by Tillie Cole
Flame backed her into the house. He came back a couple of minutes later and stood beside me.
“You good?” I asked. Flame nodded without meeting my eyes. We did this every day, hell, several times a day. You good? was more than just a passing question. It was Flame telling me that his head wasn’t full of fucked-up shit. Shit from his past.
“Good.” I threw my smoke to the ground and pushed off the wall. I led the way up the hill to the compound.
To church.
Where Tanner better have some fucking good news.
’Cause I was motherfucking itching to hunt.
*****
“Well?” Ky asked.
Tanner ran his hand over his head. The brother hadn’t attended one of our cookouts or slutfests in weeks. Not that he ever entertained himself with sluts—still too hard for his spic pussy down in Mexico. He’d been busy trying to track down Meister. Unlike most of the white-power shit Tanner and Tank grew up with, this Meister was untraceable and off the grid. As much of a computer whizz kid as Tanner was, Meister was proving to be one slippery fucking snake to pin down.
“Gotta be honest, I didn’t think I was anywhere close to finding anything on this prick.” Tanner nodded toward Tank. “We knew of him, of course. I knew he had dealings with my father and uncle, just never met him myself. He’s Aryan Brotherhood, but works closely with the Klan. And there’s nothing on him. No email traces, no invoices, no texts. Nothing.”
I gritted my teeth and glanced at Styx, who was listening closely. Ky wasn’t originally gonna tell the prez about the plan to get Phebe, because of his fucking wedding, but that didn’t last long. Styx knew something was up with his VP. He read him like I read Flame and Vike. So Ky fessed up, and Styx was all for the plan. He’d had to push his wedding back by a month anyhow to get the pastor Mae wanted to conduct the ceremony, so he had time to kill.
“But you found something?” Ky translated as Styx signed.
Tanner sighed, the black circles around his eyes showing how hard the brother had been working. “I got something.” He shook his head, and my blood ran cold. I knew whatever he had found wasn’t good.
Tanner opened the file in front of him and threw a photograph toward the prez. Styx looked at it, then gave it to Ky. “Some middle-of-nowhere ghost town?”
Ky passed the picture around. Vike handed it to me, and I studied it. It was an aerial shot, and the picture was grainy, but from what I could make out, it was just a huge piece of land scattered with decrepit old buildings.
I passed the picture along. “Fucker owns this?”
Tanner faced me. “Yeah, or at least his father did. He’s dead now, but the deeds are still in his father’s name. Been in the family for decades. Took me a while to trace it.” He shook his head. “Meister is notorious among the Klan. Right, Tank?”
“Yeah,” Tank agreed. “Never met him either, but we’d all heard of him. Prick has been mobilizing for years for the race war they think is coming. Real serious, Oklahoma-City-bomb shit. From what we’ve heard, the guy has a one-track mind when it comes to advancing the white race. You think Hitler was fucked up? Well, imagine if he had a kid who was one built motherfucker, with a fucking carbon copy of his psycho mind; and you’ve got Meister. Fucker ain’t even German. Just wishes he was, spouting German phrases around like he was born and bred in Berlin. Delusional asshole.”
“This ain’t gonna be easy,” Tanner finished, looking at me, Vike, Flame, Hush and Cowboy. It was the five of us who had agreed to go looking for Phebe. Hush and Cowboy nodded at me to let me know they were still in.
“So he’s in this ghost town?” Ky asked, translating Styx’s sign language again. “If so, we’ll all just go in and get him, make the fucker talk and tell us where he’s got Phebe.”
Tanner sat forward. “He ain’t just living in the ghost town or hiding out. That’s where he has his enterprise.”
“Enterprise?” Ky echoed. It was his own question this time.
Tanner nodded. “From what I can tell, it’s a fucking brothel. Members of the Aryan Brotherhood, Klan, or Klan sympathizers, can go there for a night or a few days at a time.” Tank shifted uncomfortably next to him. “Ain’t sure, but I’m thinking it ain’t just getting your dick sucked and fucked. It’ll be real fucked-up shit. If Meister’s reputation is anything to go by, we would be walking into an organized, armed hellhole.” Tanner’s eyes darkened. “I get the Klan has a reputation for being full of backward rednecks. I ain’t gonna lie—growing up, most of my father’s cronies were that way. Thick as fuck and couldn’t do shit without screwing it up. Skinheads, lower-ranked soldiers, you know?”
