Damnable Grace

by Tillie Cole

  “Bitch!” he snarled and threw back his arm. I lost my balance and fell to the ground. My arm smacked against the floor, sending a lightning rod of pain splintering through my bones. But when I looked up and was met with the hazy dark stare of Sapphira, her fragile body succumbing to the unrelenting will of the potion, I forced myself to my feet.

  I staggered back toward the male, who was hovering yet again over Sapphira. Mustering strength I did not know I possessed, I hurled myself at him, pulling on his arm to stop his hand from resting upon Sapphira’s exposed thigh. “Stop!” I shouted, my voice grazed and raw. I had to stop him. I had to save her.

  This time, when the male tried to throw me off, I held on with all of my might. My arms wrapped around him, and acting on pure instinct, I sank my teeth into the side of his neck. And I bit down hard. I bit so hard that the male staggered to the side and slammed my back against the wall. Breath whooshed from my lungs, and my arms fell from around his neck. I dropped to the floor, exhausted and depleted, drained from all the fighting. But I had to try. I had to get back up. I had to save her.

  The door slammed open. My heart sank with pure fear before I even looked up. Because I did not need to look up to sense his presence.

  “What the fuck?” he snarled, his deep voice sounding like daggers drawn, threatening to slice into my cold and broken skin.

  “Stupid bitch fucking attacked me like some rabid dog.”

  Meister’s feet pounded across the floor so fast that I curled in on myself, desperately trying to escape his wrath. But his wrath was not focused on me. I heard a shuffle, a pained shout and a struggle for breath. Meister had the other man up against the wall, his bulging arm braced at the base of the male’s throat. The male reddened as Meister placed his face close, teeth bared, lips pulled back like a hound escaped from hell itself.

  “You touched her?” Meister hissed, spittle landing on the male’s face.

  He shook his head in protest. Blood trickled down his chest from the bite I had taken from his flesh. I took advantage of the distraction to crawl across the floor. Sapphira’s arm was hanging from the bed. I reached out and took her hand in mine. She was so cold. Her fingers were so weak.

  Sapphira . . .

  I turned my head to see the male struggling to breathe, the tips of his feet kicking at the floor. His eyes stared straight into Meister’s, yet the contact did not cause Meister to flinch. His strong arms held firm as he bled the male of his life’s breath . . . as he watched the light fade from his eyes. When the male’s eyes had begun to frost with the imminent call of death, Meister leaned in close, his mouth to the male’s ears, and he said softly, delicately, “You touched her. No one touches her.” Meister’s head drew back, and he watched with interest as the male’s skin blotched with red. “I can’t let it happen, Dale. Even the best of soldiers must obey my commands. No exceptions. No weaknesses. Remember? We are at war, and I am the commander.”

  In one last-ditch attempt to fight for his life, the male thrashed with the remaining stores of his energy. But his effort was futile. Meister’s unyielding grip held tight, and within seconds the male’s body slumped in Meister’s hold. His arms sagged, his feet dragged the floor, and his eyes never blinked again, forever frozen on his murderer.

  As if discarding nothing more than a sack of dirt, Meister released the body to the floor. And then he turned to me. His blue eyes blazed with adrenaline, with the thrill of the kill. I begged my traitorous limbs to cease in their trembling. But it was no use; fear held me tightly in her embrace as Meister stepped toward me.

  He was displeased. He was more displeased than I had ever seen before. I squeezed Sapphira’s hand tighter. Crying, I kissed the back of her hand, the skin broken under my lips. Then I let her go. I could not let Meister near her. I could not let him hurt her like he had done the man on the floor.

  I forced my body to stand and edged my way toward the door. My eyes searched the room as I wondered idly what I should do, where I would go. How I would get Sapphira out.

  Salt from my tears ran over my cracked, dry lips. Meister was unmoving in the center of the room as he watched me. I swallowed, trying to lubricate my swollen mouth enough to speak. I ran my gaze over the females I knew, whom I had once laughed with and shared food and drink. Their bodies, so hurt, poisoned with the strange liquid, glared back at me as if I were part of the devil’s worst ever joke.

  “What is this place?” I managed to croak.

  Meister’s nostrils flared, and the veins in his thick neck pulsed. He tipped his head to one side and ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

  “These . . . these are my New Zion sisters.” My eyes drifted back to Sapphira lying on her small cot, and I felt my heart crack down the center. Her dress was still baring her modesty from where the now-dead male had been touching her young skin. Vomit crept up my throat as I thought of her being taken, as I thought of the man taking her. Her fourteen-year-old body.

  Her dignity.

