Chapter Three
AK
“I’ve created a background on y’all,” Tanner said as we read the files he’d given us. “I placed your information on the Klan’s intranet and shared files. There’re millions of people on there, so you’ll be lost among the names. I made you mid-level members—you should be let in, but not cause too much intrigue.”
I read my file again. Tanner had us as originally part of the Louisiana brotherhood. Cowboy’s Cajun accent would help with that. We were nomadic Klansmen, apparently. I hadn’t even known there was such a thing. Meant we drifted from state to state, helping the Klan “cause” wherever we were needed. Mobile soldiers.
“And this Beau Ayers, our supposed reference?” I asked. “Take it he’s a relative of yours?”
Tanner tensed. “My brother,” he eventually said, casually, as if the relationship meant nothing to him. But the way veins corded slightly in his neck told me otherwise.
“Let me guess, y’all ain’t too close now you’ve left the great white cause?” Cowboy drawled, as Hush watched the ex-Nazi with suspicious eyes. He ain’t ever trusted him fully. Couldn’t really blame the guy.
“Don’t speak no more,” Tanner said stiffly. “He was next in line to me. So now he’s the heir. He has top authority in the Klan circles along with my father and uncle. But he keeps to himself, ain’t too talkative. Signs off on orders through emails and shit. Perfect person to have given you the green light to head down here to Texas.”
Tanner leaned on the table, all business, emotion gone. “You show them your names on entrance. They’ll check them in the system, verify the memberships. You say you just got into town and need to unwind. And you want pussy. I’d go as far as to say you want pussy in all the fucked-up ways.”
I ground my hands together as I tried to imagine what kind of shit was going down in this so-called town. Tanner’s eyes shifted to each of us in turn. “Y’all got fake names. Remember them. Don’t use your road names—if all this goes down right and you get the bitch the fuck out, we want no traces.” Tanner’s assessing eyes flicked to Flame beside me. He was staring at the name on the file on front of him: Earl Brown.
I could read what was going through Tanner’s mind; it was going through mine too. We weren’t sure the brother was cut out for all this undercover shit.
“Carson Abney,” Tanner said to me. “Same background. Ex-Marine scout sniper, Special Ops. Same tours as you did. Means they can’t get your real records, so it works as our cover. Vike is Wade Bray, and Cowboy, Bryar Groves.”
Tanner looked at Hush. Hush stared back, one cocky eyebrow raised. “What? No white-trash redneck pseudonym for me, mon frère?”
Tanner’s jaw clenched. “You walk in there and these fuckers will lynch you on the spot.”
“Fun,” Hush said dryly.
“You stay close, at a nearby motel.” I nodded at my mixed-race brother. “We’ll need a distraction at some point. You’ll be it.”
“Black bait?” He smiled, his blue eyes lighting up with excitement. “You mean I’ll get to toy with the big, bad Aryans?” He shifted in his seat. “Shit, my massive black dick just got real hard. Bet Meister and his henchmen would just love to suck on that.”
Cowboy laughed, then laughed even harder when Vike leaned around me to look at Hush and asked, “That true, blue eyes? You hung?”
“Like a motherfucking horse,” Hush quipped.
Vike shook his head and looked at Cowboy. “Shit, brother. I’m surprised you can even sit down if you get pounded by that battering ram on the daily.”
I rolled my eyes and shut the fucking room up before it could turn into a Viking-Cowboy pissing contest. “When do we go in?”
“Y’all are ready to go whenever you want,” Tanner said.
“Then we go tonight.” I met each of my brothers’ eyes. “Hush, you take the van. We might need it. The rest of us will take a truck. Got a piece-of-shit one that just came into the shop. Banged up and stolen—untraceable back to us.”
My brothers nodded. Styx and Ky walked through the door. “You set?” Ky asked, pointing at the files in our hands.
“Going tonight. Might be a few days. Going dark.”
“You need us, you get word to us and we’ll come in guns blazing to get you out,” Styx signed.
