Damnable Grace
Page 6

“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.