Chapter Four
AK
I burst through the doors of the dorm to see Cowboy sitting on the floor outside our rooms. His Stetson was in his hands, his blond hair sticking up in all directions, and he was staring at a spot of dirt on the opposite wall. He looked up when I kicked his thigh with the tip of my boot.
His face was like thunder as his blue eyes met mine. He got to his feet. “What now?” he asked coldly.
“Where’s Vike?”
Cowboy tipped his head toward Vike’s room. The door was shut. I brushed past Cowboy, hearing his footsteps following behind me. I opened the door and saw my brother sitting on his bed. His huge arms were tense under his tight shirt. His hair was scraped back into a bun on the top of his head. And for once in his fucking dumb life he wasn’t laughing. He looked me dead in the eyes. “I’ve done some fucked-up shit in my life, can kill without remorse, fuck any kind of bitch in all different ways, but what they’ve got those bitches doing in this place makes me wanna cut off some cocks and eat them for breakfast.”
“Keep your shit together.” I looked at Cowboy. “Both of you. Get some sleep. Tomorrow we get into that fucking saloon. I need to scope this place some more. I’m gonna try to get a shack, the barber shack. I need to get as close to the dentist shack as I can.”
“You’ve seen her?” Vike asked, his voice harder than normal.
“Saw Meister carrying a redhead into the dentist cabin. Her weight was different to when we last saw Phebe, but I’m pretty fucking sure it’s her.” I ran my hand down my face. “Go into the barn again tomorrow. Same shit, different day. Once I get a visual on her, confirmation she’s here, and I’ve got a full assessment of the layout and the guards’ shift patterns, I’ll get my shit together and work up a plan to get her out.”
Vike and Cowboy nodded. I went back toward my room but stopped outside Flame’s. I silently opened the door and looked inside. My fucking chest tightened when I saw him, shirt off, sitting on the cold, hard floor. His head was tipped down, and blood trickled around him from the freshly cut slashes on his arm.
A jet-black soulless gaze met mine. I entered the room and shut the door. Before I even had a chance to speak, Flame growled, “I don’t fucking like it here.” He shook his head, and his lips curled over his teeth. “They need to die. They all need to die.” Flame hissed as he cut into his forearm. “I need to kill them.”
There was the old Flame, the one I knew better than the calmer brother he’d been lately. “And you’ll get your chance,” I promised. “You just need to give me time.”
Flame glared at me, reading my face. When he’d made eye contact too long, he dropped his eyes and said, “Just get me a fucking kill.” His face tightened. “I . . . I can’t help what I’ll do if you don’t.”
Back in my room, I slumped on the bed and dropped my head back against the headboard. I closed my eyes. Then, like they did every night, the fucking storm of memories came crashing in; guilt and shame ran through my every fiber. Visions of blood drowned my mind and choked the breath from my lungs . . .
“We gotta go.” Bones ripped through the opening of my tent. I was on my feet in seconds. I grabbed my gun and my helmet and ran outside toward the truck. The place was fucking chaos.
“What’s going on?” I asked as we pulled out of the gate.
Bones tensed. “Ambush.”
“Where?” I asked.
“In the north, X.”
“Devin,” I said and stared out of the window. Sand stretched for miles. Sand and fucking derelict buildings.
Bones’s hand came down on my shoulder. “We’ll get there. He’ll be good. He’s a fucking good solider, X.”
But Bones’s words meant shit.
The sound of gunfire and RPGs led us to the ambush. “Go, go, go!” our sergeant screamed as we fled from the truck. “X, Bones, get me some fucking eyes from above. Need to see what we’re dealing with.”
I let my feet follow Bones as we darted behind the crumbling buildings, searching for one where we could get some height. “Here!” Bones said, and we climbed the stone stairs that led to a rooftop. Bombs screamed around us, sand and debris spraying into my face in the hot breeze.
Devin. Where the fuck are you.
I dove to my stomach next to Bones. I propped up my rifle and looked through the lens. Bones searched through his binoculars. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuckers are everywhere.”
