18. The Sinner
Aswarm of nerves assails me as I leave the hidden passage in Sarah and Peter’s lavish home. The large wooden bookcase opens without a sound as I fearfully hold my breath. I can hear the soft footsteps of Abe and two of the rebels behind me, and I pray that the remainder of the rebel soldiers that came with us are now in place, being led by Sarah herself, to gain control of the house quickly and quietly, without anyone being able to raise the alarm. Here goes fucking nothing. I hope we are all alive at the end of the night.
From the shadows, I watch as Peter forces a young, naked, trembling maid down to her knees in the middle of his extravagant, masculine den. Tears pour down her battered and bloody face while he cackles like a psychopath, as he shoves his cock deep into her mouth and chokes her airway. His demanding and brutal grasp on her neck and hair force her to have to accept his punishing thrusts, while she tries desperately to dislodge his hold with no success.
Expensive liquor bottles sprawl along the floor, spilling their contents on the opulent wool area rugs. Next to them, a silver tray is upended with half-consumed food, and a white powder substance covers the ornate wood coffee table, with a clear tube discarded and forgotten. Disgust fills me at the state of the room, but rage scorches through me as I glare at the male inhabitants—abusers. Vile creatures.
Another man sits in one of the plush hunter-green wing chairs, watching the exchange between Peter and the woman. He has a crystal glass of amber liquid in his hand, and his eyes are trained on the woman’s heaving chest. He’s younger than Peter, closer to Abe and Zeke’s age, perhaps another member’s son but no less cruel, as he uses his booted foot to kick the maid in the middle of her back, forcing her to stumble forward and impale herself on Peter’s cock. Motherfucker.
I grip the gun with its silencer tight in my hand. These two assholes are going to die, but before they do, that young woman is going to get to watch them plead for mercy and her forgiveness, I fucking swear it.
At a small touch from Abe, signaling that the rest of the house is now under our control, I move forward and out of the shadows, stalking silently behind the sofa as I come upon the other male and place the suppressor firmly against the back of his scalp. He freezes, his foot still in midair, about to attempt another kick in the maid’s direction.
“If you finish that motion, I will shoot off your kneecaps one by one, fucker,” I breathe through my mask, lowering my head to whisper in his ear.
A hitched breath meets my warning, as his body becomes rigid and perfectly still, but the other two room inhabitants are still oblivious to my presence. That’s good. It will make it so much sweeter when I see the fear in Peter’s eyes when he glances at me.
“Fucking Christ,” I hear Abe mumble behind me as he gets his first look at the room and his father’s actions. There is no presence of God here; if there were, he would have smited these two fuckers, and dragged them off to hell long ago for their sins.
No, this world has been long abandoned by any holy being who could help. No angels are about to descend and save the faithful, or those who suffer. The only one here to provide justice is me, and I intend to be the angel of death amongst them.
Peter finally looks up from his horrific actions and stops mid-motion, his mouth opening wide but no words escaping, as shock crosses his features. I know what he sees: four bodies completely covered from head to toe in black clothing, except for our devil masks, which are painted in blood red. What a frightening sight we must be. He stumbles back, trying desperately to dislodge his hold on the woman, as her scream of pain rips through the air as he tears more strands of her hair out.
I lift the gun away from the man in front of me, as Abe reaches forward and grabs a fistful of his hair, preventing him from trying to escape off the sofa, and fire in Peter’s direction, hitting him with a shot in his upper thigh. I watch with perverse satisfaction as he falls to his knees, a scream tearing from his throat as he grasps onto the bleeding wound.
“Don’t be afraid, we’re not going to hurt you. It’s not you who we are here for.” I motion to the girl to move away from Peter, and one of the rebels moves forward, gently grabbing her arm and wrapping a throw blanket around her terrified, trembling form.
“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!” Peter screams, his face red and his dark brown eyes large and filled with fear, as he tries to grapple with his bleeding leg.
“Who am I?“ I move forward with a chuckle, my eyes glued to his face, “I am the spirit of all the women you have hurt and abused like that one,” I motion towards the maid, who is shaking like a leaf. “And Maria Camrose, and your wife. I am vengeance.”
I move in front of him and push the suppressor against his forehead, even as the need to punish him further hums along my heated blood, begging to hear his screams. “I am death, and I have come to collect what is owed.”
