Bash ignored the motherfucker. “Cleaner wants Christopher to die slowly and painfully. He wants me to consider leaving him with them, whether he pleads for his life or not, for a day or two, so they can get their fill of her pussy, ass, and mouth. Then he’ll call me back, so we can start chopping her up. After that, depending on what Christopher does, we’ll either kill him or reach a deal with him.”
Easton had to tell Outlaw. There was no fucking way he’d allow Bash to follow through on his plans. “As for Molly—”
“You can’t takemydaughter without my permission,” Tom interrupted. “And I say fuck no, so sit the fuck down somewhere.”
Bash frowned at Tom. “That’s my fucking son you’re talking to. I’ll allow the disrespect this time. Don’t let it happen again.”
“I didn’t mean nothing by it. It’s just that that motherfucker—”
“I don’t fucking remember asking you to explain,” Bash sneered.
Tom snapped his mouth shut.
Easton knew better than to smirk.
Another difference between the American Scorpions and the Dwellers. Here, a wrong word could get you killed. There, Outlaw might knock a motherfucker out, but freedom of speech was alive and well.
As Bash studied Easton for long moments, his skin crawled. He didn’t know if he had seconds before he died or if he’d make it out alive.
“Come with me, motherfucker,” Bash ordered, and jumped to his feet.
Shivering on the small bed, Molly Harris curled into a ball, humming to herself. She was so hungry. Hopefully, dinner arrived soon. Or…breakfast? Even a snack.
She’d lost count how often she was fed, but she was sure it couldn’t be more than once a year.
Cows survived by eating once a year. Certainly, she could.
She turned onto her back and her chains rattled. CJ rose in her head, followed by Ryan. Every time she thought of them, tears came to her eyes. She wished the dish would come and take her over the moon, so she’d get back to them.
Without warning, the door to her stall opened.
Didn’t cows live in stalls? She’d come to this one, waiting to fly away with the spoon. Or the dish. Either one.
Maybe, she wouldn’t leave the moon. That’s where they’d taken her momma and her baby.
Cold water doused her. She remained quiet.
Hands yanked her by her hair and dragged her to the edge of the cot. A moment later, her throat ached from all the pounding she endured.
It was Cleaner. She knew by his scent and taste.
He was almost as mean as the Wallys and Willard. And she absolutely hated Eliza touching her.
He jerked away and warm stickiness sprayed in her face before more water rained over her.
He grabbed her throat and squeezed, until little noises escaped her. He shoved her back on the bed.
“Cunt.” He spat in her face and left her.
Her stomach growled, but she wouldn’t get food. Whenever he made her throat hurt, she didn’t eat for two years.
The door opened again. Molly hoped it was Hopper, but she was either dead or gone.
“Molly?”
“Uncle Bash,” she said, relieved. He’d been nice lately. And he smelled better than most of the men who visited her.
“I’m not your fucking uncle,” he growled. “Remember?”