One soldier, then another, fell to the ground as they were hit. Blood poured from their arms and legs, and I felt myself fucking burning with anger. “Bones, get me a fucking kill,” I snarled and focused through my lens.
I saw the men on the ground, and my anger burned even brighter when I saw they were two of Devin’s men. “Oorah!” Bones shouted, the cry of the Marines and ducked down beside me.
“North,” Bones said. I switched my gun in that direction. “West, two clicks.” My nostrils flared when I saw the prick with the RPG come into focus. The world fell away.
I lined up my shot with the fucker’s skull. “Target on.” The hot wind blew against my face, the sun burning the skin. And I waited. I waited until . . .
“Now!”
I pulled the trigger.
Shouts went up around him as he dropped off the post he held and smashed to the ground.
“Direct hit,” Bones said, then, “Shit! Incoming!” He reached for his radio to warn the sergeant of the two trucks coming from the east, but it was too late. I scrambled to turn my rifle, and as I did, I caught sight of a familiar face, hunkering down behind a building with three of his men. “Devin,” I called, grabbing Bones’s arm. But the trucks opened fire, raining bullets and RPGs from the back. Explosions burst around the buildings, and the smoke clouded my vision of my brother.
“Get me a fucking visual!” I demanded.
Bones searched through his binoculars and steadied his out-of-control breath. “Northwest, three clicks.”
A flash of a body came across my lens. “Sighted.”
“Wait . . . wait . . . now!” Bones called, and I fired. I fired shot after shot, but the fucking bombs kept coming. And I lost sight of Devin. Through the smoke and blood and heat, Devin disappeared . . .
My eyes snapped open. I was drenched with sweat. I stared at the end of my bed and the ghosts that fucking came every night. They ain’t real, I told myself. They ain’t fucking real.
But they never left.
Closing my eyes, blocking them out, I pulled Phebe’s face into my mind’s eye and focused on her pale skin, spattered with freckles. I envisioned saving her from this hellhole and taking her back to Lilah. I pictured her free from drugs and smiling. I held on to that image, to the stone-cold fact that she would be safe.
She fucking had to be.
*****
“You see anything useful from the barber shack?” Viking asked as we walked toward the saloon.
I flicked my eyes around us to make sure no one was near. “All quiet. Couldn’t see in. But there was no movement in or out. I got the guard schedule figured out though. That’s something.” And I’d watched the dentist shack all night from my window. I’d slept on and off for a grand total of two hours. Night terrors, they were clinically called; at least that’s what the Marines’ shrink had said. The dead, staring at me with black empty eyes, watching the man who’d sent them to their deaths. They crowded in on me, taunting me with their gaunt, drawn faces. I sat and watched them from my spot on the bed. Frozen, paralyzed by the pain their images brought. Guilt’s claws digging deeply into my chest and ripping open my ribs to gnaw on my exposed heart.
I tried to convince myself they weren’t there, night after night. But when you see the blood seeping from their wounds—fresh and hot—leaking to the floor . . . when you smell the cloying scent of death lingering in the air . . . hear their ragged breathing . . . knowing they aren’t real falls to shit. When every one of your senses tells you that your victims are here to make you pay, you fucking believe them and just let the torture begin.
Flame grunted beside me as the four of us walked into the saloon. It was full of Klansmen, white-power band music spitting from the crackling speakers. No one even glanced our way as we walked up to the bar. Four American beers followed by four whiskeys were slammed onto the bar top without us even ordering. The bartender glared at us; I got the message quick. These American and European drinks were the only drinks that were served here.
Nothing outside of the Klan’s particular WASP agenda.
We took our drinks to a far corner, out of sight and in the shadows. The spot offered me the perfect location to view my surroundings. I’d been right about the exits. Two guards kept vigil around the room, while drunk-as-fuck Klansmen talked and laughed loudly, drunk on liquor and high from fucking the drugged sluts in the barn.
Forty minutes later, Meister entered the bar with the same guard I’d seen him with before. The Himmler to his Hitler, no doubt. Men darted out of their way as Meister strutted through the crowd, his swastika and Totenkopf skull tattoos flexing in the dim light. He took a drink from the bar. When he turned, holding what looked like a file in his hand, I saw claw marks etched on his face.
