Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 130761 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 654(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130761 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 654(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
Turning, I replied, “Then get the fuck back to the dorms and wait for us to come back.” His nostrils flared, and I knew the brother was seeing the slave bitches being dragged from pillar to post. He was rapidly losing his shit. I got in his face. “Get the fuck back to the dorms. Call Maddie, forget what you’ve seen and calm the fuck down. She’s safe. She ain’t here. She’s with Ash at your home.”
Lip curled, Flame spun on his heels and marched back to the dorms.
A guard was on us in seconds. “Where’s he going?”
I turned and faced the skinheaded fucker. “The man’s a fucking psycho. You want a bitch here sliced up and dead with blades in her eyes, you let him inside with one.” The guard narrowed his eyes at Flame’s retreating back. “We’re passing through Texas on orders from Beau Ayers. Earl’s a solider for the cause, just like us. But we need pussy. He doesn’t. He just needs blood and the kill. That’s his porn.”
“He better not be a fucking fag,” the guard snarled, disgust written all over his face.
“Please, feel free to go ask him if he’s a fag,” Cowboy offered casually, but his sadistic grin showed how pissed he was. “I dare ya.”
The guard let that shit sit with him for a second. “He kills Untermenschen good?”
“Real inventive. Let’s just leave it at that,” I replied. The guard practically got a fucking boner over the thought of Flame slicing through blacks and Jews.
I left the guard to his own fucked-up thoughts and joined the line for the barn. While we waited, I used the time to scan the town for Meister. There was no sign of him. It wasn’t until I saw a movement coming from the furthest shack that I stilled, my lungs stopping so my ears could hear nothing but the air around me. Meister turned the corner of the building whose sign read “Dentist”. The building we’d been told to stay away from.
But that’s not what had me frozen, senses alert and eyes tracking his every move. That was down to the fact he was carrying some skinny bitch in his arms, her body lapsed and head dropped to the side.
A bitch with red hair.
A bitch he took into the shack and shut the door to keep inside.
My heart slammed into a sprint as I re-ran the memory of Phebe through my mind. I’d seen her once, when we’d got Lilah back from almost being crucified. I’d almost killed her, thinking she was a threat. I’d put a gun to her head, but Ky said, “Listen, bitch, we’re gonna tie you up so you can’t go running back to Prophet Dumb-fuck and tell him we were here. You getting that through your fucked-up little brain?”
Her blue eyes closed. She was fucking shaking, then she splintered my fucking dead heart when she nodded, and said, “Just . . . just please get her away and safe. Next time, the Elders will not fail to kill her, truly.” I’d stared at her then, her eyes reopening. The bitch was crying, fucking standing up to us “Devil’s men” to protect Lilah. And something inside of me changed. I’d wanted to take her with us, and out of that fucking hellhole. I never thought much on why, but I’d regretted leaving her there ever since.
I ran her image through my head, comparing it to the bitch I’d seen in Meister’s arms. I closed my eyes and let my memory do what it had been trained to do. Her hair was the same shade of red, the length similar. I thought of her arms, their size and length. The bitch in Meister’s arms had been similar but she was thinner, a lot thinner.
My cheek twitched as a surge of anger swept through me. I shook my head to rid myself of the tightness in my chest. A good sniper never let emotion fuck with his head. Always objective, clinical, assessing.
I pictured her blue eyes. Those fucking ocean-blue eyes that had stared into mine. But the eyes of the red-haired bitch over Meister’s arms were closed.
Drugged? Unconscious? Knocked out? I didn’t know.
“Next,” a guard ordered, ripping me from my thoughts. I filed the details away for later when I was alone, when I could figure out all the information in my head. “Preference?” the guard asked. I shrugged, playing my part again.
“Just want pussy to nail,” I replied.
“Booth twenty-three,” he said. I set off down a narrow creaky hallway. Grunts and groans of men fucking their sluts filled my ears. Beds had been sectioned off by faded curtains, with handwritten numbers scrawled on scrap pieces of paper attached to the musty material. When I arrived at number twenty-three, I pulled back the curtain and stepped inside.