Chapter 7 Griff
Griff
“Icall dibs on the bitch with the big tits and ass,” Fredrick shouts, even though we’re all sitting around the table. “And that big dick freak. I want to see how deep I can make him sink his cock down her throat before she throws up all over him.”
This dude has the strangest fucking predilections. Normal people prefer wings or drumsticks—he wants to see how many times he can fuck a dead body before and after rigor mortis sets in. I’ve seen him fucking a corpse while maggots began to hatch.
Goosebumps ripple up my arms as I shiver at that fucking memory. I had to shower three times a day for two weeks before I could get rid of the feeling of them crawling on my skin.
“Why do we have to do this every single goddamn time, Rick?” Jackson snarls, not in the best of moods tonight. His fiancée found his snuff porn, and needless to say, she’s no longer with us in the land of the living.
Supposedly, he “really” loved this one.
I roll my eyes, picking up my Ghostface mask, ready to get this shit show moving along to the best part of the night.
Who can be bothered with a temperamental Jackson?
He's always in love. It's literally what he’s said about the last twenty-two of them. I’m no psychologist, but I’d bet a billion dollars that he doesn’t possess a bone in his body that knows how to love someone—none of us do.
We’re all types of fucked up. But that’s how they want us—the CryptKeepers.
You don’t make it out of here alive or dead.
“Fine! Can we get on with it then? You fuckers are always such buzzkills,” Fredrick complains.
Mikah’s ice-cold glare silences him.
Standing, Mikah moves to the SmartBoard, reminding us of the perimeter that we must stay within if we don’t want to get our asses chewed out and have to kneel above a giant tub of boiling oil for a second time.
“Tonight, we have prime real estate to hunt. As usual, there are eight people to hunt, and they all must die,” Mikah orders, turning his imposing form and glaring down on us. “Let me repeat that—” The pregnant pause is no doubt used for dramatic effect, as only he can.
“They…
“All...
“Must...
“Die.”
At some point, I must zone out, too busy, lost in the ways I’m going to kill my victims this time. It’s time to switch things up. I always just chase them and stab them to death. I internally yawn—boring.
My head snaps forward as something, or rather someone, hits me in the back of the head.
Whirling around, I sneer at Jackson. “What the fuck, asshole?”
“The teacher says you’re not paying attention during class again,” Jackson retorts.
Annoyed with this part of the night, I pretend to listen to the rest of what Mikah says, but I don’t tune in until I hear her name—Tati. The obsession none of us can let go of.
Because she got away.
She’s like the missing puzzle piece—the missed shot that cost us the championship game.
“We almost caught her, but some fuckface clown dressed as a samurai too early for trick-or-treating got in the way,” I snap. The laser pointer in Mikah’s hand snaps in half, and I share in his frustration.
It took us three years to build up enough fake intel to get her back to the Gordon Estate in Texas without her suspecting foul play, and some nut-buster mucked it up in less than twenty minutes. The only upside is that we know she’ll be here tonight, hiding like she always does.
“Okay, bring ’em in,” Mikah instructs, pointing to Jackson and me.
Rising, I shove my mask into the back of my black tactical pants and follow Jackson out into the crisp autumn air. Even with all the cadavers in varying states of decay, the air in Vermont just seems that much fresher than the Texas humidity.
“Who do you think they delivered this time?” Jackson asks, and I shrug.
“Does it really matter? They’ll be dead before dawn and erased like they never existed,” I nonchalantly reply.
Rinse and repeat.
“Don’t you get tired of the same bullshit process, every single time?” I lament, my frustration mounting the more I think about it. “We’ve been at this for eighteen years. No breaks—no variety.”
It’s Jackson’s turn to shrug. “It’s not like there’s anything we can do about it.”
Kicking the rock at my feet, I begrudgingly accept the truth. We’re owned—a deal signed in blood and kept by fear.
I find myself asking if it’s worth it until we unload our cargo. All women and fucking gorgeous.
“Looks like it’s a put out to pasture batch this time,” Jackson croons, playing with the pussy of a redhead.
Whistling, I take my fill, plucking, pinching, and squeezing as many tits and asses that I can before Mikah recognizes we’re goofing off out here.
My fingers are deep in the pussy of one girl, and she moans, “Please let me come.” The wanton plea shoots straight to my cock.
“Fuck this shit,” I mutter, throwing caution to the wind and shoving her down to her knees. My pants are undone, and my dick is in her mouth in less than thirty seconds.