My hand tightened on my beer. Was that the work of Phebe? I pictured the red-haired bitch fighting the fucker off, the image making my fingers twitch with pride. Then the asshole was moving toward the jukebox. He snapped the wire from the socket and stared out over the crowd. Every man fell deathly quiet.
I’d give the prick his dues, he was an intimidating fucker. Intimidating to everyone but us Hangmen.
The room was quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop. Meister held up his hand. “Heil Hitler!” he yelled, and we all echoed it back.
His right-hand man brought a whiskey to him. Meister knocked it back in one. He was dressed in black camo pants tucked into black boots and a tight wife-beater. Tank and Tanner could stand side by side with this cunt and not look out of place.
He took a step forward and held up the file. “You’re all here because we serve the great cause.” His voice was low and his movements measured. My eyes narrowed as I studied every inch of this bastard.
“You are all here because somebody recommended you, or thought you deserved to fuck pussy for a service well done.” The fucker let his blue eyes run over every one of us in the room, then he smiled, showing a mixture of white and gold teeth. “The pussy here belongs to the Brotherhood and the Klan. Good, all-American, white pussy, making us money for the war that hangs over us.” He ran his hand over his shaved head. “And the dick that plows this pussy, that fucks and sucks and drinks on the juices from their cunts, is only white cock. Klan cock. No Jews. No blacks. No spics. Or any other fucking poisoned blood that infects this planet like a plague, and robs the true race, the Aryan race, of what is rightfully theirs.”
Meister paced back and forth on his patch of floor. “All the brothers here are pure.” He stopped. Slowly, a savage grin spread on his lips. “Or they should be.”
I darted a glance at Vike, Cowboy and Flame. Flame had his hands on his blades, ready to fight. Vike nodded a single discreet nod without looking my way. Cowboy tapped the tip of his Stetson, his free hand moving to his Glock. I had my eyes set on the fastest path out, hand braced on my gun.
Meister opened the file. “We background-check all who enter my town. And we leave no stone unturned. For the race war to begin, we need good white soldiers. Soldiers who are dedicated to the white way and will do anything to bring our dream to reality.” Meister took a sheet from the file. “The pussy here is Aryan. We are all Aryan. Because we are the motherfucking ARYAN BROTHERHOOD!”
Slamming what I now saw was a photo into the air, he said, “And no motherfucking Aryan would fuck black pussy!” Meister waved the picture around for all to see; it showed a black woman smiling.
My eyebrows pulled down. The sound of chair legs scraping the wooden floor came from the far left of the bar, as someone jumped to their feet. Heads whipped in his direction.
He looked in his late twenties. Some skinny blond who seemed to be strung out on meth. Meister glared at the guy, his lips curling in disgust. The traps in his neck bulged as he seethed on the spot. “You dare to call yourself White Power when you fucked this cunt’s pussy, lived with her for a year?”
Meister’s face was red; he locked eyes on the guy, who began backing to the door. The guard I called Himmler stopped the guy dead and wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. Meister took out a lighter, and making sure the not-so-pure Klansman was watching, set fire to the photo. He spat on the burning sheet as it fell in flames to the ground.
“Get your guns,” Meister commanded us all. The guards began herding us, marching everyone outside.
“What the fuck?” Vike muttered, as we got to our feet and followed the crowd. We were lined up across the width of the empty street. Daylight was fading. Several dimly lit street lights were on, but night was chasing sun. Himmler stood about ten feet away, still holding the terrified-looking Klan fucker by the neck. Meister pushed through the center of the line and stood in front of us.
“Guns!” Meister ordered. Everyone pulled out their guns. I pulled out mine.
Himmler turned the guy to face Meister. Meister folded his thick arms over his chest. “Run.”
The guy’s face blanched.
“No, I swear I didn’t fuck her,” he said, stumbling over his words.
“Run,” an unimpressed Meister repeated.
