He leaped out of his chair and charged across the rapidly filling bar. As he passed me, I heard him say “Maddie” under his breath. Then his blades were drawn, and before Himmler could even let the guy go, Flame had slit his throat with one blade and sliced across his gut with the other.
The man gargled as he choked on his own blood, as his innards began slipping from his stomach. Himmler released the walking-dead prick, and he fell to the floor. Flame didn’t let up, slicing and stabbing until the body no longer resembled anything but a bloodied pile of meat.
Meister practically got a boner for Flame’s kill.
I knew Flame was seeing Maddie in the slut’s place. Meister was lucky Flame had managed to sway his anger from him and onto the redneck.
Flame stepped back, panting, chest heaving, his tatted arms covered in blood and his wife-beater a bright shade of red. Meister clapped his hands, laughing, and signaled for more drinks.
“It’s no wonder Beau called you to Texas.” Flame looked my way, and I indicated for him to sit. Thank fuck the fucker did as I asked.
About an hour passed of Meister talking about nothing but white-power politics and the details of how he thought the coming race war was gonna go down. He boasted that the town funded firearms and any other fucking Nazi shit the Klan could think of to acquire.
Night fell.
Men got wasted.
Music blared.
Then Meister clicked his fingers.
I had no idea what the fuck he’d ordered Himmler to do this time, but a few minutes later, Himmler came back into the bar, dragging a drugged slut toward us.
A skinny slut with pale skin. Dressed in a soiled white dress. Fucking flame-red hair, and freckles on her face.
My chest tightened, my palms sweated and it took everything I had not to get up from my seat and drag the bitch from Himmler’s arms. Meister pushed back his chair, and Himmler dropped her onto Meister’s lap.
Meister gripped her hair and wrenched up her face. All the fucking air slipped from my lungs . . .
. . . the slut was Phebe.
“Real pretty, ain’t she?” Meister said. Phebe’s head lolled under his grip, her blue eyes unable to focus. Mark after mark mottled the skin on her arms. Needle marks. Her long red hair was greasy and riddled with dirt; her see-through dress showed her tits and pussy underneath. Bones jutted out at every angle.
But worse was her face. Swollen eyes, bloodied, cracked lips, and bruises—old and new—marring her cheeks and jaw.
The bitch was a mess.
A moan slipped from Phebe’s mouth as Meister ran his hand down her chest and palmed her tit. His lips traced down the side of her neck, and the bitch tilted her head to the side to allow the fucker to lick along her sweat-coated skin. She cried out in pain as his teeth bit into her, leaving an angry, red mark.
Viking shifted on the seat behind me and coughed. I knew he was trying to say something. He subtly tipped his head toward the rest of the room. The brother’s face would have looked neutral to anyone else, but I knew the fucker was livid.
I looked around to see several bitches, dressed similarly to Phebe, being brought to men, the men pulling them onto their laps, doing whatever the fuck they wanted to them.
“You want one, just pick,” Meister said. He raised a brow at me. I tried to form an answer, but I had to work real hard just to keep my shit together when I saw Phebe’s dress was pulled up, baring her pussy. Meister’s hand was between her legs, his finger pumping inside.
“Maybe later,” I managed to say. But I was fucking seething inside. Sick, murderous thoughts were zipping through my skull, all with Meister’s dead body at the center. All with his pale-ass skin coated in his blood and his eyes gouged out by the tip of my knife.
Flame’s chair flew back, and suddenly my brother was on his feet and storming out the door. “What the fuck’s his problem?” Himmler asked from beside Meister. The fucker hadn’t stopped watching any of us.
“Ain’t good with crowds,” Cowboy answered.
“Who gives a fuck? Look at how he kills. Who gives a shit if he isn’t into public pussy?” Meister winked at me, then he placed his hands on Phebe’s cheeks and turned her head to face me. She flinched and moaned, her eyes struggling to focus. I wasn’t sure if it was due to Meister’s hand being all up in her pussy or the hard grip he had on her face.
Probably both.
“This is the fucking promised land, Carson. All of this is our reward for our service to our race, the service we gave to our country. We can take what we want, when we want.” He smiled. “Watch.”
Meister reached to the front of Phebe’s dress and ripped the material open. The scraps fell to the floor, leaving Phebe’s too-thin body exposed. There wasn’t an inch of her that wasn’t marked.
“This slut is mine. But she tried to disobey me, tried to fight back, so I’ve been schooling her on how to behave.” He turned Phebe’s mouth to his and bit down on her bottom lip. She cried out, her body jerking. He laughed. “Haven’t I, Phebe? Showing you who the fuck you belong to, in the dentist shack?”
His face morphed into a strict expression. “Who do you belong to?” he demanded.
Every one of my muscles tensed when she said softly, as if by rote, “Meister.”
“Good girl.” He pushed her to her feet. “So show me.” He leaned forward. “Show me how much you love me.”
Phebe got up from his lap and turned to face him, a fucking puppet on a string. She leaned forward, her ass in the air. I gripped the arms of my chair, almost ripping the fucking wood clean off when I saw that he’d been teaching her lessons, all right. In every fucking orifice.