“Griff,” Jackson starts to warn, but I’m already waving him off. This bitch has Hoover head skills, and there’s no chance, even under the threat of violence, that I’d stop before I come.
Her tongue snakes around my shaft, her piercing flicking the crown, and my knees go weak. She has a fucking split tongue body modification. My eyes roll back, and I groan so loud that I know Mikah and Fredrick can hear me from inside, but I don’t care.
Fisting her hair, I thrust in deep, not pulling back until I touch the uvula. The bitch doesn’t gag, she just moans, the vibration tickling my balls.
I need to fuck.
Yanking her away, I drag her to the stack of chopped wood and bend her over.
I kick her legs wide, spreading her ass cheeks until I see a sweet pink pussy—willing and ready.
Usually, I like to get them nice and worked up, but I’m already on borrowed time.
Instead, I spit and watch as it rolls down the crack of her ass.
“This is about to be a dirty, quick fuck, darling. I hope you can survive,” I warn, running my fingers up and down her slit until I’m sure her pussy has a decent amount of lubrication. Dry pussy means dick burn, and nobody likes a chafed cock.
Holding onto her hips, I angle her body, giving me perfect access to her cunt. Then, I slam inside her, pistoning—hard and fast, chasing my nut. But it’s not enough.
“What the hell is taking you bastards so long?” Mikah’s voice booms, and I know he’s seconds away from coming to check.
I need better leverage.
Gripping her hair at the root, I pull her back until she’s a bow string ready to shoot. Her pussy clenches, wrapping around my shaft like a stage five clinger.
More… we need more.
The beast inside awakens, and I lose sense of space and time until I roar out my orgasm, nutting inside her because a dead bitch can’t carry a baby, so why miss an opportunity to shoot ropes of cum into her greedy pussy.
“What the fuck?” is all I hear before I’m shoved. My dick slips from inside her, and my bare naked ass hits the cold, wet grass. “You killed her, asshole.”
Reality slowly filters back in, my blurred vision focusing. “Killed who?” I inquire, standing and fixing my clothes.
“Damn, what a way to go,” Fredrick whistles.
Shoving him out of the way, I see the girl I was just balls deep in has been impaled by a jagged piece of wood straight through her throat.
“Well, shit,” I blurt, rubbing the back of my neck. “I guess a pile of firewood isn’t the best place to fuck.”
Fredrick bursts into laughter. “I find it quite an interesting way to do it. It’ll definitely go on my list.”
“Knowing your crazy ass, you’d light the person on fire as you fuck them, come, and then watch them burn like candle wick,” I snort.
Glimmer sparks in Fredrick’s manic gray eyes.
“Now, why the hell would you give him that idea?” Jackson sighs.
“You’re acting like that’s the craziest idea he’s ever had,” I retort.
Jackson mutters something under his breath about sick twisted fucks when Mikah barks, “Enough goofing off. We’re already off schedule.” Then he points to me. “You only get one more kill, so you’d better make the most of it.”
“Yes, Dad,” I mock.
Sharp, angry blue eyes narrow in my direction. “Don’t fucking call me that!”
Shit, I hit an invisible trip line.
Holding my hands up, palms out, I say, “I’m sorry, man. I messed up.”
“Get these whores ready to go. We start the hunt in ten minutes,” Mikah orders before turning around and storming off without so much as a backward glance.
“Strike two,” Fredrick snickers, holding up two fingers. Then, he jogs off to catch up to wherever Mikah disappeared to.
Jackson shakes his head. “Here.” He hands me my mask that must have fallen off during my deadly dickdown, shooing the other girls toward the back of the barn.
“You screwed up, you idiot,” I mutter to myself, waiting a few beats to regroup before I join Jackson.
By the time I reach him, he’s giving out instructions. “The rules are simple, and if you want to make it out of this alive and with all your limbs, you’ll follow them.”
Lie #1.
· “Rule #1: You get a ten-minute head start. When the horn blares, run your fine asses as fast as your legs can carry you.
· “Rule #2: If you make it until dawn, you’re free to go.”
Lie #2.
· “Rule #3: If you make it off the property, you’re free to go.”
Lie #3.
No one but us makes it off this farm alive. If you’re brought here, you die here.
· And Rule #4: If we catch you, we kill you. How you die is up to your captor.”
The gasps and cries pour out. I hate this part. Most people who are loaded in the trailer know it’s time to meet the CryptKeepers. So, I never understand why they fucking cry and shit. Save your energy for escaping, even if there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that you’ll do that.