Himmler stepped away from the guy, standing to the side of our makeshift firing line. The guy’s breathing was labored with fear. He took off at a sprint. Meister held up his arm as the guy gained ground, running fast down Main Street.
“Fire!” Meister yelled. Bullets flew from the guns of the Nazis around me. Most were fucked off their face on drink and fuck knows what else. I held back my fire, watching, as not one bullet hit. The kid gained more ground, and Meister held up his hand again. “Fire!” he called, louder, and another volley of shots rang out.
The guy kept running.
He was approaching the far exit, and with his speed and the fading light, ain’t one of those brothers, not even Vike, Flame or Cowboy, had a chance of hitting that shit.
“For fuck’s sake!” Meister screamed. “Someone hit that traitorous cunt now!”
But no hit came, and Meister turned to face us all, murderous rage in his eyes. I took one step forward, raised my gun and aimed. It was as if everyone else disappeared beside me—my vision became tunneled, and I held my stance until I’d locked on the target. One, two, three breaths. I released the bullet and watched as it sailed through the air with perfect precision, straight into the Klan fucker’s skull.
The body fell to the ground in a heap. Even from this distance, I saw blood spurting from his head as his body twitched in the throes of death.
133 confirmed kills.
I fucking smiled.
I lowered my gun, never taking my eyes off the Klan-sympathizing asshole now wearing my bullet in his skull. I felt fuck all guilt. Even if he had fucked a black chick, that fucker still deserved to die. They all did. One bullet at a time, simply for being in this place.
When I was sure he wasn’t gonna move, I shifted my attention from the corpse and lifted my head . . . to realize that every fucker in the place was staring at me, mouths open and fucking gawking.
I took a deep breath, loathing the attention. And then I saw Meister watching me, his blue eyes locked on mine. Only he wasn’t gawking like the rest of these redneck pricks. He was looking at me like I was the second fucking coming.
He stepped in front of me. “Name?”
I lowered my gun to my side but tightened my hand on its grip. “Carson. Carson Abney.” I rattled the fake name off with ease.
“Sniper?”
“Marines. Special Ops. Iraq.”
“Kills?”
“132,” I replied. “133 . . . now.” I tilted my head in the direction of the slain Klansman.
Meister let out a low whistle. “Impressive.” He held out his arm. There among the Nazi symbols and KKK flag stood a Marine tattoo, an American Eagle clutching the American flag, “Semper Fi” written underneath. One not too dissimilar to my own.
“Tank battalion.” He nodded in approval. My fingers twitched as I fought the urge to raise the barrel of my gun and send a metal nugget through his skull. This fucker weren’t no brother-in-arms of mine. “Iraq and Afghanistan.”
Without another word, Meister turned and walked down Main Street toward the body. He hovered over the corpse, and in the fading light, I saw his expression sour in disgust. Then, raising his heavy black boot, he slammed the heel down, using his full strength to crush the Nazi’s skull. Blood and brains spattered the dusty ground.
Men around us puked; most turned away. But I watched the sadistic fucker as he spat on the body then made his way back toward me, leaving bloodied footprints on the dirt road.
The sight of death didn’t bother me.
I’d seen much worse. Fuck, I’d done much worse.
“Carson.” Meister waved his hand my way. “You and I are going to have a fucking drink.”
My heart beat fast as the adrenaline—of both the kill and the prospect that this fucker was letting me in to his circle—ran through me. I cast a glance behind me to Vike, who was standing close to Flame as our resident psycho eyeballed Meister. Cowboy slipped into step beside them, his blue eyes scanning around us for any sign of trouble.
We followed Meister and Himmler past the still-stunned men and entered the saloon. Meister led us to a table at the front of the bar that I knew only he sat in. It was near the clear spot where he had made his little speech about betrayal not too long ago.
A tray of shots was placed before us. Meister knocked back three in a row. We all did the same. When beers came next, Meister took a long sip without ever moving his eyes from me. “You know Beau Ayers?”
I wasn’t surprised the fucker knew about each of his town’s “guests”.
“Not personally. He got word to us.” I gestured to Flame, Vike and Cowboy. “We were in Louisiana. He wanted us in Texas.”
