Dropping his cash, Gaby let the bills flutter around his writhing body. She tossed the packets of pills between his legs, into a puddle of pooling blood. She glanced to the gun to make sure it was visible enough that the cops wouldn’t miss it.
One down, two to go.
No way would she let any of them walk, hobble, or even crawl away. They didn’t get the end she wanted to mete out, but they would get Luther’s form of justice. And if somehow the cops failed, well then, she’d be back.
But until then . . .
Bloody knife in her hand, Gaby stepped toward Tylek. In tangible horror, he tried to scramble away, but he didn’t get far. Flipping the knife around in her hand, Gaby again shielded her actions from the onlookers. With a nimble wrist, she slicked the blade across the back of both of his thighs, all but severing the muscles, definitely rendering the leg useless.
He went down like a rag doll in a soggy swamp of his own gushing blood.
J.J., that poor schmuck, still hadn’t stirred. Maybe she’d given him a concussion. Maybe he’d never revive.
Didn’t matter to Gaby.
Lifting his right foot, she cut his Achilles tendon, and even that didn’t bring him around.
Glancing up, she saw that the young Hispanic girl had remained nearby, watching in horror. All around her, festering carnage proved just how effective Gaby could be.
Trust her? Ha. The girl would hate her now. But at least she’d be a little safer, a little less threatened by the monsters that scoured the earth.
The scream of the sirens reverberated around the area; the cops were on the same street now, closing in.
Time to go.
And as Gaby turned, the girl stepped forward and raised a hand.
A simple wave—but for Gaby it felt like a harbinger of acceptance, maybe even . . . understanding.
Her arm burned and a thin trickle of blood exuded from the sleeve of her sweatshirt, down her wrist, and over the back of her hand. Her blood commingled with the blood of her victims still staining her knife.
She’d have a lot to deal with—later.
For now, she had to distance herself from the bloodbath. And fast.
Gaby weighed her options, and decided on heading up the street. Sprinting, she made the intersection in no time at all. But even as she fled, she again looked at that tattoo parlor. SIN ADDICTIONS.
She knew she’d be back.
In fact, a tattoo might be just what she needed to obscure the gunshot wound on her arm.
Mulling that over, she cut across the street, down an alley and through an old abandoned building, and emerged into another alley. Rats scrambled at her disruption. A crow took angry flight.
By the time the police parked at the playground, Gaby was far enough away that she could hear nothing beyond the low drone of distant sirens.
Being resourceful, she had no problem swiping a different sweatshirt, this one advertising some sports team. Using her old sweatshirt, she bandaged her arm the best she could with limited means.
Finally, more than an hour later, she made her way to Mort’s.
Chapter 5
Fabian watched as every minion took nourishment off the woman. He wouldn’t allow them to finish her, but by allowing them all to take part, he ensured their commitment to the act, and their devotion to silence.
That she was attractive made it more acceptable to them. As a being superior in intelligence, he’d made many observations about mankind. There were vast correlations in how people reacted to cannibalism . . . and to sex.
A beautiful woman was preferable to a hag, a young woman more desirable to the palate than a matronly elder.
As with sex, the thought of dining off a relative, or even a close friend, repulsed at the same level as incest.
And children . . . oh yes, those most sacrosanct of God’s gifts, exempt from all perversions by most. Society thought children were to be protected, cherished. They didn’t see the potential, the delectability of young, tender flesh.
It was the most reviled of taboos—and perhaps that’s why it tantalized Fabian so.
He would bend them to his will. He would convince them, force them if necessary, but they would do as he requested.
For Fabian, that was perhaps the biggest thrill of all.
“That’s enough.” The stupid whore lay sprawled, all but unconscious, stained by blood and saliva. Bruises marred her pale body, evidence that many of his followers still lacked control.
They would learn with time and practice.
Reluctantly, the last man pulled away. He licked his lips and breathed deeply, still in the throes of profound enlightenment.
Yes, they pleased him. They took proper enjoyment as they should, and reacted promptly to his orders.
“Because our last meeting residence was compromised, we need to make this new building home. I know it is not ideal.” The abandoned property, once owned by an elderly woman who had no close relatives, was cold and musty and cluttered with ridiculous furnishings and knickknacks.
The lack of decorating finesse assaulted his senses, but the water and electric remained on, and the solid basement walls would ensure secure attachment of necessary manacles and chains.
Located on isolated land, long forgotten by the nearest neighbors, it provided all they needed. No one would come here; they would be free to do as they pleased, for as long as Fabian deemed proper.
“I’m needed at the shop soon, but before that, I want to see her cleaned and her wounds tended. After that, secure her so that she cannot escape.” With a benevolent smile, he told them, “We will use her for as long as she lasts.”
They accepted his edict without comment, as they should. Like mutts, they hungered for a single kind word from him.
He’d found it beneficial to align himself with society’s outcasts; the mentally challenged and the psychotically cruel. Every being, he’d found, had a use—be it for taking orders, accepting blame, or supplying nourishment.
“No one is to feed from her without my permission. Is that understood?” After each man and woman nodded in compliance, Fabian glanced at Georgie’s gory body. “I’ll get an industrial freezer out here soon, but in the meantime, carve him up and place all salvageable parts in coolers. When I return, I’ll dispose of the waste.”
Fabian trusted no one else for that particular task. It was a tricky thing, dumping bodily remains in a way that would lead others away from them instead of to them. Not that he worried overly about capture. The only link to him would be Georgie’s tattoos, and those would be in a freezer with his meat attached, where police would never see them.
“All of you,” Fabian added as he looked around the dank room of the building, “after she’s properly secured, do what you can about cleaning the place. I want this blood mopped up, and the cobwebs removed. Someone buy some air freshener. It reeks of the old lady who died here.”
Knowing he required his own share of cleaning, given that blood stained his face and shirt, Fabian rushed through the rest of his instructions.
He nodded to one sturdy fellow possessed of a low IQ and a fevered bent toward sadism. “You, begin fastening the restraints into the wall. Adjust them for her height so that her feet reach the floor. I want her able to stand.” Delight glimmered. “To
Knowing his order would be fulfilled, Fabian bestowed his attention on a small woman afflicted with a twisted need to please men. “You can secure what we need from the hospital?”
