Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 130761 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 654(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130761 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 654(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
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.