Meister studied each of us. He nodded knowingly. “The Grand Wizard is calling all his good soldiers down here.” He pointed to himself and to Himmler. “The war is about to begin.” His eyes narrowed. “You have a Texan accent.”
“Plano, Austin, West Virginia and Louisiana,” I said pointing at myself, Viking, Flame and Cowboy in turn. “We were all drifters, brought together by the cause. Now we’re here.”
“All Marines?”
“Not me, just like ripping blacks’ throats,” Vike said, sounding like a perfect fucking Aryan brother.
“Jew fucked my old man over. So I slit his throat. Been slitting throats ever since,” Cowboy drawled, sticking to the backstory Tanner gave him.
“And you?” Meister asked Flame. Flame stilled, and I saw his cheek twitch. His hands gripped his blades.
“Earl here is just a fucking out-and-out psycho. He came with me. But he shares the same dedication to our cause.”
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.
Phebe pushed her tits into Meister’s face and, even under all the drugs, became a fucking seductress before my eyes. Her body rolled as she pressed her bare skin over Meister’s chest, her hands braced on the arms of the chair. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her as she fed her nipple into Meister’s mouth, clutching the back of his head as he sucked hard, and she moaned like she was lapping up that shit.
And then she was sliding to her knees, the palms of her hands running up Meister’s thighs. The asshole’s eyes were glazed, half from whiskey and half from the sight of his plaything on her knees, mouth lowering toward his crotch. Her shaking hands began undoing his belt, then the buttons on his jeans.
I looked around the room to see fuckers jerking off as they watched her. Others were fucking their sluts for the night. It looked like Saturday at the fucking Hangmen. At least the club sluts chose to get their pussies smashed by me and my brothers. My eyes met Viking’s and Cowboy’s. I saw the fire in their eyes. Fire and disbelief. Viking’s hands were in fists on his lap, and Cowboy’s foot was twitching. The brothers were one step from launching into this fucker and taking him out.
A choked sound pulled my attention back to Meister and Phebe. Meister’s head was rolled back, his cock in Phebe’s hand. And she was bringing it to her mouth.
Her back arched and her hips rocked as if she were already fucking him. The bitch mewled as she swallowed the tip and took the length of the fucker back into her throat. She didn’t gag or even flinch as she deep-throated Meister’s dick. He growled low in his throat, smashing his hand onto her head and fisting the strands. He was rough, practically ripping her hair from her head. But Phebe just sucked harder.
I remembered Phebe was bred for this shit in that cult. The prophet whoring her out to attract members. I could see why; the bitch was a fucking siren.
Meister’s growls and groans got louder as she took him harder, faster, deeper. Redneck fucks around us cried out as they came. And then Meister snapped, pushed Phebe back off his cock and gripped the top of her arm. He wrenched her to her feet and spun her to face him. Then, wasting no time, he pulled her down to his lap and slammed his cock into her pussy.
Phebe cried out, her hands falling to Meister’s shoulders. “Move,” he commanded. Phebe’s hips began grinding on his dick, and his hands reached around to spread her ass apart. He pushed two fingers into her ass. Phebe screamed as he thrust his hips roughly while he took her every hole.
My hands curled into fists as he fucked her and fucked her, harder and harder by the second. Until at last he bellowed out a long groan and slammed into her for one final time.
Phebe rolled her hips until Meister pulled his fingers out of her ass. Taking the back of her head, he guided her forward and brought her mouth to his. He savaged her mouth as her body twitched. He thrust her back, yanking her off his cock. “Clean it,” he commanded hoarsely, pupils dilated. Phebe dropped to her knees and took his deflated cock into her mouth. Her tongue lapped at his flesh, sucking off his cum.
Meister ran his fingers through her hair, like he was patting a damn dog. He pushed her head off his cock, and Phebe got to her feet. Meister sat back, depleted, stuffing himself back into his cargo pants.