I nodded again, then looked at Ky. “Don’t tell your old lady none of this shit. We’re going in to get her sister, but if this Meister dick is doing what we suspect he is, ain’t no guarantee Red’ll be coming home. And if we do find her and get her the hell out, don’t think we should bring the fucking welcome committee until we know she ain’t at death’s door.”
Ky stayed silent for a few seconds, but then nodded his agreement. “The minute you get out, you let me know what’s happening. Alive or dead, I wanna know.”
“You got it,” I replied.
Styx raised his hands. “Something don’t feel right, get the fuck gone. If Phebe is there but you can’t get to her, come back and we’ll figure something else out.” He smirked. “Basically, just don’t fucking die. Ain’t got time to replace you stupid pieces of shit. Yeah?”
“Got it, Prez,” Vike said with a crisp salute.
I led us out of the clubhouse. I turned to Cowboy and Hush as I lit up a much-needed smoke. “Come down to our cabins in an hour. Hush, bring the van. Cowboy, bring the truck. Tank has the keys.”
We had a Klan town to infiltrate.
*****
“You know we’ll have to fuck these whores when we’re there, right?” I said and instantly felt the truck frost over.
“I ain’t fucking no whore pussy,” Flame spat out. He shifted in his seat in agitation.
“We’ll just warn them right off the bat that Earl here is a fucking nut job and don’t touch women unless to send them to the boatman. They’ll take one look at him and believe it,” Viking said. “Klan’s gotta love psychos, right?”
“You expect us to fuck these bitches?” Cowboy asked, his leather Stetson pulled low on his forehead. “Not sure about you assholes, but I ain’t into fucking drugged-up sluts. Club sluts, whores and shit are a-okay. But rape ain’t my flavor.”
“Pussy ain’t your flavor at all, is it?” Vike turned to face the back seat. “Ain’t the taste of salty cum on your tongue more your thing, mon frère?”
I rolled my eyes as Viking ran his tongue round his lips, and waited for our Cajun brother to bite back.
“Depends on the cock the cum’s spurting from.” Cowboy leaned forward until he was just inches from Vike’s now shocked-as-hell face. “You get a dude who’s just eaten pineapple, and fuck—” he shook his head and wiggled his eyebrows “—I could lap that shit up all day.”
I laughed my ass off as Vike choked on a cough, a disgusted expression on his face. Cowboy just stared at him, flapping his tongue.
“You’re fucking with me, right?” Vike asked.
Cowboy just shrugged and sat back in his seat, casual as fuck.
“You are though, right? We all saw you become a weeping pussy for Ky’s sister at his wedding.” Cowboy ignored him to look out the window. “But seriously,” Vike pushed, unable to let anything go, “you gotta like pussy. I could feast on that shit all day—breakfast, lunch, dinner. All-you-can-eat buffet, ya know?”
“Fuck, Vike! Shut up. The visual of you going down on anyone makes me wanna stab out my goddamn eyes,” I spat.
“Whatever, bitch. You just ain’t got the tornado-tongue talent like me. Clit, slit, spit—in that motherfucking order. Gets those bitches squirting for days. Love a good face spray. It stays in my beard for at least a week.”
Before the puke had a chance to crawl its way up my throat, I saw two flags in the distance, waving in the breeze. Ice crawled over my skin. I knew where those flags were from—the ghost town.
“This it?” Cowboy scanned the barren surroundings.
“According to Tanner.” I replied. “We all ready?”
All my brothers nodded. We arrived at the gate. The moment the guard left his post and approached, I felt the need to kill rush through me. With every step he took, I envisioned my fist hitting his square jaw, jumping on him as he hit the ground. I imagined sliding my knife from my pocket then pushing it through his still-beating heart.
This prick was Klan all right. The guard was pushing some serious ’roids, a semi-automatic in his hands, knives in his belt. His head was shaved, his white shirt pulled tight over his blown-up chest, and his pants were tucked into his shitkicker boots. The four of us were also wearing variations of this uniform—black cargo pants or jeans, military boots, and white shirts or tanks.
“What the fuck do you want?” the fucker demanded.