“But there were some members that weren’t,” Tank continued. He cast an embarrassed glance at Tanner. “We weren’t, for starters.”
Tanner nodded. “It’s not the norm, but some of us were good. Smart, strong fighters, or just outright fucking psychos. The skinheads and rednecks are the foot soldiers. The likes of us, the likes of Meister, are the fucking SS. The planners, leaders, the generals—the ones who believe in the cause so much that they’re fucking lethal with what they’ll do, what they’re capable of. Meister is true Aryan Brotherhood; he’s preparing for war. He’s the real fucking deal.”
“And now he’s in our neck of the woods to stir up shit?” I asked.
Tanner nodded. “Comes from northern Texas. Never moved our way before. But the Klan are building day by day, joining forces with other white supremacist gangs—like the Brotherhood—and with the shit that’s on the news twenty-four-seven, blacks and whites at each other’s throats, he’s moved to the headquarters.” The brother’s jaw clenched. “To my father and uncle, who’ll be protecting him from being found out by the feds.” He sighed and ran his hand down his face. “From what I can figure out, this ghost-town brothel of his has only existed in the last year or so. He’s looking to fund something.”
“They ain’t dealing guns?” Cowboy drawled. “I thought that’s what Rider said the contract with the cult was for?”
“Rider was sure it was guns. At least it was when he was dealing with the Klan—it was all about arms. The Klan was selling them on and taking a cut.”
“His fucking twin,” Hush spat. “He changed the arrangement, didn’t he? When Rider was locked up in cult prison?”
“Think so,” Tanner said after a few seconds of silence.
“Then what the fuck are they dealing? What was Judah giving them if not Israeli guns?”
“Women,” Tanner replied. “Women from the cult, I think. That ain’t one hundred percent. But it’s the only link I can make.”
“Women?” Ky said. Suddenly Styx sat straighter. Ky’s fist ground on the table, and Flame had started twitching beside me. The three brothers who had cult bitches were quickly realizing that it could have been their old ladies had they not got out.
“Making them whores?” Cowboy asked.
“That’s what I’d guess,” Tanner said. “That aerial shot is all I could get, and that’s from years ago. Ain’t no new pictures. No idea how full the town gets or how busy. Has a no-fly-zone code appointed to it, no doubt a deal from my old man. No idea on the number of women there or what they have them doing. Took me weeks just to get this info.”
“He has Phebe there as a whore?” Ky snarled. “Fuck!” He picked up his glass and threw it against the wall. It shattered into a million pieces.
“She was one before.”
I tensed as a voice spoke from the bottom of the table. I turned to see who had spoken—Smiler. The normally silent brother looked around at us all.
“Speak,” I ordered.
Smiler didn’t flinch at my cold command. “I was talking to Rider.” The brother didn’t even give a shit that the rest of us couldn’t believe he still talked to the ex-prophet. “He told me some about the cult setup.” He looked at Ky, then me, and said, “About Phebe.”
Ky stayed silent. By his clenched jaw, I realized he already knew whatever Smiler was gonna say.
“Most of her life she was a whore for the cult. Would go out into the outside world and entice men back to the commune by fucking them. Once they were there they joined, of course. All the free pussy they wanted, any age pussy they wanted. He said Lilah’s sister was the main commune whore, the head honcho. All these sluts believed they were doing ‘God’s work’ or some shit. The old prophet started the practice years ago when he wanted to expand.”
My stomach turned. My fingers had curled into a tight fist. I felt my blood boil, fucking murderous venom sailing through me. I thought of Phebe, thought of that fucking red hair and face of freckles. Thought of her fucking man after man, those damn blue eyes that had stared at me looking at them, luring them the fuck in. It made me wanna slit some throats.
It made me wanna kill.