“Please… I… I have money… and power. I can pay you!” He cries, snot rushing out of his nose and down his pathetic, quivering lips.
“Oh, you will pay me, Peter, make no mistake, but those are not the things I want.” I press my foot down on his bleeding thigh, and wrench another pain-filled scream from his lips. More, fuck, I need so much more. I need to hear him beg louder. To see more tears, to know that I have broken him like he was trying to do to that girl.
“What… what do… you want?” He screams as I move my foot away and take a seat on the coffee table in front of him, my gun still pointing at his heaving chest, just in case the fucker gets brave, even though I doubt very much that he has a brave bone in his body. No, the Brotherhood is filled with cowards.
A laugh suddenly makes its way around the silent room, as I tilt my head to stare at the man who terrified me as a child. The man I watched abuse my beautiful mother, and who knows how many other countless women over the years. The man who hurt Sarah, over and over, when he should have protected and loved her. Brotherhood scum.
“I want your screams, Peter. I want to hear you beg for mercy like all those women did, like your wife did.” I lean forward, “like my mother did.” A sadistic grin breaks across my face behind the mask. Oops, guess that cat is out of the bag. It won’t matter, though. Peter Mercier will breathe his last breath in my presence here today.
Shock momentarily replaces the fear across his features, and I know he’s finally realizing who is before him. He tries to shuffle backward on his ass, attempting to put distance between himself and me in terror of the apparition before him. “No, no… you’re dead. Noah said you died, that he and Ezekiel stabbed you!”
I use my other hand to lift the mask until it’s at the top of my head, and Peter can get his first look at me. I don’t hide the fury plain across my face to see. “Do I look dead, Peter?”
“NO! No, please, I beg of you… mercy. It… it was… Noah. I… I went along with it… but…” Before he can get another word out, Abe stalks forward and slams his fist into the side of his head.
“Lies… you are no better. You’re just as evil as that fucker.”
A dazed Peter stares up at the immense form next to him, confusion and terror crossing his features, before Abe squats down and lifts his mask to the top of his head, exposing his grinning face and bright amber eyes. “Hello, father. Aren’t you relieved to see me alive?”
Peter’s face instantly pales further, and his eyes become so enormous that I’m surprised his eyeballs don’t just roll out of his skull. “Abraham! Son, save me!”
I hear the door to the room open and the sound of footsteps making their way inside. I peek over my shoulder, and get an eyeful of Sarah Mercier in her rebel garb, with a machine gun strapped across her chest and blood splattered across her luminous skin. Her eyes meet mine, and I witness determination, and a fierce will to see justice served, in their depths.
“Save you? Now why would I do that?” Abe chuckles as he moves back from his father’s bleeding form and stands as a menacing sentinel at my side. My perfect demon, ready and willing to bloody anyone who attempts to hurt me.
“Hello, husband.”
Peter’s disbelieving eyes trail across his wife’s form, taking in her attire and the weapon strapped to her chest, and the men behind her, similarly dressed. “No! No, this can’t be. What are you doing, woman? You traitorous bitch, I will have you punished.”
I fire again, this time aiming for his other thigh, and his screams fill the room with beautiful, unhinged noise. Fuck, I need more of that, it’s like a symphony to my ears. “You won’t be punishing anyone ever again, cunt. Your time of reckoning is at hand.”
“Where are Zeke and Sammy?” Abe leans forward, his powerful, broad shoulders bunching as he seizes his father’s chin tightly, forcing it to rise to meet his angry glare. “Where is Noah holding Gabriel’s son?”
A noise from the other Brotherhood member distracts me, as I stare at the mess he has become. The fucker has already pissed himself and is sobbing like a child. Guess he’s not so brave now. I nod to one of the rebels, and they take up position behind him, holding a blade to his throat. He, too, will meet his fate here tonight. I refuse to leave anyone standing who could continue to harm women and keep the Brotherhood going.
“Why… why would… I… I tell you? You’re going… to kill me… anyway?” Peter grits through his clenched teeth, as more blood soaks the ground around him. It’s so bright and pretty, like a juicy red apple, just waiting for me to enjoy it. How I already long to run my fingers through it and smear it all around. If we’re not careful, the fucker will bleed out before we can have any real fun. Can’t let that happen now, can we?
