Chapter 34 The Devils Can’t Save You…But Maybe She Will
THE DEVILS CAN’T SAVE YOU…BUT MAYBE SHE WILL
Iwas pissed as I walked back toward civilization.
My hands were still gripping the bloodied knife I had picked up on the way out.
I struggled to make sense of it. I didn’t give a fuck if Cole died on that track; the bastard was just as bad as Midas.
The last time I saw Midas, I was confirming his bail amount.
‘don’t skip town’ I reiterated, but of course, great and mighty that he was, he would do as he pleased, and it was always me picking up the slack.
“Fuck it, fuck him, and fuck all of this!” I screamed out my anger as if it would help. A bunny rabbit dashed out of a garden and dove for its hole as I yelled out nonsense.
Midas was going to die; I just didn’t have the resources to kill him yet.
I made it to Reyna’s house, and part of me thought for an inkling of a second to knock on the door.
Let her know I didn’t kill Cole despite my rage.
But I didn’t; instead, I rolled Cole’s motorcycle out the driveway and jumpstarted it and sped down the street.
If I knew anything about the organization besides being the bitch boy, it was that I knew absolutely jack shit.
There’s one person you could ask. The thought crept in with its gentle caress, a promise of hell if I didn’t have my head on straight, but I was right.
My uncle would be no help, barely able to wipe his own ass, but with Grandma it was a bargain.
Grandma Obsidian was no joking matter. Despite her actually being my grandmother, she was the grandma you didn’t cross.
The brutal bitch who clawed her way to power when her husband passed.
Some said she killed him, and the way our family deals with each other, that is hardly a lie.
April Blacklett was a woman not to be trifled with, a shadow that I had been escaping from all my life.
She hated Midas with a passion, but the Syndicate brings good money, good slaves, good stock.
In exchange, Obsidian moves them with the drugs, and somewhere in between the guns get tossed in as well, fuck if I knew.
The little taste of mafia life was too much, and that was before my own grandmother sold me into Midas’ control. My thoughts unraveled back to that day.
Halloween eight years ago
Smell had a funny way of sticking in your brain, of reminding you what deeds you’ve done, the people you’ve met, the actions you took all connected to a smell.
Right now, that smell was gunpowder. I thought my problems were over the moment my heel came down on Uncle’s spine, but that was a mistaken assumption.
‘Once you’re in, there’s no going back,’ the words cursed me, taunted me, and owned me.
The gunpowder was a rich intoxicating smell otherwise known as my latest addiction, sure it had been fun at times to pummel the shit out of someone but the satisfying splatter that came with blowing a chuck of flesh off a person with a high-powered weapon was a new high.
“Obsidians and Syndicates united under one roof to celebrate the latest achievements. Th Black Syns. Thanks to a few very special arrangements I can announce that business has never been better,” Cheers were heard from the mansion as whoever the accountant was this time finished his speech.
I cursed as I shoved the pistol back into my suit pants.
“Guess there’s no time to clean up,” I sighed as I kicked the body to the side, Dickhead should have known I wouldn’t play games tonight, and as much as it pained me to dispose of ‘one of our own’ it was easier than I expected.
Grandmother would not be happy about this rat in her garden. I would have to deal with that later.
Parties were not my strength, but as I slipped in through the side door, the black half mask fell into place.
Everyone here had masks, some full face others hid their eyes, and I had chosen a lower half masquerade with closed lips, copper etchings like it was unpainted, unworthy to be among the crowd of fleeting gold jewels and over the top masks adorned with anything and everything.
Resin points where my mask had been broken and formed poked into my cheeks at odd angles as I adjusted to the new restriction.
It was better to keep my mouth shut and observe, gain the knowledge and hope to hell that one day I could escape this life.
Only my second ‘party’ this one having fallen on hell’s night, I should have been out with friends getting drunk and fucking in a corn maze but no I was here with a bunch of killers or worse.
I loosened the tie on my neck as I scanned the room.