“Here on a rec from Beau Ayers,” I replied casually. I held out my doctored Aryan Brotherhood card Tanner had forged, and the ’roid-head took it from my hand.
He checked my name then leaned in, beckoning with his fingers for the others to hand over their cards. He took the cards into his small office. I watched with rapt attention as he entered the numbers and names into a computer.
“Cowboy?” Vike said under his breath. Cowboy frowned at Vike and his totally inappropriate timing. “That pineapple-cum thing? Does eating it really make your juice taste the shit?”
“Vike,” I hissed. I grabbed his arm and wrenched him to sit forward in his seat.
“What?” he asked. “If it’ll get more club sluts munching on my junk, like my love juice is pumped with piña colada, then you bet I’ll be eating my weight in the good stuff!”
I kept my hand clenched on the wheel, subtly lashing out and slamming my fist into Vike’s thigh as the ’roided fucker came back.
“Marines?” he asked. I nodded.
“Sniper.” I clocked the same tattoo on his forearm as I had on mine.
“WMDs,” he confirmed, then nodded at me as a sign of respect. He looked into the truck. “Fuck up the rules, you won’t be leaving. We run a tight ship. Ain’t no brother above Meister’s law.”
The guard moved back and tapped the roof of the truck cab. The barrier lifted, and we pulled out onto a dirt track that stretched on for a good few miles. The two flags I had seen from the road came into view—the Texan Lone Star flag, and the Stars and Stripes. Then as we turned the corner, smaller flags began to appear. Swastika, Confederate, and the white cross of the KKK.
“Shit,” Viking said quietly.
A clone of the ’roid, armed with exactly the same gun, signaled us to a parking lot. Dozens of trucks were parked up. “Busy weekend,” Vike commented. Dark had set in, and as we got out of the truck, the smell of burning wood filled the air.
“There’s a rally,” I said under my breath.
The guard approached and flicked his chin. “Missed the start of the rally. Go in and you’ll be shown to your rooms. The rally is on the far field. Just follow the path, then you get to choose your pussy and shack.”
I nodded as if I knew what the fuck he was talking about. I didn’t. “A shack?” Cowboy said quietly as we made our way to the entrance.
“Guess we’re about to find out,” I answered under my breath.
Then we entered the town.
Our digs were basic—single, dorm-style rooms, side by side. Vike and Flame were beside me, Cowboy on the other side of Vike. We dumped our bags then headed outside.
“It’s like there’s been a fucking nuclear apocalypse or some shit,” Vike said as we looked around the town. Old buildings were littered around the desolate land. A bar sat at the end; a long barn took up the east side. I narrowed my eyes, looking for signs of life. The windows of all the buildings were barred up, and apart from a few guards, there was no one around.
One of the guards approached us. “Rally’s that way. Pussy afterward.” We walked toward the field. Didn’t need no directions, simply had to follow the orange glows coming from the Klan fires.
“Remember the salutes,” I said, checking behind me to make sure the guard was out of earshot. “Left arm out, fingers spread in the middle, right hand making a ‘K’ against your stomach. If they give the Texan Aryan Brotherhood salute, raise your index finger, ring and little finger on one hand in response. Tanner said it’ll be mainly guards who greet each other this way, but be aware just in case. And if they raise the standard right-arm Nazi salute, repeat and reply with ‘Heil Hitler,’ ‘Sieg Heil’ or ‘White Power’—it’ll be easy, just repeat what they say.”
“Shit.” Vike shook his head. “What’s with all the sign language crap? Maybe Styx should have come.”
“Christ knows,” I replied as we turned the corner.
Flame growled low in his throat at what lay before us. About forty or so men, dressed in standard shirts and jeans and, of course, there were the hooded men, a sea of cone-headed white hoods. My hands balled into fists when I saw a huge motherfucker in the center of the circle, standing right in front of a burning cross.
Meister.
I assessed the surroundings, noting the potential exits if shit went south. I led the way and joined the circle of men. Several greeted us with the standard Klan salute of a left arm raised. I had to force myself not spit in the face of every smug bastard that flicked his head my way.