  A whimper left my mouth as I tried to get to her, to cover her up. I wanted her to open her eyes and look at me, but the potion had pulled her from consciousness. I needed her to wake up and see me. To know I was here for her. That I loved her.

  A firm hand seized my wrist, bringing me to a stop. Meister’s grip tightened, and I cried out; I could no longer bear the pain. He was silent as he twisted my arm. I dropped to my knees, tears falling from my eyes.

  “Please,” I begged when I feared he would break the bone.

  Meister glared down at me. My entire body shook. Slowly, ever so slowly, Meister crouched down until he was at eye level. I had always thought Meister was handsome. Yet it amazed me how a person’s polluted soul could seep from their heart and corrupt even the most beautiful features.

  “I told you to stay beside your shack.” He ran the index finger of his free hand over my cheek, a soothing, calming gesture, the tenderness a sharp contrast to the pain at my wrist.

  My eyes squeezed shut. When I opened them again, I repeated, “What is . . . what is this place?” I drank in the devastating sight of good females reduced to this pitiful state, the smell of male release and joining . . . the sense of helplessness and capture.

  But Meister did not answer me. Instead, he brought his face to mine and regarded me with his unique version of adoration. His cheek rubbed against my own; his lips brushed past my lips. “I have been good to you, Liebchen,” he murmured, lovingly. “I have cherished you, cared for you, kept you away from all of . . . this.”

  It took mere seconds for Meister to snap, to change from benevolent to malicious. His hands dropped from my face and wrist, only to reach out and fist within my hair. He wrapped his fingers around the damp strands and hurled me to my feet. I screamed as loud a scream as my weak voice could muster. My scalp was on fire as Meister wordlessly wrenched me from the room housing my sisters, my Sapphira. I tried to resist, I tried to get back to her, but Meister did not tolerate disobedience of any kind.

  He would not let me go.

  Turning on his heel, he raised his free hand and sliced the back of it across my face. My legs buckled, yet I did not fall—Meister kept me upright by my hair. I struggled to find a fragile footing as he dragged me back into the sunlight

  We came to an abrupt stop outside the building Meister had run to earlier, when he had ordered me to stay at the shack. The “Dentist” sign idly wandered into my mind as I stared at the ground.

  A set of booted feet came into my peripheral vision. “Meister,” a low voice said, a question in his tone.

  “I’m using this. No one comes in unless I say so. Anyone dares and I’ll fucking kill them.”

  “Sir,” the male replied, stepping aside.

  I dared to raise my head, but I immediately regretted it. A lifeless male body lay in the dirt beside the wooden building. But unlike the male Meister had strangled, this one wore a blade in the top of his skull, his blood pooling around him.

  I tripped as I was forced up the step to the
building. And then we were inside and all I saw was blood. Blood on the floor. Blood smeared on the walls . . . and blood covering the pale, lifeless body of a young girl, no more than seventeen, strapped to a large leather chair. Her wrists were bound, her ankles were pinned down with cuffs, and blood pooled between her legs. A clear bag like those beside Sapphira and my New Zion sisters hung at her side.

  I could not hold back the tears for the girl who stared up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. Her hair was long and brown, the thick strands matted and dull.

  And then I studied her face. Her beautiful face . . .

  Rachel.

  My chest caved in when I recognized the beauty before me. A Sacred Sister. Only sixteen years old. Sweet, kind Rachel with the pinkest rosy cheeks. But her cheeks wore no rose tint anymore.

  “Get her the fuck out and burn her,” Meister ordered.

  The male lifted Rachel from the chair. Her naked, ashen body was skeletal in the male’s large arms. He tossed her lifeless corpse over his shoulder, as if she had never been a person, a spirit and a soul. But instead disposable and nothing. Not even worthy of respect after death.

  Wordlessly, the male carried Rachel toward the door. As he passed, I found my hand drifting upwards and my fingers wrapping around her own.

  They were cold.

  They were so cold. Nothing more than skin and bones. Just like Sapphira . . .

  Worse, they were stained with crimson, the spilled blood of her ordeal. Whatever that was. The blood dripped from her body, leaving a trail in her wake, a dark red path leading from the place of her earthly hell.

  I closed my eyes. I wanted to run to Sapphira and free her. I wanted us to run away and start somewhere new. Go to some heavenly place where there was no pain, no blood. Where there was kindness, not cruelty.

  But I knew of no such place.

  The door closed; Meister and I were alone. I heard every breath we each took—his calm and smooth, mine fast and scared. I scanned the room, allowing my reddened eyes to drink in the scene. Strange tools hung on the walls; apparatus that I could not understand sat upon tables.

  And then there was the chair.