Time ticks down, and I sound the horn. Naked bodies, tits and ass bouncing, speed off in different directions. I don’t pay any attention to which direction because they all have trackers inserted in their arms. They don’t know that, of course, because where’s the fun in that?
Fredrick and Mikah step out into the light, stopping once they reach us. We spend the next ten minutes drafting who gets which girl. I don’t bother joining in, fine with whichever bitch I end up with. The exciting part of my night ended like twenty minutes ago.
I don’t even bat an eyelash when I’m given my prey for the night. I opted instead to walk in the direction of the tracker on my phone as I pull the white and black mask that has every dark and twisted soul who’s ever thought the bad guy is always hotter wet, over my head.
The moonlight disappears, blocked out by the canopy of trees. Another ten to fifteen minutes go by before I decide to take a quick nap. What’s the rush? The collars they have on set off incapacitating voltages—another cheat code.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been zoned out, but Mikah’s yapping about checking in comes through my comms before it’s replaced with static.
Pulling the earpiece out, I check to make sure it’s still fully charged, and it is. Then I tap it to see if the device is just old, but that does nothing either.
A branch snaps to my left, and I spring up on my feet, double-checking my knives are in place. I smirk when I feel the ten-inch blade in its sheath on my belt around my waist. I can’t tell you how many people I’ve fucked with this to see if they could handle my ten inches.
Not bothering to check my phone, I taunt, “Your will to survive must be set to suicide if you’re running back towards the barn,” but get nothing. Another branch snaps, quickly followed by the crunching of leaves, and my hackles rise with excitement. Maybe I lucked out and got a scrappy fighter.
The idea of wrestling a naked girl to the ground before forcing my cock into her ass—I already had pussy—wakes my once slumbering dick to life.
Quietness looms—anticipation of the kill causing my pulse to skitter.
“You can come out now,” I croon. “I promise to make you come at least three times before I slit your throat.”
Compromise is key in situations such as this.
No response.
“Four times, then,” I try.
Again, no response—no movements.
Ready to heighten the stakes, I pull out my phone, peering down at the tracker, only to find there’s no signal.
“Interesting,” I mumble.
No comms—no cell service.
There’s nothing, until I’m tackled to the ground, thighs wrapped around my neck, and my right arm, and I cry out in pain as I feel the immediate tear of muscle and dislocation of at least one joint.
Flying Triangle Chokehold.
I can barely breathe, but color me impressed. It’s been a very long time since someone got the best of me.
Strike three.
I’m struggling to catch a semblance of air when whoever tackled me releases me.
Confusion mars my face.
Why the fuck did they let me go?
My answer comes before I inhale. A fist repeatedly slams into the side of my face.
“You sick twisted fuck,” a feminine voice sneers, but I’m too disoriented to make out half of whatever vitriolic words are spewed at me.
“Killed… owe… die… tonight.”
Stumbling, I squint, making out the tactical suit and the green eyes that have haunted my most animalistic desires.
“Talia,” I whisper, reaching for my knife. “We’ve been wait—”
My words cut short as she throws something shiny. I can’t make heads or tails of it because my vision is blurry from the blood dripping into my eyes.
“Fuck a duck,” I exclaim, dropping the knife in my hand as I take in the sharp metal object lodged through my wrist.
Hissing through the pain, I reach up to yank it out when I hear, “Swing… batta’ batta’... swing,” seconds before I’m cracked in the head with a bat— not once… not twice… fuck not even three times, each ripping chunks of my skin and hair.
Delirious, I stumble backwards until I hear the snap of branches, and then I’m falling, blearily staring at the moon before something stops my descent.
“Going… going… gone!” I hear from above, and it takes my brain time to register what broke my fall. “Ahh, sh-ithh,” I mutter, very aware of my slurring. My eyes blink, finally taking in the metal spikes I’m impaled on.
You asked for a change, asshole, and karma surely enough delivered.
As my limbs grow weak and I feel the lethargic beat of my heart, thumping like hell is welcoming me home. I hear Tati shout, “Yes! Home run. And the crowd goes wild.” I want to snort, but everything feels so heavy. “That’s fifteen points for me, B. One down, three to go. You’d better keep up.”
I’m not sure who B is, but I’ll be honest, I don’t think Fredrick, Jackson, or Mikah are ready for the bloodlust of Talia Al-Adil.