Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 107118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Fire flared in Cowboy’s blue eyes. “Yeah,” he replied defiantly. “Love sucking dick just as much as I love licking pussy.”
The Nazi’s lip curled in disgust. “As if being a fag isn’t bad enough, you chose to suck black cock.”
Cowboy smiled, a real wide smile, blood spilling from his wounds and dripping down his chin. “Tried white.” The Nazi froze. “They weren’t big enough to fill my mouth like I want.”
“Cowboy,” I whispered, begging him not to antagonize this prick.
The Nazi leaned down and held out his knife. “You like fucking the weaker, corrupted race . . . then we’ll let everyone know it.” My heart was in my mouth as the Nazi moved behind Cowboy and slit off his cut, then his shirt, baring his chest. The Nazi pushed Cowboy’s head forward and brought the knife to the top of his spine.
“No!” I shouted, thinking he was going to stab him. Instead, the sadistic fucker started carving. “Get off him!” I screamed when Cowboy’s eyes flared and his teeth gritted together as the knife was pushed into his flesh. The Nazi’s hands, his “SS” and “88” tattoos, were stained with Cowboy’s blood.
Cowboy shook as the pain clearly became too much. The Nazi stepped back, admiring his work. “Gonna get the message to your club that no one fucks with us.” He shrugged. “Your body will ensure that.” He smiled a twisted, cold smile. “This ‘23/2’ bladed into your back shows that you love black.” He shook his head then spat at the wound. “Races shouldn’t mix. White blood is weakened by the coons.”
Cowboy went to speak, but I didn’t want this asshole to hurt him more, so I cut in. “Then you better mark me too.”
The Nazi looked at me. I lifted my chin. “Sia,” Cowboy warned.
“I’m in love with a man of mixed race.” I could tell by Cowboy’s face that he was pissed at what I’d just done. But I stared at him too. “I’m in love with you too.”
“Cher,” he said in a graveled voice.
I looked at the Nazi. “If you mark him with whatever the fuck that number means, then you’d better do the same to me.” I smiled.
The Nazi came toward me. “I have orders to tattoo Garcia’s brand on you.” The black rose. The Nazi shrugged. “I can do both.”
He moved behind me and shoved my head down. I bit my tongue, tasting the blood in my mouth, when the first slice was made. I held Cowboy’s furious gaze as the pain almost made me puke. And I imagined Hush’s face. How the loneliness that lived within him for so long lifted when he was with us. Where he belonged. With us. His home.
“Twenty-three,” the Nazi said as my body started to shake, adrenaline spiking through me. “Is the alphabetical number for ‘W,’ meaning white. Two is the alphabetical number for—”
“B,” I cried out, as a pent-up breath escaped my mouth.
“Is for black,” he finished. “23/2, for those who fuck the inferior race. Mixing blood and creating freaks that should never ever be born.”
I thought of Hush and how he was no freak. How he wasn’t an abomination or a mongrel or a half-breed. Instead, he was perfect. One of the most honorable men I’d ever met, but broken by pricks like this cunt of a Nazi. Damaged, with such little self-worth that my soul cried for all that he went through . . . the daily hate he endured for just existing.
The Nazi moved away from me, giving me a break from the blade’s searing pain. I gasped for air, my body immediately draining of energy. The Nazi moved to the door and left. My head hung low, but when I looked at the floor, I saw Michelle, or the girl that used to be Michelle, lying lifeless. I lifted my eyes to see Cowboy, bruised and broken, face ashen, but his chin still lifted. Defiant until the end.
“Cher,” he rasped. “I’m sorry.” The agony of watching me being hurt was evident in his broken voice. I stared at this man, one half of the duo who swept into my life, changing my constant night into only sweet summer days. And I felt the strength I’d tried so hard to convey slip away like butter off a hot knife.
Because this man, this easygoing Cajun with the smart mouth and cheeky wink, was going to be taken away from me. Robbed of his life because of a man I met when I was seventeen. A man who couldn’t stand to lose, and would do anything to win.
“I’m sorry.” I glanced at the door, wondering how long I had left before the Nazi or Garcia himself would return to kill Cowboy, and with it, fucking shred half of my heart.
“Cher,” Cowboy started. His voice was strong, brave. But I saw his eyes shimmer. I heard the catch in his breath when he read my expression.