“Fuck. So Judah had been selling Meister the cult prostitutes for his brothel?” Hush said. “That’s why Meister stayed at the cult sometimes. He’ll have been choosing his whores.”
“Shit. And I thought we were fucked up,” Vike exclaimed.
“So what’s the plan?” I asked Styx. He met my eyes, but before he could sign, Tanner spoke.
“It ain’t as simple as us storming in and taking these cunts out. They’ll have top-quality guns and militarized soldiers. This ain’t no redneck sex ring. If this is Meister, this is more. Much fucking more.”
“So?” I asked.
“So we need a plan,” Tank said.
“Then let’s get a fucking plan!” Ky shouted. Styx whistled for the prospects to come in. Lil’ Ash and Slash entered the room, and Ky flicked his chin. “We need food, liquor, and keep that shit coming. We’re gonna be here a while.”
Lil’ Ash and Slash left. Then we got down to planning. Trying to figure out how the fuck to get into this ghost-town whorehouse.
And all the time, all I could see in my head was red. Red for blood, red for the mist that had descended over my eyes. And above it all, I saw the longest red hair. Long red hair and pale skin tied to a motherfucking tree.
Freckles.
Blue eyes.
Phebe.
Cult bitch turned Meister’s whore.
Chapter Two
Phebe
My arms and legs ached as I tried to turn over on the bed. I was sweating, so hot that when I forced my mouth to open, I gasped for air. I moved my tongue, but it barely shifted in my dry mouth.
I was thirsty.
So thirsty.
I breathed through my nose, waiting for the pain in my aching muscles to ebb. When it did, I forced my eyes to open. I flinched at the light coming in from between the faded curtains covering the tiny high window, trying vainly to blink away the brightness. My head thumped and my stomach growled. But I forced myself to sit up. I wanted to cry out as my muscles protested the movement. I glanced down at my naked limbs, fighting back nausea when I saw the blood gathered on the dirty sheets between my legs.
Flashes of last night pushed through the thick fog that always seemed to be there in my mind. Meister pinning me down to the bed. Covering me with his huge muscled body, hurting me. Injecting me with the sweet potion that took away all my fears and hurt.
I liked Meister’s potion.
I needed it.
Then I saw him gripping my arms as he smashed his mouth against mine, biting my lips and drawing blood from the flesh. He lapped at the hot liquid. I remembered his hands forcing my legs apart. And I remembered his fingers finding my core and thrusting roughly inside. One finger, two, and then more. More until I could no longer hold back my scream.
And then I heard his laugh, his deep appreciation for my pain. Before his hand wrapped around my neck as his entire fist slipped from within me. The reprieve of being empty lasted only seconds, until he thrust his manhood inside me. And he was even rougher than before. Slamming into me while robbing me of my breath, squeezing at my throat. I scratched him. I clawed, but he only growled louder, hardened more. Until at last he spilled himself within me, collapsing on top of me with a long thunderous groan.
In the aftermath, I had stared at the ceiling, silent tears swimming in my eyes as I let the potion flood me and whisk me away from this hell.
I liked being taken away.
I rarely left this room, this bed. I didn’t know how long I had been here. I saw no one but Meister, mostly. Sometimes he would take me outside to walk around this . . . this . . . whatever this place was. Sometimes he would allow me to feel the sun on my face, to smell the fresh air, when he deemed I had earned it. But that was rare. I always disappointed him; he always hurt me. On those precious days spent in the sun, I would occasionally see some men, but they would never speak to me.
I saw no other females.
I was alone.
Just me and Meister.
At the sound of the lock turning in my door, I tensed, eyes wide, waiting for him to come through. My arm itched, and my legs shifted restlessly on the wet mattress. The chain attached to my wrist pulled tight as my arms twitched with excitement. My blood raced in my veins and my pulse hammered in anticipation of what Meister would be bringing me.
He would have the potion that made me forget.
I smiled.
Then he was inside the room, as big and domineering as ever with his thick-set neck and shaved head. He wore jeans and a white tank. His heavily tattooed arms bulged with muscles. His blue eyes locked on me, and as it did every time I saw him, fear infused me and glued me to the spot.