But we returned the salutes and watched as Meister spoke over the crackling of the burning wood.
“A race war is coming, and we must be prepared. The white race will reign supreme once again, and we will end them all—the blacks, the Jews, the Muslims, and any other fucking inferior cunts that try to infiltrate our lands.” His blue eyes were wide with excitement as he looked at each of our faces and nodded, a smile building on his lips. “Gone are the days of street thugs and skinheads, of smashing windows and rioting through cities. We are building an army for the fight. You’ve seen the news, heard the reports—the whites are finally on the rise. And we will prevail! We are strong! We are pure! And we will rise!”
The men around us raised their hands into the air, shouts of “White Power” pouring from their lips.
We shouted back, repeating the mantra over and over again until Meister called for the rally to end. The guards ushered the throng back to the center of town. I signaled for Vike, Flame and Cowboy to hang back. I wanted to track Meister. I wanted to see where he went. If there would be any obvious sign of Phebe.
We spoke in a tight group, pretending to talk, until a guard came with his gun to guide us back to the path away from the field. I kept my attention locked on Meister as he fell into step behind us. I tried to hear what he and the guard were saying, but they were too far away. I couldn’t get near the fucker.
The blood rushed through my veins as we entered the town. The lifeless wasteland was now brimming with activity. Men who had been at the rally entered buildings, some on their own, some in small groups. Then there was the line that had formed at a large barn. Fucking chaotic.
“What the fuck is happening?” Vike asked, exasperated, as we stopped outside our dorm. On cue, a guard stepped out of a shack, dragging a bitch in his wake. And then more guards brought more bitches out of more shacks. My gut clenched. All the women were dressed in almost-transparent white dresses, and all looked like they were being put through some serious shit.
Flame rocked on his feet beside me, his knife running along his arms, tracing the long scars he already had. Only these knives weren’t dull like the ones he’d used lately. They were sharp and they were fucking ready. He ran the tips over his skin, but he didn’t break the flesh.
Yet.
Looking at the brother’s eyes, I saw a glimpse of the pre-Maddie Flame. I saw the fucked-up kid I rescued all those years ago rising from his sleep.
I searched through the sea of blondes and brunettes, looking for any flash of red. But there was fucking none.
“Jesus Christ,” Cowboy whispered, as we watched bitches being pushed into shacks with men, the doors slamming shut, sealing them inside.
“Look alive,” I said quietly as a guard came over. “You’re late, which means all the solo shacks are taken.” He eyeballed us all, then pointed to a small cabin on the west side. “Pay your dues. He’ll tell you the rest.”
We headed to the cabin, where a thin white cunt with glasses sat behind a desk. Without looking up, he said, “Two thousand each for three days. Any way you want for as long as you want—excluding Meister’s rallies, of course. They’re obligatory. Rubbers required at all times. Don’t obey the rules, face the punishment.” I reached into my pocket and slammed my cash on the table. My brothers followed suit.
“You want to book specific shacks, do it on a morning. I’m here from nine a.m.” He typed something on his computer, but never looked up at us. “Dentist shack is out of bounds this weekend. Don’t even attempt to go inside.”
He reached out and collected the wads of money. “The barn is open tonight. Line up and you’ll be taken to a whore. You want young pussy, we have ones starting at fourteen. Younger can be arranged at extra cost.” He paused. “Lines are longer for them. Tough shit.”
I felt Flame tense beside me and his arm shake in rage.
“Heil Hitler,” the man said in dismissal and gave a lackluster left-handed salute. We repeated, “Heil Hitler,” then got the fuck out.
As we walked down the road toward the barn, I scanned the area, my Special Ops sniper training springing into full effect. The sounds of fucking and screaming spilled from the shacks. The line for the barn was shorter now. I headed in that direction.
“Get inside with a bitch,” I muttered. “Stay for a while, then leave. And for Christ’s sake look like you fucked the slut.”
“I ain’t fucking no bitch!” Flame came to a dead stop, face blazing red.
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.
