Damnable Grace
Page 81

Meister tore his hands from between my legs, and I sagged against the wall. He marched to the door and ordered something from one of his men. Meister shut the door again and rested his back against the door. He stared at me, and I never moved my eyes from him.
I just watched him, wondering, fearing, what would happen next.
The door opened, and someone was flung inside. I pushed off the wall when I saw the figure on the ground. It was . . .
“Martha?” I said almost inaudibly, shock stealing the sound. Martha moaned in distress and pain. But she turned at the sound of my voice, and I saw her face. It was cut and bruised black and blue. Her hair was tangled and filled with dirt. But when she saw me, I knew she was no longer under the influence of the potion, because her eyes truly saw me. They recognized me.
“Martha.” I stepped forward, but Martha scurried backward and shook her head, arms out. Tears were falling down her cheeks. “I am sorry.” She shook her head again, face contorting. “I had no choice.” She flicked her terrified gaze at Meister, who was still watching, amused, from the door. His arms were folded, and there was smugness in his blue stare.
“Sorry for what?” I asked, dread filling my veins, drop by heavy drop.
“You see, Liebchen, I could not understand why you attacked Dale that day, weeks ago. Why, when I had ordered you to stay by our shack, you disobeyed me. You had never disobeyed me before. You were always such a good little whore. Always obedient. Then I remembered you were trying to get to someone in the barn. Someone you knew. Someone you wanted to save.” He pointed at Martha. “Or at least two people. You knew this one too, I saw it in your eyes.” He paused. “But then there was the kid on the bed. My biggest draw, my most used piece of pussy. And I knew there was more to it.”
I swallowed, whipping my head to Martha, who was now sobbing on the floor. “I pulled them off the cocktail that kept them under my command and decided to get some answers from them. The other one, the young, golden pussy, never cracked. Not once. Fucking strong-willed slut. But this one . . . ” Meister walked to Martha and lifted her up by her arm. “This one squealed like a fucking pig. She told me why you wanted the other slut freed so badly.” I held my breath as Martha shook her head. Her eyes were so ashamed, so filled with guilt.
“No,” I whispered, my legs beginning to lose strength.
“A daughter,” Meister said and smiled. A wide, cruel smile. “A fucking daughter you had at twelve years old.” His head tilted to the side. “It seems you always were a slut, Phebe. Fucking men when you were a child? No wonder you were so good on my cock. By the time I got to you, you had that shit down to perfection.”
“I am sorry, sister,” Martha said, and my heart cracked for her. She was black and blue, too thin and so broken. No more than a living corpse.
I opened my mouth to tell her there was nothing to forgive, when Meister’s hands suddenly moved and snapped her neck, the loud crack of breaking bone echoing off the stone walls. Martha’s lifeless body crumpled to the ground.
I screamed seeing my friend’s eyes forever staring at me, her neck disjointed. I screamed and screamed as Meister moved to the door and opened it. A guard entered, dragging another person with him. And then the everything seemed to stop—my thoughts, my heart, the breath in my lungs—as Sapphira was thrust before me.
“No!” I shouted and Sapphira’s head lifted up to face me.
Her brown eyes filled with tears, and her hands covered her mouth. “Phebe?” she said through her cut and swollen lips. I watched her face twist in sadness, and she tried to run toward me.
Meister pulled her back against his body, and I snapped. Pushing my feet forward, I charged at Meister. I needed to get him away from my girl. But before I could, a blow came to my stomach and my knees hit the ground. I was wrenched up by the guard, who held on to my arms, keeping me back.
“Sapphira!” I shouted, watching her eyes grow large with fear.
“Phebe!” she called back. Meister sliced his hand across her face. Her head lolled to the side, dazed, and Meister took hold of her cheeks, forcing her to face me.
I cried, choking on anger at seeing my daughter in this monster’s arms. Meister could see it in my expression, I knew. He smiled coldly. His hand moved down to her breasts, and he squeezed the flesh. Sapphira cried in his arms, but he had no sympathy for her. I tried to move, to get to her, but I was bound by the guard’s incredible strength.
Sapphira looked down and saw Martha’s dead body. She struggled to be free, fear taking her over, her screams loud and shrill. Meister held her still. “I told you I needed a replacement when you left,” Meister said again, and I blanched. He stroked Sapphira’s cheek. “When I found out who she was, I knew it had to be her.” His hand ran down her torso, until it reached her core. I moaned in anguish as he touched her between her legs. Her brown eyes fixed on mine—begging, crying for help. “And her pussy is tighter. So fucking tight.” He shrugged, groaning as though that fact brought him pleasure. “I’m guessing that’s due to her age. Fourteen.” He shook his head. “So fucking good to own. To lick. To taste. Perfect teenage pussy.”
I whimpered, unable to bear him speaking of my daughter in such a way. With his eyes on me, he said, “And she fucking loves it . . . watch.” Meister put his hand on the back of Sapphira’s neck and pushed her forward. Her feet stumbled as she tried to keep upright. Meister bent her over the table in the center of the room and kicked up her soiled dress.
I lost control. Every fiber of my being flared to life at the thought of Sapphira on that table, being forced. And when she looked up at me, her eyes helpless yet resigned to her fate, I could not do anything else.
I kicked. I kicked and I scratched the guard holding me, frantic and completely wild. “Fuck!” the guard cried when I managed to hit between his legs. His arms fell from me, and I charged forward. I ran at Meister, full force, and pushed on his chest. He only stumbled back a fraction. But it was enough for Sapphira to get free, to back away. And I swung. Fists formed, I lashed out at his face. I struck and I struck, until Meister’s patience broke and he struck me across the face. I fell at the blow, fell until my back hit the table. But he kept coming, face raging, his strikes hitting every target—my face, my stomach, my chest.
“Phebe!” I heard Sapphira call, crying behind me. But all I could think was that she was safe now.