“Because, Peter, there are worse things than dying, as you’re about to discover. Bind his wounds and stop the bleeding,” I order, and one of the rebel soldiers with Sarah moves forward to do exactly that. Peter’s howls fill the air as his wounds are tended to, and bound tightly to stop the blood flow.
“Tsk, tsk, you poor excuse for a man. I will keep maiming you, Peter, and each and every time, one of them will patch you up again. You will die piece by piece, but not before you sustain so much damage that you’ll scream out for mercy, and even then, it will never amount to the suffering you have caused to those around you all these years.”
“I have done what the Order demanded of ME!” He shouts, with spittle flying from his mouth.
“You have betrayed God with your false Order. You have served no one but yourselves and the devil all these years. You are not men of God; you are depraved scum of the earth. Evil races through your veins.” Sarah lashes out with her fist, striking her husband’s cheek. “I will have my justice!”
An unhinged laugh leaves Peter’s lips, and blood trickles from his mouth down to his chin. “You’re weak and pathetic, Sarah. Nothing but a whore to be used, and not even a good one at that, unlike her mother.” He nods in my direction, and my hands tighten on the gun, knowing that he is trying to provoke me into killing him, to end his suffering quickly.
“Will you kill the version of me that you birthed? Huh, whore? Will you destroy your precious Abraham, who is a chip off the old block?”
Abe fists the back of his father’s head, forcing Peter’s neck to an odd and painful angle. “I am nothing like you, old man.”
“Keep telling yourself that, boy. Your body count isn’t as high as mine, only because you haven’t lived as long.”
“ENOUGH!” I shout and get up, slipping a large blade from the sheath on my thigh. “Force him to stand, and we will see if he has anything to say after I cut off the weapon he used against women who could not fight back.”
“Nooooo.” Peter tries to fight off Abe, and one of the others, as they grip and force him to his knees, and his limp dick hangs between his legs. Pathetic. I can guarantee that Abe didn’t get his size from his malignant father. The thought almost makes a chuckle leave my lips, but I swallow it at the last moment. Get it together, bitch, none of this is funny, my mind admonishes me.
“No, Dinah. I would like the privilege of cutting that vile appendage off of him. I have suffered and endured more than anyone at his hands.” Sarah moves forward, her palm up for the blade as she keeps her eyes firmly on her husband.
My lips quirk at her request, my eyes rising to meet Abe’s, and at his nod, I place the blade in her hand. Sarah moves steadily forward, her back rigid and her head held high, a savage queen about to avenge herself from a lifetime of pain against her oppressor.
“Where is Gabriel’s son?” I question.
“Fuck you!”
Sarah strikes forward, sinking the blade into the apex of Peter’s thigh before pulling back. “Answer her questions, Peter, or you will find yourself looking like Swiss cheese.”
“Are Ezekiel and Sammy being held in Noah’s estate?” I cross my ankles, ready and waiting to see how much damage Sarah will inflict on him.
“Fuuu…” He doesn’t even get to finish the word, before Sarah thrusts the blade into the opposite side of his groin. She leans forward, her face close to his. “I’ve waited years, Peter. Years to make you feel an inkling of what you have made me feel.”
“Slice his wrists, Sarah, then one of you loosely bind them, so he can feel his blood slowly trickling out of him,” I instruct as Abe forces his father’s arms up, and his mother complies with my request with a gleeful smile across her face. A hoarse cry tears from his mouth, as again he’s tended to.
Shit, this is starting to get messy, but we are already having so much fun. I wonder how long it will take him to bleed to death with the wounds Sarah is actively inflicting? I should tell her to slow down, but I wouldn’t want to restrict her fun; she’s earned it.
My eyes narrow on the trembling maid, who is hiding her face in the chest of one of the rebel soldiers. “Come here, girl.” I motion to her to come to my side, and she does so on shaking limbs. “Was today the first time he has hurt you?” She shakes her head no, tears sliding their way across her battered face. She’s so young, younger than me, barely out of her teens, and look at what she has already suffered at the hands of the Order.
“Slice all of his fingers off except his middle one on each hand, and force them down his throat. He used them to abuse her, and so he shall pay for his trespasses.”
