Chapter Fifteen
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“We’ve finally gotten rid of all of the non-whites from our troops,” he said smugly to his faint reflection.
“Now my people are in charge of Manhattan.” His prepper friends and others he’d gathered during their journey to New York outnumbered the mercenaries by far.
Governor Giamano had put Creel in charge of assigning duties to his subordinates.
Only the people he could trust now worked in and around their headquarters.
The rest of the militants had been ordered to spread out.
They were rounding up survivors and searching for supplies.
It had only taken two months for Creel to ingratiate his way into the governor’s inner circle and take charge of the armed forces.
The only squads that didn’t follow his orders were Rahab’s goons.
“Those red-eyed roid loving freaks won’t be around forever,” he gloated.
“I just need to convince the Governor he doesn’t need Rahab anymore.
Then I’ll shoot that psycho right between his abnormal eyes myself. ”
But first, he would murder Xathan. The dark-skinned, smooth-talking advisor had become an obsession for the ginger-haired prepper.
He dreamed about slowly killing his enemy in dozens of painful ways.
It had been humiliating when one of his men had been executed in his office right in front of him.
His carpet was still stained by his ally’s blood.
Creel’s stomach rumbled and he headed for the door.
Two of his guards stood in the hallway now.
He wasn’t about to be ambushed by Xathan and his minions again.
They followed him into the elevator, then they exited from the building.
His home was only a couple of blocks from work.
All of his people lived in the nearby buildings.
Far from luxurious like Oliver Giamano’s abode on 5th Avenue, the apartments were still better than their old homes had been.
Mr. Lawson could smell food cooking as he climbed to the sixth floor rather than using the elevator. His guards’ apartments were below his. “See you tomorrow, boys,” he said. They saluted him and he kept climbing.
Creel had appropriated the entire top floor of the building for his family. His boys were old enough to be trusted not to burn the building down by accident. Their apartments were across from each other. His home was at the end of the hallway.
Veda knew to have his meal hot and ready for him by seven. His boys were expected to attend dinner with their folks. They were sitting at the dining table when he unlocked the door and stepped inside. Both teens shot to their feet and stood rigidly at attention.
“Hi, honey,” Veda said with a huge smile of welcome. “How was your day?”
“It was fine,” the prepper said, scanning her outfit.
She wore a pretty pink dress and white shoes with a low heel.
Her long blonde hair was neatly brushed and her makeup was flawless.
The swastika tattoo on her wrist didn’t need to be covered now that the world had changed so drastically.
His sons also wore their tattoos openly.
“Hello, father,” Hayes said in greeting. The spitting image of his dad, he had short ginger hair. He was trying to grow a beard, but he’d only managed scruffy stubble so far.
“Hello, father,” Wells said to echo his older brother. He looked like his mom, with blond hair and a delicate build. Veda wasn’t a hairdresser, but she cut their hair for them.
Creel nodded at them, then put his rifle on the sideboard.
He walked down the hall to the bathroom and took his time to wash up.
The prepper ruled his family with an iron fist. Hayes had been a rebellious kid, but his father had beaten him into submission long ago.
Wells was too afraid to show him any kind of disrespect.
He’d never be much of a man, but at least he was obedient.
Smirking at his reflection, Mr. Lawson dried his hands, then returned to the dining room. He sat down at the table, then nodded for his boys to take their seats. “How much longer do I need to wait to eat?” he complained.
Veda was stirring stew in a pot. She’d used canned ingredients, since fresh meat was impossible to find.
“It’s ready now, honey,” she said and started dishing it out.
She put a large bowl in front of her husband, then served her sons next.
Taking a seat to her husband’s right, they all waited for Creel to taste his meal.
Lifting the spoon to his lips, Creel blew on the stew to cool it down before shoving it into his mouth.
Screwing his face up, he spat it back into the bowl.
The color drained out of Veda’s face. She cringed away, knowing what was coming next.
“Did you put salt in this?” her spouse demanded angrily. “It has no taste!”
“I put salt and pepper in it, honey,” Veda said.
Reaching over, he backhanded her hard enough to knock her out of her chair.
His boys sprang to their feet and Hayes helped his mom up.
Enraged at the slop he’d been served, Creel lurched to his feet and picked the bowl up.
He spun around and threw it at the wall, splashing stew everywhere and leaving a dent in the drywall.
The bowl shattered when it hit the floor.
“Why can’t you ever do anything right?” he ranted at his woman.
“I’m sorry!” Veda said, fighting back her tears. Crying would just inflame his fury even more. “I’ll add more salt to it and serve you a new bowl.”
“Don’t bother,” Creel spat. “Throw it out and start again. You’ve ruined it!” Wells was cowering away, but Hayes glared at their father in hatred as his mom hurried over to the stove. “Do you have something to say, boy?” Creel demanded.
“Mom put salt in the stew,” Hays told him. “We both watched her add it.”
Mr. Lawson’s nostrils flared, then he rounded the table. Grabbing his son by his throat, he hauled him over to the wall and slammed him into it, smearing stew all over his clothes. “Are you mouthing off at me, son?” the prepper snarled.
“No, sir,” Hayes denied. “I’m just telling you what Wells and I saw.”
Creel’s fist slammed into Hayes’ stomach. He stepped back and watched his oldest child drop to his knees, gasping for air. He turned to Wells, who looked like he was on the verge of fleeing. “Did you see your mom put salt in the stew, boy?” he demanded.
Torn between saving his own skin or defending his mother, Wells opted for self-preservation. “No, sir,” he lied. Hayes looked up and sneered at him for his cowardice.
“Get out,” Creel ordered his sons. “Maybe you’ll learn some respect for your father once you’ve gone without food for a few days.”
He searched their apartments every few days to make sure they weren’t hiding any supplies from him. There was nothing in their pantries or cupboards to sustain them during their punishment.
Wells fled and Hayes climbed to his feet.
He gave his dad a burning glare full of loathing, then let himself out.
Pausing in the hallway, he waited for the first blow to land on his mom, hating her, too.
Veda muffled her noises of pain as the man she’d chosen to spend her life with beat the crap out of her.
Most of her bruises would be hidden, but it wasn’t like she was allowed to leave the apartment anyway for anyone to see them.
The teens entered their apartments, glad they no longer had to listen to the sounds of their abusive dad going on one of his rampages again.
Veda shielded her head with her arms and curled into a ball on the floor as Creel took his frustrations out on her.
This was the only life she’d ever known.
Her father had treated her mom and children exactly the same way as her husband treated his family.
They weren’t technically married, but she still thought of herself as his wife.
Muffling most of her cries of agony, she withstood the onslaught until it finally ended.
“Get up,” Creel said coldly, out of breath and feeling thirsty by now. “Heat me up something in the microwave and clean up this mess.”
He crossed to the fridge, wiping his bloody knuckles on his pants before opening the fridge door.
One of his friends had found beer and whiskey and had given it to him.
He cracked open a can, then sank down onto a recliner in the living room.
It sucked that there was nothing to watch on TV.
He had nothing to entertain him except watching Veda scurry around doing his bidding like an obedient dog.