How?
You guessed it. Killing off the members. No, I didn’t feel sorry for them. Those people had plenty of blood on their hands and cared for no one. The previous president, a guy named Vaughn, used to barter for women. Exotic women. He would then charge admission to let people watch him peel the skin from their bodies. Sometimes he took the skins and wrapped them around his dead lover’s body so he could play with her. Yes, like I said, they were all sick fuckers. Every last one of them. And I would gladly kill them if it weren’t for one simple fact: I needed out. Okay, that and I was just as dangerous as they were. But not as sick. Not even close.
In any case, Miranda was acting president of 10 Club and completely unaware that my brother ran the operations. Most members simply accepted that the person who managed the funds and legalities—including ensuring members never went to prison or were hassled by authorities for their sometimes very illegal activities such as murder, enslavement, and kidnapping—maintained anonymity because he didn’t want to become a target. The members were constantly stabbing each other in the back and stealing from one another.
Case in point, I’d given Miranda a fake chalice, and she was now here to collect. With my life.
I sighed. “Miranda, I thought you’d be busy picking fleas from your hair or strangling kittens.”
“Mack, who is she?” Theodora asked.
“I’m the bitch who’s going to kill him for double-crossing me!” Miranda threw the silver chalice at my head, which I blocked with my hand.
“Where the fuck is the real one, Mack?” Miranda snarled.
“I wish I knew,” I lied.
“I’ll give you three seconds to give me another answer, or the little bitch loses her head.”
I stood from the floor, careful to keep myself positioned between Miranda and Theodora. Life held no value for Miranda, except for the pleasure she derived from taking it. I knew because she used to own me. Almost five long years in her basement. She’d kill me, let me come back, torture me and kill me again. She couldn’t get enough. Some days, she’d play out her sexual fantasies before she killed me.
She was evil to the core.
“Well, Miranda, I think we both know how this is going to play out.” I was going to do everything in my power to kill her. She would use one of her abilities to subdue me. I would end up dead and she without her answer. Yes, we’d done this dance before when I’d lived in her basement and she wanted information about my brother. But I never talked.
She smiled and flipped her frizzy long blonde hair back over her shoulder. I always wondered why she looked so vile—right down to the animal-print spandex pants and stick figure body. A woman had to work extremely hard to look that bad.
“Yes,” she said. “You’re going to tell me where the chalice is; then I’m going to slit your throat.”
No. What would really happen was she’d try to kill Theodora and me. Dammit.
I needed to get Theodora out of here. Of course, that meant Miranda might kill me and my soul would be left wandering the earth, still cursed.
Sonofabitch. Why couldn’t I catch a break?
~~~
TEDDI
The woman—who I recognized from the mental health center—stood in the doorway of the cabin with her bleach blonde hair teased out into a wild mess of straw, tight pink leopard Spandex pants, and a gold sequin tank top. What struck me as odd, however, was how I felt about her. I wanted to end her life in the most violent of ways.
Why? How the hell should I know! Because, apparently, someone had done a number on me and made me forget my past. Only, some part of me remembered the emotional impressions I had of people. I loved Mack. I was afraid of King. And I hated this bitch. Seriously fucking hated her.
“Love the outfit, lady. Hope you win,” I said.
She gave me a look and then brought her attention back to Mack. “Who’s the little slut, Mack?”
Mack slid on his jeans, completely unashamed of letting this woman see him naked and looking cool as ice. “Someone I picked up to pass the time.”
“Bullshit,” she replied. “I’m getting a vibe off of her. What’s she do?”
Mack shook his head. “She’s not for sale, Miranda.”
Sale. What the fuck?
She shrugged. “Fine. Then maybe I’ll just take her.”
Mack growled. “How about this? I’ll tell you where the real chalice is if you let her leave.”
“Do I still get to kill you?” Miranda asked.
“Sure,” he replied.
“Mack, no!” I protested. What was he doing? Because according to him, I was the only one who could end his life. Meaning, if this woman did it, he’d end up some tormented, disembodied cursed soul again.