Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 121728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
“Headin’ up to see if there’s any pies that need fillin’,” Decker answered.
“Better watch what your stickin’ your dick into. You know the rule,” came the unnecessary warning.
“Yeah. No ol’ ladies. No sweet butts. Rest of the cunts are free game.” Decker tapped his index finger to his temple. “Got it. Ain’t gonna do nothin’ to fuck up my chances on gettin’ my patches.”
“Good.” Scooter twisted one side of his long mustache for a few seconds, then offered, “One down in the basement. So wasted she ain’t gonna fight.”
Basement? Why was this the first he was hearing about a basement?
Fuck. Of course a house like this would have a fucking basement, dumbass.
Decker unclenched his jaws and tried to sound casual when he asked, “Got rooms down there?”
“Nah. Just some mattresses. Good place to take a slit if they like to bitch, if ya know what I mean.”
He wished he didn’t because what Scooter implied turned Decker’s stomach. “Figured any bitch comin’ here would expect dick in one hole or the other.”
“You’d think,” Scooter answered. “They don’t get to hang out with us for free.”
Of course they didn’t. Decker was damn sure they paid in one way or another, willing or not.
“How do I get down there?” He hoped to fuck the woman Scooter mentioned wasn’t Sadie.
“Door’s on the other side of the steps,” the Demon instructed with a tip of his head.
After giving Scooter a nod of thanks, Decker headed around to the side of the staircase on the opposite side of the kitchen. With his hand on the doorknob, he paused and closed his eyes while attempting to beat back the dread rising in his chest.
Don’t be fucking Sadie.
He wanted to find her for Sloane, but not like that.
The open-riser steps shook under his weight as he hoofed his way down, praying that the wood wasn’t rotted enough to drop his bulky ass down to the concrete floor below. He carefully watched his footing since the damp, dank space was only lit by bare bulbs hanging from the wood rafters.
He didn’t think the smell of the house could get any worse until that fucking moment. While the smell of decomposing flesh was bad, this was damn close. The stink reminded him of the trap house where he’d found Amelia with Val.
Unfortunately, Scooter hadn’t been lying. The basement walls were made of damp stone, and scattered over the cracked and stained concrete floor were various sizes of mattresses.
Or what used to be mattresses. They all looked like petri dishes to Decker. He grimaced at the thought of having sex on any of them. He was sure if he turned off the overhead lights and waved a blacklight around, it would look like a crime scene, just not made up with blood splatter.
More like baby batter splatter.
On one mattress tucked in the very back corner, a woman was clothed but completely passed out. Or sleeping. Hell, maybe even dead.
She had to be the woman Scooter mentioned since the only other one down there seemed to be lucid. He ignored the completely naked woman closest to him, sprawled out on a mattress near the steps, tracking him as he headed over to the lifeless body first.
He squatted down and checked for a pulse. Thank fuck it was there and it was strong.
“Think she’s just sleeping,” called out the other woman.
If she was only sleeping, she slept like the dead.
He’d rather sleep on a bed of rusty nails than on that disgusting bare mattress in a musty basement.
He rolled her head toward him until he could see her face. He couldn’t tell if it was Sadie or not. But whoever it was looked rough. “You know her name?”
“Think it’s Traci. Why?”
With a last look at the unconscious woman, he stood and turned toward the other one. Since she didn’t wear a stitch of clothing, he could see someone had used black Sharpie to write all over the majority of her body.
Words like cunt, whore, slit, bitch and worse were scribbled all over her. Some misspelled. Childlike drawings of dicks with balls also decorated her skin. A large arrow on her stomach pointed to her pussy. Above the crooked arrow were the words, cum dumpster.
Jesus fucking Christ. How was this even real life?
With his career, he thought he’d seen it all. He just learned he was wrong.
He wanted to rage but he swallowed it back, instead. He was doing a job. Playing a part and he couldn’t break his cover.
Plus, she acted like her nudity wasn’t any big deal. Maybe being used as a white board and a “cum dumpster” was a normal occurrence. It could be just any other weekend for her.
But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t check on her. He was still a cop, despite regretting his career choice at that very moment. “You okay, darlin’?”