I drew in a sharp breath as I laid eyes on a bitch lying in the center of what looked like a small hospital bed. She was naked, her bones jutting out under her white-as-fuck skin. Her dark hair was slicked with sweat and dirt. Her eyes rolled as she fell in and out of consciousness, her head restless on the thin, drool-stained pillow beneath her. An IV was in the vein of her skinny, upturned arm, and a bag hung on a stand at her side.
Heroin, I assumed. Knew traffickers pulled that shit on the regular. Kept their captives docile.
I closed my eyes to keep my shit together, to keep my hand from reaching for my gun and going postal on these fuckers, adding to my record of 132 confirmed kills—the sniper in me couldn’t help but keep track of each heart I’d stopped. The psycho within fucking liked to.
The sound of some cunt coming next door made my eyes snap open. The bedsprings groaned under the rapid movement of his hips, and his breath came in short bursts. I imagined some pasty, overweight Klan fucker slumping, exhausted, over a fourteen-year-old kid. His putrid breath blowing on her passed-out face, his sweat dripping onto her bruised skin.
Calm, I ordered myself.
Unable to look down at the young trafficked bitch on the bed, I sat down on the edge of the mattress and tipped my head into my hands. Keep your shit together, Xavier Deyes. I took my head to where it needed to be . . .
The sweltering sun pounded down on my back as I waited, unmoving, for one of the fuckers to appear. “Two o’clock,” Bones said from beside me. I shifted, moving my gun to the new position. Through a small window, I saw a flicker of movement and braced my finger for the shot. “Wait . . . wait . . .” Bones said. “Now.” I shot a bullet straight through the window and into the fucker’s head.
“Direct hit,” Bones said under his breath, but I could hear his fucking joy. Direct hit . . .
I pictured the dusty, arid land, not too dissimilar to this fucking hellhole, in my head, pictured myself taking the shot, and let the calmness and training from my sniper days fill my every cell.
I pictured the map of the ghost town, plotting every detail of its layout. I saw myself standing at the corner of the main street, staring at the town from the side of this barn. Three guards walked the rooftops. The road was a mile long, around one hundred yards wide. The saloon was the busiest area. Two exits—the main entrance and a side door to the left. Three locks—one bolt, two padlocks.
I imagined staring at the dentist building. One way in and one way out. The entire building no more than one hundred and twenty-four square feet. One window in the front wall that was partially blocked by bars and dirt. Tin roof and decaying wooden walls.
Then I pictured the best spot to shoot from in this town. High range, southeast. Clear shot for almost every conceivable angle.
I blinked as I pulled myself from the depths of my mind. My hand ran over the handle of my gun. My foot tapped on the floor. A moan came from behind me, and I glanced at the drugged-up bitch on the bed. Whether I wanted them or not, flashes from the past came slamming to my head like a damn battering ram.
I tried to push the punishing sounds of gargling, of choking, from my ears. But the fucking memories came as fast as the bullets from an Uzi. When I opened my eyes, my always-steady firing hand was shaking. I curled my fingers into my palm and forced myself to look at the Klan-made whore on the bed.
Track marks ran like red stripes over her crepe-thin skin. Her lips were dry and cracked, and lesions mottled the ashen skin on her cheeks. Bruises created a palette of black, blue and yellow on her inner thighs, and I couldn’t even bring myself to look at the state of what lay north of that.
As I got to my feet, I ran my hand through my hair and scruffed up the long strands. I rubbed my hands over my face to make them look red, and lastly, dipped my fingers in the small water basin that sat beside the bed. I opened the rubber that was on the side of the bed, wrapped it in a tissue and tossed it into the trash. The can was already brimful of used rubbers.
I took one last look at the bitch on the bed and a pit caved in my stomach. She was here for the use of the paying Klansmen. And she looked a fucking state. What the fuck was Phebe gonna look like when I got to her? What the hell kinda drug concoction would she be on? Because I fucking would get to her. Even if I had to take out Meister with a single shot between the eyes.
End his reign as the head of Klan Kunt.
Then see if whatever was left of Red would be salvageable.
After this, I wasn’t holding out too much hope . . .
. . . but I had to try.