Abe and Sarah get to work, slicing and dicing, and cauterizing the wounds with a lighter. Then, one of the rebels holds Peter’s face firmly in between his massive palms while Abe uses his fingers to plug his nostrils, and Sarah forces each finger down his throat. Peter gags after each one, threatening to throw them back up, but we can’t have that.
“Where is Noah holding them prisoner?” I move to Sarah’s side and clench my hand around Peter’s neck, squeezing until his breath falters. “I can end this, Peter; all you need to do is tell me what I want to know.”
His dark, pain-filled eyes sightlessly meet mine, but the only sounds that make their way out of his mouth are mumbled cries of despair. He will go into shock soon, and then he will be useless to me. Time to speed up our games. “Cut off his left ear. I don’t think he’s taking us seriously.” Behind me, sounds of retching greet my ears, and I glimpse the maid hunched over and emptying the contents of her stomach. She will have to learn to toughen up if she plans to survive this cruel world.
Peter’s scream brings my attention back towards him, as Sarah discards the flesh and cartilage of his ear on the ground at her feet. “Please… please, mercy… the boy is in the country.”
“Where in the country?” I nod towards his other ear, and Sarah grabs hold of his lobe, preparing herself to slice through it. Her hands are steady and sure of her task.
“Fa… rm… farm where he used… to keep… racing horses,” he gasps. Abe meets my gaze.
“I know where that is; Zeke and I went there a few times years ago, before Noah stopped breeding the race horses. It’s two hours outside of the city.”
“And Zeke and Sammy’s whereabouts?” My body trembles with suppressed energy, and the need to hurt this man who has done so much damage to the women that I loved, and so many other countless ones, like the poor girl who can’t even look in his direction.
“Estate, locked… under key.”
I nod at Sarah, and a maniacal, deranged look crosses her face as she plunges the blade repeatedly into his chest, neck, and stomach. Each hit lands with a sickening sound as he hollers in pain, and blood arcs, covering her face, neck, and body, until she is coated in liquid red. I watch her with joy as she takes her pound of flesh and then some, processing her rage, and getting revenge on the man who has abused her all these years.
When she goes to grab onto his cock, I touch her shoulder. “Clean, make it clean so we can place it into his mouth, as a warning to the Brotherhood. That is a signature of the Unholy Ghost.”
She takes her time, enjoying her work, severing the body part that has caused her the most pain over the years, to my amusement, but to the discomforted groans of the other men in the room. A rattling noise leaves Peter’s chest, and just as the light is dimming from his eyes, Sarah leans forward and spits in his face. “Rot in hell, bastard, your disgusting friends will join you soon.”
Once he’s taken his last breath, I get to work, much to Abe’s entertainment, as he helps me position the bloody body against one of the walls, using two of my smaller sheathed blades to pin Peter to it by his wrists. A shot rings out, and I turn to see the other male slumping forward as Sarah takes his life. Crap. I had forgotten he was even in the room anymore, with all the excitement. Good thing Sarah seems to be bloodthirsty at the moment.
“Give me the knife, Sarah.” I raise my hand, and she places it into my waiting palm. I get to work, slicing off one of Peter’s middle fingers and using it as a makeshift pen to write my message in his blood.
Yeah, yeah, I know. I am dramatic as fuck, but how else will I ensure that the remaining members of the Brotherhood have nightmares when they hear what befell Peter? I start my writing, using Peter’s blood as the ink.
“Very poetic, Dinah. We should go, for we have dallied long enough.” Sarah’s calm voice greets my ears, and a grin crosses my lips at her now calm demeanor.
“Have the other houses been hit and messages left?” I question as I wipe my hands along her pretty curtains. I doubt she really cares. She won’t be returning here ever again after tonight. No, the plan is for her to play her pitiful, traumatized Sacred Wife role, and infiltrate other Brotherhood houses. No one in the Order would suspect her involvement here, and when she’s found terrified and tied up in her locked bedroom, it will further proclaim her innocence.
“All eight of them. Tonight, the Brotherhood loses a large number of its members in one fell swoop to the Unholy Ghost. It will have them all panicking and fearing for their lives and safety.”
“Good, let’s go get my nephew.”