Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
His eyes flare open just as Frost bends down, spreading the woman's legs wide.
She begins kicking, tossing, and turning, so he brings the back of his gun up, slamming it down over her face.
Her back hits the floor, her head turning sideways slowly as she drifts in and out of consciousness. He continues by removing her G-string. Frost smirks, brings it up to his nose, and inhales deeply.
I laugh as he shoves it into his back pocket. The piece of shit starts wriggling in his spot, his screams turning into sobs. Frost's gun disappears between her thighs. The very moment that skinny barrel inserts into her, her head begins yanking sideways desperately, calling out for her boyfriend as his shoulders shake under my grip. I smirk, and with a small nod of my head, the silent gunshot rips through the air as blood, brain matter, skin, and organs rain down on us.
The asshole screams.
I pull the knife out of my holster and face him, bending to his level to bring my lips to his ear. I want to hear every fucking gargle. Every prayer.
Slowly, I penetrate his groin with the sharp end of my knife, being sure to go inch by inch. His screams silence, his mouth opening and eyes blowing red as I grind the blade in slow circles, feeling every hard jolt as it scrapes and skips over something inside him. Soft. Wet. Tearing.
“I fucked her with this knife, you know,” I whisper, sweat beading at my temple. His cries escape between the sputters of blood. “She came all over this very fucking knife.” I drive it deeper, my jaw locking, muscles ticking. “Now her retribution is what’s dripping off it.”
He convulses, shaking hard, and it’s not until I step back an inch to catch his dying laugh. “Oh I wish I could see her face when you tell, te...” The final minutes of his life pass by my hands.
When the jerking of his body begins to fade out into the nothingness of his piece of shit existence, I whisper, “See you in Hell, Eddy Woolbrock.”
I shove his dead meat away, ripping my mask off my neck and using it to clean my knife. Don’t even want his bullshit blood on my blade.
“Lets get the fuck out of here.” I roll spit beneath my tongue and aim it at his body, before turning to the front door.
As soon as the sun hits me, I turn back one last time at the house. With bloody knuckles, brain matter painted over my cut, and adrenaline that won’t stop coursing through my veins, I know I’m gonna need to calm my shit down before heading back.
Frost claps a hand on my shoulder, breaking the spell. “We're done here, brother. Cleanup crew's on the way.”
I nod, not tearing my eyes from the house. Four pillars, a roundabout driveway. Looking from the outside, it seems perfect. It needs to be fucking burned down. “Make sure they torch anything that can talk. No traces.”
Beast steps up, wiping a blade clean on his jeans. “You good? Look like you're about to charge back in there.”
I grunt, flexing my fingers, the ache in my bones grounding me. “Just makin' sure this nightmare don't come back for her.”
He studies me, then jerks his chin toward the bikes. “If we leave now I’ll make that cake appointment.”
I turn, the weight of Eddy's last scream still echoing in my skull, and stride toward Hellraiser, when the dirt beneath my boot rattles.
Frost stops, and both mine and Beast’s eyes drop to the ground.
“What? I miss something?” Frost asks, eyes swinging between us.
I drop to my knees and move the dust out of the way as Beast trails that same bounce all the way up to the stairs of the wraparound porch.
I freeze, the vibration under my boots hitting like a punch to the gut. That subtle tremor, the way the dirt shifts unnaturally. A ghost from Vanguard. Those bastards buried secrets deeper than graves, using tunnels and cells carved into the earth. My pulse hammers as I scrape more dust aside, revealing a faint outline of packed soil that don't belong.
Beast moves fast, boots stomping toward the porch steps. He kicks hard at a panel beneath the railing, wood splintering with a sharp crack. “Got somethin' over here!” His voice cuts through the still air, low and urgent.
I'm on my feet, striding over, my gut twisting tighter with every step. The panel hangs loose now, revealing a dark, narrow gap. Cold air seeps out, air-con. Perfume. Clean. Strange for something that’s built underground.
I crouch, peering into the void, my fingers itching for a flashlight. “What the fuck.”
Frost steps closer, his shadow falling over us. “What the hell you two seein'?”
Beast grunts, prying the panel wider. “bunker.”
“A fucking clean one,” I say, noting the double bed, stacked canned food, and TV.