“Trey, your turn.” He barks out, pulling the knife out of the guy and handing it over to Aiden’s dad who repeats the process, before handing the knife off to the next person, each man taking their turn to step up and stab the traitor. Every time he loses consciousness, Kirk intervenes, using smelling salts under the man’s nose to bring him back, ensuring he doesn’t miss out on a single moment of pain.
It’s fucking brutal to watch, but it’s not the first time I’ve been witness to a scene like this, nor is it the first time I’ve had to participate. So, while my body is tight with tension, not wanting to be here, my outward appearance gives nothing away. I’m a stone statue. I can’t fake it enough to make it seem as though I’m actually enjoying this display of savagery. It would be too obvious amongst the faces of the other Beasts who genuinely get off on this shit, but a cold mask of indifference? I’m a pro at that. Just like Aiden. I’m pretty sure everyone thinks we’re a pair of psychopaths, which is exactly what we want them to believe.
As each member steps forward and takes their turn, my eyes land on Kirk across the room. He is in his element right now, loving every minute of this. He lives for the bloodshed, for the violence that comes with this life. More than that though, he loves the control. His eyes light up every time someone steps forward and does as he has commanded. That need for control is his true addiction.
Eventually, the knife makes its way round to our side of the room. Aiden steps up, delivering his own slash of the knife without a moment’s hesitation, before turning and holding it out for me.
Looking into his eyes as I take the weapon from him, I can see he wants to be here, doing this, about as much as I do. There isn’t anything we can do though, not unless we want to end up like this unfortunate idiot. No thanks.
Holding the knife firmly in my hand, I step onto the plastic sheet surrounding the chair. Now that I’m standing right in front of him, I can see the blood leaking slowly from his many wounds, the amount of blood loss causing the blood to seep out sluggishly.
There must be more blood running over the sheeting below him than there is left in his body. Yet he’s still alive. I can’t imagine the agony. I equally can’t afford to have any sympathy for this guy.
Delivering my own deep wound, I step away from the dying man and hand the knife over to the next person.
The last few people in the room take their turn before the blade is once again handed back to Kirk who steps in front of the man, delivering a final blow; this time with words, declaring that we are going to rape his woman and murder his family.
My stomach roils in disgust at his words. Out of everything that has happened here tonight, those words are what bother me the most. These men know what they are getting themselves in for when they join The Feral Beasts. The man in the chair knew what he was doing when he turned against us, but his children and his girl aren’t a part of any of this. They are innocent.
With his final blow delivered, Kirk ends the guy's pain, then moves swiftly on to other club business as though we didn’t just torture and kill a man, and aren’t discussing mundane business with a dead body in the room. I should probably be concerned that none of this phases me. Not what I’ve just seen and participated in, not that the body is just sitting there while we all ignore it. None of it. Then again, why would it? I’ve grown up in this life, been a part of it since I was eight years old. By now, I’ve seen it all.
Kirk finishes off the meeting by telling Aiden and I to keep an eye on his daughter, making me think she doesn’t know who her father really is. That’s probably for the best.
I don’t know why it matters who she hangs out with, but she’s pretty looking in the picture he showed us. I’m certainly not going to argue with getting to check out a hot girl. It sure as hell beats the other types of jobs we usually get stuck with. They are usually a lot messier and take forever to finish. This job, in comparison, should be a piece of cake.
Chapter 13
SOPHIE
Itossed and turned all night once I got back to my bedroom, barely sleeping a wink. I finally gave up on sleep early this morning, and instead took the spare time to check out my wardrobe. All week I’ve been wearing my school uniform and just sticking on the first pair of sweats I found when I initially dug around in my drawers, but I can’t live in sweats forever.
Going through each piece of clothing on the rails, I find everything I could ever need, and more. Jeans, t-shirts, jumpers, leggings, skirts, dresses, jumpsuits. You name it and I guarantee I have at least one of it.
After spending several hours trying on everything I like the look of, I finally settle on a pair of jean shorts and a long, loose vest top that shows just a hint of the shorts beneath it. I pair it with some strappy sandals before fixing my make-up and doing my hair.
I’ve never had straighteners or curlers to do anything with my hair, although, thankfully, my hair naturally falls quite straight so unruly hair isn’t something I’ve had to worry too much about. Now, though, I have the equipment and the time to play around with different hairstyles. Today I plug in the curling iron and attempt to style my hair with some loose beach waves. I’m not sure I quite pull off the effect, but I’m happy with it.
Finally dressed, I’m ready to face the day. However, with nothing else to distract myself, the weight of everything comes crashing down on me, like a tsunami. I can’t bear to spend another minute in this house. I feel like I’m being suffocated here. After last night, my skin is crawling just being so close to where a man was brutally murdered. The thought alone has bile climbing up the back of my throat, making it difficult to swallow, and sweat slicking my palms.
I need to get out, away from the house, even just for today. With that in mind, I decide to head into Crescentwood and explore the town and surrounding areas. Thankfully I find Oliver in the kitchen and ask him for a lift into town.
Not one for words, he simply nods and goes to get the car and bring it round to the front door. We drive in silence into town and I take the opportunity to stare out the window and enjoy the views of the thick forest surrounding us on both sides of the road as we pass by.
Crescentwood is a town that has been built in amongst the tall, thick California trees. Everywhere you look you are surrounded by forest, giving you the sense that you could just wander off and get lost in amongst the canopy of green leaves and brown twigs, amidst the kaleidoscope of colours shining down between the branches from the warm sun overhead. A concept that sounds very frigging appealing to me right now.
All the mansions I have seen so far are surrounded by the thick woods, removed from the actual town centre.
As soon as we left the Montgomery property, the road quickly became shadowed by the tall canopies of trees that bow over the sides of the road, blocking out the sunlight.
However, the closer we get to the town itself, the trees thin out as buildings become more and more prominent, and we soon start to drive past idyllic shop fronts, restaurants, wine bars, and coffee shops.
Oliver drives me into the town centre itself, parking at the curb beside a large green area where children are playing with each other and couples are lying on picnic blankets talking and just getting lost in one another. In the middle, there is a small beautiful garden comprised of numerous wildflowers that border a delicate intricately-designed wrought iron gazebo. I’ve never seen such a beautiful or well-kept town centre before. I can’t think of anywhere back home that remotely compares to this. Where I come from and where I am right now are worlds apart from each other, in so many ways.