“Dance,” he ordered lazily, signaling for the jukebox to be turned up. Some generic rock song came blasting out around the bar. Phebe’s hands went into the air, and her lithe body began to sway. I couldn’t stop watching her, mesmerized by the way she moved. She was tall and too thin. But even looking as beat and broken as she was right now, all I could think of was her at that fucking tree. How she’d looked at me that day, her blue eyes slamming into mine, like she could see every fucking thing that was running through my mind.
I imagined that version of Phebe dancing, and I knew that if I’d been one of the fuckers she’d seduced at a bar, I’d have been signed up and singing hallelujah with the other cult fucks, just for the chance to nail her again.
She spun, facing me, and my breathing stopped. Even strung out on heroin, even starved and raped and captured like a dog, a fucking glimpse of a smile had spread on her lips. The dried blood cracked on her mouth as her eyes closed and her body kept beat to the rhythm. Too focused on watching her lost to the music, I barely saw Meister get called away to speak to Himmler. I just kept watching. Because I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
And then, with a heavy sigh, Phebe’s eyes rolled open and collided straight with mine. She stilled. At first I thought she’d just grown too tired to keep moving . . . but then she blinked, and blinked again, and tears filled her eyes.
“You.” Her hoarse voice was almost inaudible over the music. Her tiny body swayed, but this time it hadn’t got shit to do with the music. Her bloodied bottom lip shook, and, on unsteady feet, she stumbled toward me. With every step, her already ashen face paled further. And then the tears fell, one heavy drop at a time, running down her cheek, exposing the freckles that lay underneath the sweat, the blood and the dirt.
Her chest rose and fell in quick movements. When she reached me, hand covering her mouth, she sank to her knees to rest at my feet. I looked at Meister; he was still occupied. Viking and Cowboy were watching carefully with fucking confused expressions. Their hands were on their guns, ready for any shit that went down.
And then I looked back at Phebe. I stared into her blue eyes. They were still drugged to high heaven. Still unfocused and glassy. Yet, as she knelt at my feet, her tears thick and her breathing labored, I could see right through them.
They were fucking begging me for help.
“Is . . . is she safe?” she slurred, her once-pretty face contorting in pain as she lurched forward, like that pain was stabbing her straight in the stomach. My eyebrows drew together at her question. Phebe managed to raise her head and place her hand over her heart. “Is she safe? I didn’t save her . . . but is she safe? I want her to be safe.”
I swallowed, checking to see that Meister was still deep in conversation with Himmler. I thanked Hades that he was, because I desperately wanted to talk to the bitch, but I had to play this shit right. Phebe shuffled forward until her tits were at my knees. I tensed as she searched my face. Then, with careful, gentle movements, she reached forward, her blistered fingertips reaching for my face.
I was frozen as her fingertips grazed my cheeks and ran down my thick stubble. Her eyelids were fighting to stay open, no doubt being pulled down by the drugs. Her hair was sticking to her slick skin. Worst of all, Meister’s cum was running down between her thighs. I could smell the stink of sex coming off her in waves. Yet I still couldn’t breathe as her soft hands touched my face, as those fucking blue, dazed eyes studied me. Then, her eyebrows rose and a smile spread on her lips, and it fucking slaughtered me. The bitch had just been raped, degraded in front of a crowd, and no doubt recently beaten by Meister, yet here she was on her knees at my feet, touching my face, and fucking smiling.
I almost pulled out my gun and shot every fucker in here, just for the chance to get her out of this shithole right the fuck now.
“You,” she said again, a new lightness in her voice. Her fingers ran over my lips, then up, stopping at my eyes. Her hand curled, framing my eyes, and she released a long, happy sigh. “The one with the kind eyes,” she murmured. Her head tilted to the side like an innocent child. “You would not kill me. I deserved to die, but you would not kill me . . . because you had kind eyes. A devil’s man with angel eyes.”
I remembered that fucking night at the commune again. Remembered this bitch stroking Li’s hair and calling her Rebekah. Fucking crying. Fucking breaking. My chest cracked, and I swallowed the lump in my throat . . . the way she looked at Li. I . . . I knew how that felt.
That’s why I couldn’t kill the bitch.
She . . . in that moment, she was me. Me on that fucking day that never left my head.
