AllFreeNovel
Share Us
When Prodigal’s head whipped around, the soft pleading in his father’s eyes at my VP’s shoulders slumping.
“Fine, but I got your six,” Prodigal relented.
As I form a fist, we move as one toward the front door of a house that should have been allowed to turn to ash instead of witnessing whatever horrors we’re bound to find inside. With a swift kick, not caring if the door is really secured or locked, the wood explodes like it was just waiting for the chance at redemption instead of shuttering the depravity inside.
The first person I see is a man in a RRMC cut sitting on a couch that is covered in dust and grime and older than me. His head is thrown back and his fingers are curled into the hair of someone on their knees in front of him. I don’t think.
I fucking act.
My gun is drawn and with a gentle pull of the trigger, as his head tips forward, I shoot him right between the eyes. The person on their knees doesn’t even notice the sound of the shot or the splatter of his blood on her at first. But when she does, she recoils back on her ass and starts to crab walk backwards, her screams a symphony of promised violence that increases in volume the farther she gets from the macabre scene in front of her.
Her head whips around towards me and my brothers and my heart fucking cracks open. A child. There is no way this girl is more than thirteen.
It takes her a moment for her eyes to scan over us and her eyes widen as she takes in our cuts. That has her curling into a ball and shielding her head. “Please no,” she begs.
I glance behind me, and I can see the haunted eyes of my brothers. “This isn’t the worst we’ll find, I’m sure,” I tell them, hoping to shore up their resolve.
It fucking works as their eyes snap to me instead of soaking in the blood covered girl who is cowering away from us. The moment stretches and yawns, forcing us all to live within it for far too long. There is no escape.
The sound of shots ringing out from the back of the house has time speeding back up. “Hacker,” I order, and he nods.
He knows what he needs to do, and I don’t glance at the girl again as I move by her. I can’t. Because I can’t focus on her right now.
There is more work to do.
Hacker peels off from the group and crouches down near the girl, his hands out in front of him as if approaching a feral animal. Because he is.
I tune out his words as I make my way toward the stairs because they’re closer to us than where the rest of my brothers are entering at the back door. With every step we take, together, it gets harder to breathe. The air is oppressive with shame and misery, but I can’t fall victim to it.
There’s no other choice but to press on. So, that’s what I do, feeling my brothers at my back and taking every step with me.
Just as I’m cresting the last step, I hear Hacker’s voice behind me, “She’s out with the Prospects. They’re taking her to the van.”
I don’t turn to acknowledge him and hope he can see my nod even in the dim light of the shit hole we’re in. The house might be faded now, but there is former glory to be found here. It’s on the verge of palatial and I can imagine a family of means and money living her at one time, projecting happy moments along the walls.
They’ve all vanished now.
What has been left behind are shadows and ghosts.
There are eight doors on the second floor with various sounds coming from behind them. Are they doors or portals into the darkest depths of hell?
I have no idea, but we’re all about to find out.
As I start to move to the farthest door from the stairs, moving along the banister overlooking the staircase, I know my brothers will line up and prepare to enter the other doors. We’ll be doing this like we do everything else—together.
Once I’m in position, I glance back to find everyone ready, their eyes are hard and trained on me. I hold my hand up to indicate five and then let it drop. We count as one. When we get to zero, the doors in front of us give way and I can almost feel how grateful this once stately home is to have us here now.
When I enter the room I’ve taken on as my responsibility, I almost breathe a sigh of relief when I see a woman in her early twenties. But then my lip curls in disgust as I realize the man on top of her, pressing her into the mattress as he fucks her, is wearing a RRMC cut and is at least three times her age. If that weren’t enough, her eyes are fluttering like she can’t stay conscious.
But he doesn’t care. He pounds into her harder and bile rises in my throat.
I close the distance between us in a few strides and press the barrel of my gun against the man’s temple. I make sure to make contact with the skin, knowing it has to still be hot from the shot I fired only minutes ago.
The man’s face turns toward me slowly and I narrow my eyes in recognition. He was there the night we went to the RRMC clubhouse and warned Anarchy about leaving Wrenley alone. It was clear he was high as a fucking kite then and from the wild look in his eyes and the way his pupils are blown out, he’s high now.
“If you want a turn, you’re going to have to wait, brother” he sneers at me, not even bothering to look closely enough at my cut to see I’m not one of his brothers. Or maybe he can’t look closely enough.
It doesn’t really matter.