Women and men weaved through the tables in skimpy costumes, serving platters of food and drink.
All the help wore simple eye masks in colors.
I checked the card in my pocket for the codes:
Gold - Pure virgins.
Black - kill, eat, fuck, we don’t care.
Silver - Fights back.
White - Beat them, don’t kill them.
I swallowed thickly as I glanced at the selection. There were so many in black and white masks. Who knew what horror they would face? Only some were lucky enough to die. I didn’t like these parties; there was no real telling what crooked politician or big-name corporation was hiding a sick fantasy.
Celebration or not, it was like watching a dream as the drinks started to pour, the fuckings began. I felt woozy despite only having one drink; my coordination unfocused as I stumbled to a table and sat.
An overweight man in a gray elephant mask laughed loudly next to my ear. “First time?”
I kept silent and shook my head no. It may have been my first time here, but it was not the first time I watched these sick fucks rape, murder, and eat the help all while the drinks followed and money exchanged hands.
The elephant dude looked alive with the party and jerked a white-masked male towards him.
The tray of champagne flutes clattered to the ground in pieces as the man was punched and shoved on the table in front of me.
The white mask was much taller and bulkier than this fat asshole, but he didn’t raise up, only took the punches, his face beginning to bruise.
His eyes met mine as his chest met the table, they were the deepest brown I had ever seen, quiet a beautiful color to match his even bronze skin, but as the outfit was ripped off and the fat man’s hands came down his backside with a broken shard of glass, there was no light in his eyes, he was dead inside.
I watched in silence as the scream rang out. The anguish and suffering in his voice told me it wasn’t the first time he’d been beaten or worse.
Music pounded out a sensual, fast-paced beat, and it must have excited everyone who was in the vicinity.
Shrieks and wails started to become more noticeable, only drowned by the thudding bass and moans of their captors.
My gaze followed around the tables as multiple men and women had grabbed the nearest or prettiest staff and begun having their way with them.
Elephant Mask abused the man in front of me, as if he were putting on a show for me.
The next thing I knew, the blood dripped down his backside and the elephant’s cock was shoved inside.
The pleas for help were the worst part to watch.
My jaw ticked as I gritted my teeth and stared on.
Death would have been better for the poor bastard as the fatso degraded him, punching him in the ribs as he continued to rape his ass.
I couldn’t tell if the blood pooling on the floor was from the open wounds on his backside or if it was from the tearing of his rectum.
Frozen and unable to look away, I watched.
Every thrust was another stab with that broken glass shard, each movement more uncoordinated than the previous.
The moaning from this dick was that of a dying whale.
Eventually, the poor soul beneath the masked man passed out from the blood loss or the pain.
I sent a prayer to God that he died on that table.
“Oh yes! That’s the spot,” the words were shouted by the disgusting excuse of a human as he pulled out shooting cum on his victim.
He winked at me like I didn’t just watch him stab and rape a guy and then sauntered off towards the bar. Someone in a black suit came over and checked the servant’s pulse. The anger that crossed before he picked the guy up over his shoulder was brief but there.
Bang!
The Elephant Man hit the marble floor with a thud. The music stopped along with everyone else in the middle of fucking, gorging or other debauchery.
“As guest’s in Midas’ kingdom you will treat your playthings as they are marked, if you have not paid to play then do not touch. Now if anyone else wants to break a rule I have bullets left, a knife up my dress and at least four guys that will gladly lend me a weapon,” Mia’s voice rang out.
I was too stunned to move as I stared at her figure. It was the first time we’d seen each other since high school. Her eyes were covered by a half mask like the servant’s; however, it was red with markings on it. I wasn’t sure from this far away.
“I’ve got a knife you can have honey,” someone spoke, and laughter rang out.
There was silence as she strolled up to the man, her eyes gleaming with an unknown emotion in them, stopping in front of the dude she promptly pulled his pants off. His dick stood proudly as it jutted into her face; it looked like a worm.