“Flame!”
A spurt of blood gushed from his wrist onto my jacket and his head rolled back with an ecstatic hiss from his mouth.
I pushed at his shoulders. “FLAME!”
The brother snapped open his coal-black eyes and, gripping my wrists, pulled me forward, his teeth bared and covered in a watery sheen of blood. Recognition soon flooded his features and he instantly let go of my wrists.
“Mae?” he half asked, half stated, his black eyes softening a fraction.
As I rubbed my sore wrists, I shouted, “Where is Ky?”
Flame got to his feet, no shirt on his completely inked chest. I immediately removed my gaze from his bare torso with its scars—long, red, angry, raised—and burn marks, hundreds of them edged in scar tissue.
My goodness. What had happened to Flame?
“His room’s third on the right.”
Nodding, I again averted my gaze from his self-mutilation and took off for the room. I slapped frantically on the beaten dark wood door but Ky’s music was too loud.
Too impatient to politely wait for answer, I shouldered the door and instantly froze as I stumbled into the room. Naked, Ky was on his back, Tiffany riding his erect length. Jules, all her body exposed, had her privates over Ky’s mouth as she sucked on Tiffany’s br**sts. It was a sinful den of hedonism and not one of them took the slightest bit of notice as I stood there in disbelief. The music and their noises, the slapping and sucking sounds of their joining, had drowned out the crash of the door.
“Ky!” I tried to scream over the cacophony, but he did not stop.
Spotting the stereo beside the bed, I ran over, almost tripping on an array of peculiar-looking plastic toys. Some were vibrating and rotating as they twitched along the wooden floor.
Making sure not to stare at the writhing figures on the bed, I began hitting the stereo and after several slaps, managed to mute the volume. As if in a daze, Tiffany looked up first, yet she did not stop in her joining.
“Mae?” she confirmed, breathlessly.
Obviously hearing my name, Ky unseated Jules’ spread legs from across his mouth, pushing her to one side. With a yelp, the blonde almost toppled off the bed. Rising to his elbows, Ky wiped her juices off his lips with his arm.
Concern immediately washed across his face; Ky asked, “Mae, what’s up?”
Ky pushed against Tiffany’s shoulders, halting her grinding, her back hitting the iron railings on the foot of the bed. His hard manhood came into view, so I turned away, speaking over my shoulder.
“It is Styx. He has gone after them on his own. Ky, I am terrified. There were so many of them!” I rushed out, my voice betraying my panic.
Ky’s blood drained from his face. He jumped out of bed and dressed rapidly in his jeans, black shirt, and leather cut.
“Who’s he gone after, Mae? Explain, now!”
He hopped as he tugged on his boots. I followed him out to the hallway. He accelerated hard as his fists pounded on the doors of the brothers’ private rooms. He screamed, “Business! Move out now!”
Turning to face me once again, he said, “Mae, talk!”
Viking, AK and Smiler shot out of their rooms rubbing at their bloodshot eyes.
“Styx and I went for a ride. When we came back to the compound, there was a big black truck parked to the side of the gate. A… a…” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to remember what Styx had said. Snapping my eyes open, I blurted, “A Chevy. A black Chevy truck. He told me to tell you it was full of ammo and it was the… Nazis?” I looked Ky straight in the eye. His mouth had tightened into a thin line. “Is that right, Ky? The Nazis?”
He nodded and turned to punch the wall. “Fuck! He’s gone in alone. The f**kin’ stupid dick!”
The brothers as one ran into the lounge. Flame still sat on the chair, the tip of his long blade now pressed into his thigh, making deep cuts. His heavily tattooed, flamed neck strained and he sported a large bulge in his jeans.
My Lord, I thought; his self-inflicted pain excited him… sexually.
Seeing the commotion, Flame stood, his black eyes twinkling at the implication of danger—no, death. That was the only way to describe it. Death was just lurking under the surface. Flame had demons tormenting his soul.
“What?” Flame asked in a deep guttural tone.
“Nazis. Styx. The stupid bastard’s gone in alone,” Ky explained tightly.
Flame’s teeth clenched and his thick neck strained, writhing with corded veins. He released a roar and began slapping his chest, his blade still clutched in his hands ripping into his already marred skin. I wanted to reach out for him to stop, to stop hurting himself so badly, but it was as if he had an impenetrable aura wrapped around him, which kept the entire world at bay.
“He said to call him for his location,” I recalled, dragging my attention back on the matter at hand. Ky dug into his pocket as Tank, Beauty, Letti, and Bull appeared through the front entrance. Obviously they had been in the yard. Tank and Bull stormed over to the brothers; Viking brought them up to date on recent events.
“Shit!” Tank spat out. “That branch of the Klan are real f**ked up. And I mean like real f**ked up. Grand Wizard is Johnny Landry. The worst man I’ve ever met; total fascist bastard, as in extreme. He’s serving time right now, but he’s trained his crew well. No loyalty to no one outside of White Power. They get Prez, he’s dead. They’ll peel his skin off his damn bones just for fun. That or they’ll lynch him—it’s their signature. They’re old school.” Tank rubbed a long prominent scar that ran from the back of his shaved skull to the left side of his forehead. “I should know. When I got out of that life, this was their parting gift.”