  I felt his eyes watching me, burning a hole into me where I stood. He moved beside me, a needle in his hand. Like it did every time, my skin reacted to the call of its master—the nameless potion that soothed my fiery blood.

  An involuntary moan slipped from my lips as my body swayed in the direction of the needle. But Meister pulled it back from my reach and gripped my cheeks with one hand. “You disobeyed me,” he said darkly, his blue eyes filled with ire.

  He approached, and for every step he took toward me, I took a step back. He was the hunter and I was the prey as he backed me farther into the room, his large body looming over mine.

  My legs hit something, and I lost my balance, tumbling downward. Something hard broke my fall, and I slipped on something wet. Before I could react, I was sitting on a chair, reclining back. I tried to move, but Meister pinned my wrists and strapped them tightly to the chair. My hands throbbed as the blood fought to push through from my bound wrists.

  My ankles were next. I glanced down, and I realized where I was. And what was wet beneath me. I chased vomit from my mouth as I watched my white dress become sodden with red blood.

  Rachel’s still-fresh blood.

  “No! Please!” I begged. Meister finished tying my ankles, ensuring I could not move. I struggled against my restraints, but it was hopeless. I was trapped.

  “Meister.” I felt a teardrop leave the corner of my left eye and crash to the soiled leather beneath my body. He moved beside me, stroking my hair from my face. My eyes closed under his touch, but not in comfort.

  It was in trepidation.

  I did not know what was to come, but I knew it would stop me from getting to Sapphira. She needed me, and I would not be able to help her. I would not be able to help any of them.

  Meister bent down and smiled at me softly.

  “This place, as you so called it, is for the cause, the race war that is about to come.” My eyebrows pulled down in confusion. I had no idea what a race war even was. “I have spared you the truth, because I was trying to protect you.” He smiled, as though he were feeling something sweetly in his heart. “Because I love you, I have kept you from what happens in this town.” Meister’s face fell, and anger marred his features. “But you just had to disobey me, didn’t you, Liebchen? Because you’re a whore, and that’s what whores do. You cannot be trusted. And now, I must teach you to behave.” He leaned over and kissed my forehead. “I must eradicate what you have seen today from your weak mind. Take all of these new memories away.” He smiled. “I have a new serum I’ve been testing. Real potent shit. Makes all of these memories fade to nothing, never to be recalled again.” He stroked my face so gently. “I’m gonna give it to you, and it’ll work. Soon you’ll remember nothing of this night. It will be as if it never happened. A clean slate.”

  “No!” I shouted. I did not want to forget. I needed to remember she was here. That she was not safe. That I needed to save her from this hell. I could not be thrust into darkness, my memories stolen, never to be recalled. She would perish. The pain, the fear she would endure . . .

  He ignored me. Taking a knife from his pocket, he ran the sharp blade down the front of my dress, severing it in two. He pushed the material aside, exposing my body to his eyes.

  Then in a flash, his hand was at my throat, his tight fingers starving me of breath. His face encroached on mine. “If you want to be treated like the rest of the sluts in this town, then you fucking will be. Only you’ll be my slut. And I will school you to our ways here. I will break you like I have broken them. Own your pussy like I own theirs.” He loosened his grip as he reached into his pocket with his other hand and pulled out the needle my veins so heavily craved.

  Meister injected the vial of potion into my arm, then another, then another. I floated away. I watched, detached, as he crawled above me, released his manhood from his pants and slammed himself inside me. I watched from my perch on the ceiling as he gagged me and sliced his blade across the flesh of my stomach, letting my blood fall to the already-soiled ground.

  And I closed my eyes as the potion took me to the forest I longed for most, the one where my Rebekah and Grace waited. The one where Sapphira walked out of some overgrowth, covered in blood. I cried out at her too-thin body and lifeless eyes.

  “Sapphira.” I tried to get to her. But I was tied to a tree, my hands behind my back. Sapphira saw me, and tears fell down her face. “Save me,” she begged as she began to fade away.

  As the potion engulfed my veins, I watched her fade from the forest, then begin to disappear from my head, shape by shape, image by image. I tried to remember her face. I tried to hold on to the fact that she was here. But the potion mixed with this new mystery serum grew stronger than ever before, robbing me of Sapphira’s cries, her tears, her face.

  I rocked against the tree, back and forth, trying to recall what I had begged my mind to remember. But the forest was barren and dark, and my head was too full of fog. I was alone in this forest. Alone and afraid.

  I wanted to remember.

  I needed to remember.

  But as my arm tingled and I became motionless against the tree, everything was just . . . gone.

  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.

&n
bsp; “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?”