Prologue #2
Within seconds, they were jostling me about. The tattered remains of my jeans and shorts were cut off me, leaving my bloody mess of a dick exposed.
Weirdly, I no longer felt any pain, and I knew it was because of the life oozing from me.
I grinned, leaning into the renewed burn from my crotch while Diablo took what was left of my dick. The pain was so pure it felt like I was floating on it, or maybe drowning, who knew?
I drifted out of consciousness, only to be dragged back by Breaker, tugging my head backward and getting his blade ready to slice. I let out a groan and closed my eyes, not wanting to see. The agony I felt was almost cleansing. Watching them take me out would kill my buzz.
“Wakey, wakey,” Diablo called out.
My eyes popped open, and I gargled as I felt the knife slice through my throat. Warmth seeped onto my skin, and then my head was pushed forward, where I was confronted for a second time with Cash’s golden irises and blood-streaked skin.
He leaned close until we were nose to nose and murmured, “Mess with a Demon, and we’ll raise Hell, motherfucker. Time to dance with the Devil.”
Then an earsplitting bang pierced the air.
—————
I was woken by a dragging motion.
The moan that left my throat came out almost otherworldly, like a ghostly scream that chilled me down to my blood and bones.
Then I noticed the pain had disappeared.
My hand flew down to my crotch, but I couldn’t feel anything, and not in the sense that my cock had been sliced off, but in the sense that I actually couldn’t feel anything except empty space.
I cracked an eye open to see lights moving above me, and I realized I was slithering on my back across the concrete floor of the room where I’d just been tortured and shot.
I heard voices, but they were distorted.
It was as if they were in another room, and I had to strain to understand what they were saying.
My mind was fuzzy, and I couldn’t think straight.
Shadows were all around me, long ghostly fingers coming from the darkness to shred at my skin, except I couldn’t feel my goddamned skin.
I couldn’t feel anything.
On I went, moving and sliding across the floor. My arms and legs kept contorting into unnatural angles, but there was no pain; in fact, there was nothing.
I slid up some steps and into a corridor, my body all over the fucking place, then I managed to look around to see the three fuckers who’d just tortured me carrying a black body bag toward a truck I recognized as mine.
The moaning and chattering in my head got louder, and I clawed at my ears, violently shaking my head to get rid of the agonizing noise. I heard the sickening crunch of metal, and my head snapped up to see my truck going over the top of a fucking mountain with a body in the driver’s seat.
My body.
I began to shake, the tremors going from head to foot.
If my body was sailing over the top of a high-assed mountain, how the fuck was I sitting on my ass in the dirt watching it happen?
My eyes lowered to look at my outstretched hand, but there was nothing there, just empty space. With a moan, I frantically felt for my chest, then my stomach, but again, I was met with nothing.
The dragging sensation overtook me once more, and against my will, I was tugged violently in the direction of Cash Stone’s truck.
I tried to pull back, to get away from those murdering assholes, but it was like an invisible force was dragging me, and there was nothing I could do.
The more I fought it, the louder the screams sounded inside my head, so eventually, I squeezed my eyes shut and just went with it.
What seemed like seconds later, I looked up, and I was back at the Speed Demons’ clubhouse.
I didn’t know how I got there—the last thing I was aware of was being on a fucking mountain—but now, for whatever reason, the invisible force was dragging me behind Cash Stone down a corridor.
My stare fell onto the shiny black garment he had slung over his arm, and my lip curled.
The fucker had the only things that ever meant anything to me.
My cut.
And my patch.
With a snarl, I lunged at him, but I had no fists, no fingers, no arms; I was nothing. “Fucker!” I bellowed, but nobody batted an eyelash. Instead, the same ghostly wail I’d heard before filled my psyche, almost making me pass out.
Cash stopped at what looked like an office and keyed in a code on the security pad beside it. He shoved his shoulder against the door and walked into a room containing a huge, round, oak table with the Speed Demons’ patch burned into the center of it.
Moving to a set of drawers, he took a hammer from one of them, then walked to the opposite wall and proceeded to nail my cut to it, patch side out.
That was the moment another realization hit me almost as hard as that SAA motherfucker’s fists had just before he chopped off my dick.
Cash hadn’t seen me.
None of those cunts had.
They couldn’t.
I wasn’t there.
I wasn’t a person.
I wasn’t anything.