“The tree.” Phebe’s voice pulled me from my head. I shifted on my seat as she pulled back her hands and held them together in the way I’d tied them.
“A devil’s man with angel eyes,” she repeated and began to sob. “Here for me again. To rescue me from hell? To take us . . . ? To make us safe?” She said the sentences as though they were questions; her blue eyes were begging for me to take her from this town, from Meister. Fuck, the way she was looking at me, beseeching, begging . . . the bitch was asking me to put her out of her misery.
Looking just like him. Like—
“What the fuck? Whore!”
My head snapped up as Meister stormed across the room. I braced, ready for the fight. Meister’s hand gripped Phebe’s hair and yanked her to her feet. Phebe cried out as she stumbled to stand. Then, when she was straight, Meister spun her to face him and sliced a backhand across her face. I had to use everything I had not to fucking charge. But when I looked around, every guard was on edge, hands on guns. None of us would get out alive if we tried.
We had to fucking wait.
Phebe began crying, sobbing as she lifted her head. Blood ran thick and fast from her lip. Her eyes flooded with tears, yet even after the hard blow Meister dealt, her dazed eyes still sought out mine. And fuck me, but they softened. Like I was making everything better just by being here.
I couldn’t deal with that look.
“Whore!” Meister snarled as pulled her close to his face. “It seems as though you haven’t learned your lesson just yet, slut.” He shook her violently, her head lolling back and forth. “Then I’ll have to fucking try harder.”
Meister turned toward the door, the entire saloon looking on in expectant silence. As he passed me, he looked down and said, “This bitch was a trained whore. Opened her legs for anything that moved. I’m retraining her to be a Klan wife.” As if his own words incensed him, he swiped out and hit her again, her head jerking sideward. “But this slut is hard to break.” He dragged Phebe out of the bar, and before the door closed behind them, I saw him turn left. Toward the dentist shack.
I pulled out my smokes, lit one and took a long inhale. Himmler was watching me with suspicious eyes, so I acted calm on the outside, even though in my head I was imagining slitting the throat of every last fucker in the entire place. Over the next ten minutes I finished off my beer, took another shot, then got to my feet.
Vike and Cowboy followed me out of the saloon and across the road to the dorms. Vike moved in close to speak, but I hissed, “Not yet. Himmler will be watching from the bar.”
“How the fuck do you know that?”
“Trust me,” I said as we entered the dorms, keeping the lights off. The minute we hit the hallway, I sneaked a look across the street.
“Shit,” Cowboy said. “Fucker’s right there, staring after us.”
“He suspects us.” I led them into Flame’s room. The brother was pacing back and forth. I ignored him and locked the door. “We get her out tomorrow,” I said quietly. “If Meister doesn’t kill her tonight first. Himmler’s gonna start digging if we don’t. That fucker smells that we ain’t pure.”
I flicked my chin at Cowboy. “Call Hush. Tell him we’re putting a plan together and he needs to be ready to go when I say.”
Cowboy pulled his cell from his pocket. He spoke quietly to Hush, then gave a thumbs up and ended the call. “He’s ready.”
Pacing too, I ran my hand through my hair. “Tomorrow night, after dark.” Vike and Cowboy nodded. Flame was too fucking lost in his own world to hear. I outlined my plan, and my brothers listened carefully. We all agreed—this was how this shit was gonna go down.
The room was quiet. Vike gave me a weird look. “Ain’t sure that bitch can be saved, brother. I ain’t ever seen shit like that before. He’s one fucked-up cunt.”
I closed my eyes and tried not to let the thought of Phebe, of my fucking past, rip me to shreds. I counted to ten in my head. “You might be right.” I slumped to the edge of the bed and looked at Flame, proof that even the most fucked-up souls could be salvaged, somewhat. “But I’ll fucking die trying.”
“Always the damn hero,” Viking said humorlessly.
Hero? Fucking far from it. Just didn’t have it in me to watch one more person die under someone else’s hand.
So I’d take on Meister and his Klansmen tomorrow night.
We’d deal with the rest after that.
Even if she was already completely fucked.