by Tillie Cole
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.