“Phebe,” Meister said softly. My eyes never left him as he moved around my bed before stopping at the foot. He reached out, and his finger circled softly on my ankle. The insatiable heat that was burning up my body suddenly morphed into ice at his touch. And then his fingers traced up my calf and upward along my inner thigh until they stopped at the entrance of my core.
I never once took my attention off his eyes. They flared at the sight of the blood that had pooled between my legs. My breath caught in my chest when his fingers slipped along my folds. I wanted to cry out at the rawness of the pain I felt—the after-effects of last night. But I kept it locked inside, only to lose control and retch when Meister brought his bloodied fingers to his mouth and licked his tongue along the wet tips.
I rolled to the side, to the bucket he kept beside me, and heaved dry retches as my body vainly attempted to vomit. Nothing came up. Instead, my body yearned for the potion. It yearned for the liquid that would take away the bad and usher in only the good. I felt the bed dip beside me. Meister pulled my long, sticky hair from my overheated face.
“Shh . . .” he crooned lovingly. He ran his hand down my spine and traced his finger between the crack of my behind. I moaned, feeling sick, lost, the searing heat of the craving rushing through my veins.
But he didn’t stop. Meister never stopped, no matter how much I tried to protest. He took. He took and took and took.
He pulled me up and laid me down flat on the bed. My head swam as I tried to focus. It took several seconds for my eyesight to clear and for the room to swim back into view.
Meister was holding my chained arm out toward him. My wrist rested on his lap, and he ghosted his fingers up and down my upturned limb. My skin was paler than I remembered it ever being; it was peppered with red marks, some bruised and scabbing over, some fresh and weeping.
“Is this what you want, meine Liebchen?” Meister said, his voice as soft as a whisper. I had no idea what he called me, but he was always gentle when he spoke these words to me.
Almost loving.
Every time he did, he nearly tricked me into thinking he actually cared.
I squeezed my eyes shut as I nodded. My veins almost burst with need. They felt as though they were reaching from my skin, searching for the rush they craved, the liquid that was a balm on my tortured soul.
On my sinful soul.
When I opened my eyes, Meister held up a needle for me to see. I resisted the urge to lash out and push it into my flesh. Meister was in control. I had learned that w
ith him, free will did not exist.
As my mind drifted off into a kaleidoscope of dark memories and pain, I felt the familiar sting of a needle entering a vein. Then a surge of light and bliss flowed through my body, lifting me into an ethereal state, a blanket of warmth and pain-free liberty.
As if being wrapped in the safety of God’s arms, I drew in a deep breath and let my mind fill with tranquility, and dance with light and life. No stress, no pain . . . just a river of peace.
I felt the needle slip from my flesh, followed by the stubble of Meister’s jaw as he leaned over to kiss me and tell me he’d be back soon. I didn’t hear the door close when he left. I closed my eyes and fell into the sun.
I was in a forest, deep in a magical heaven. I danced among the trees, feeling the leaves flutter through my fingers, the grass soft beneath my feet. Light music floated on the air, urging my body to sway to the beat.
I loved to dance. It was my most favorite thing in the world.
I swirled, and I smiled when I saw my Rebekah enter the clearing, as beautiful as I had ever seen her. Her long blond hair was flowing down her back, and her blue eyes were bright and filled with joy.
“Rebekah,” I breathed. I threw my arms around her and held her closely to me. Rebekah laughed her sweet laugh against my ear.
“I am well, Phebe.” Her soft, delicate voice drifted over me like a prayer.
“Truly?” I asked through a tight throat. “The last time I saw you . . . what Judah had done . . . what those men had done . . .”
“Shh . . .” Rebekah soothed, stroking her hand through my hair. “I am happy, and . . .” Rebekah pulled back and turned toward the forest edge. “Come,” she instructed someone. A high-pitched giggle split through the warm night, and my heart clenched, so tightly it did not seem possible.
“Grace.” I covered my mouth to stop the sob escaping my throat. Grace ran into Rebekah’s waiting arms and held her close . . . like a child would cling to her mother.
