The Disciples: A Dark Romance Collection

by Sweet, Izzy

  This guy, though, he’s offering her a drink before he even says hello, and his hands are shaking it a little too much.

  He’s put something in there, I can guarantee it.

  Sophia shakes her head and turns to the bartender to ask for another water.

  Her friends giggle behind her, and the fucker who’s still trying to chat her up starts to push the fucking cup against her goddamn hand.

  Motherfucker.

  There’s no fucking way in hell I’m letting that happen. She’s smart enough to refuse any drink that doesn’t have a sealed cap on it, but the fact that this motherfucker has the gall to even try something like this…

  In my fucking club...

  I’ll going to fucking kill him.

  Kill him and replace every single fucking bouncer and bartender here.

  Yanking my phone out of my pocket, I quickly dial the first contact in the list.

  “James, I don’t have time…” Simon snaps at me before I cut him off.

  “Shut the fuck up and listen. Camera three, white button down with khaki shorts. At the Dimension,” I growl before checking out the rest of the bar.

  Sophia’s safe for the moment, she’s not accepting the drink.

  Looking around the bar, I see all kinds of bro-douche-nozzles, but none raise the hairs on the back of my neck like this asshole.

  “This better be important,” Simon says. Then a minute later, he asks, “What am I looking at?”

  “Guy’s drugging drinks. We need to check if anyone else is doing it too…” I say as I keep watching Sophia.

  “This is a bar, James. While I’m not unsympathetic, we can’t watch a bar the whole time it’s open. It’s why we have security,” Simon says quietly.

  “Cut the camera feeds then,” I say and get up from my chair. “Make sure Sophia get’s home safe.”

  Pushing the disconnect button on my phone, I feel it start to vibrate two seconds later, but I ignore it.

  Moving out of the VIP lounge and heading down the back stairs, I make my way slowly through the crowd of people.

  Motioning to the security guard closest to me, I nod towards an area where it looks like a fight might be starting.

  That should keep them busy and away from my target. They know me here well enough to keep out of my way, but that doesn’t mean I want someone seeing what’s about to happen.

  Sophia turns that delicious ass towards me as she moves away from the asshole who was trying shit, and as she does, I slide into the spot right behind her.

  Raising my voice an octave higher than normal, I shout a cheery frat boy, “Whoo,” at him before slapping an arm around his shoulder.

  “Fuck off, asshole!” he shouts at me and tries to shrug out of my tight hold on his shoulders.

  Pulling my Glock smoothly from the back of the pants holster I’m wearing, I slam it into his stomach and grin at him.

  Putting my mouth to his ear, I speak only loud enough for him to hear. “Let’s go.”

  The fucker actually looks like he’s about to puke or scream when he see’s what hit him in the stomach, but I slide my hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck as if I’m some long-lost buddy.

  Shaking him slightly, I get close to his ear and say, “Make one fucking sound and I end you here.”

  Nodding his head wordlessly at me, tears are ready to spill down his face as I guide him toward the back of the club.

  We walk through the club unmolested with me keeping the gun tight against the side of his stomach. One stupid move from him and I’ll have a fucking mess on my hands, but right now, with all the rage surging through my body, I could not care less.

  I’d fucking welcome the carnage.

  I’d revel in the slaughter of any fucking asshole near me right now. I’d fucking bathe in the blood of all these so-called men trying to flaunt their shit around like peacocks.

  Slamming the asshole’s head up against the emergency back door, I grin when it doesn’t immediately start the loud blaring alarm.

  Not that I would have cared anyways, but it shows Simon did as I asked of him.

  He cut the camera feeds and ensured I had an exit point.

  Moving quickly now with the openly weeping man beside me, I push us to the trunk of my BMW.

  “What do you want, man?” he screeches out at me in the darkness.

  Remaining silent, I slam the pistol into the side of his head and watch as his bitch-ass body collapses to the pavement.

  Popping the trunk of my car, I grunt a little as I lift him into the back and slam down the lid.

  * * *

  It’s been awhile since I’ve been to the run-down motel we used to use for our little family fun times. But not long enough for me to forget the smell of copper and piss the place oozes out of its pores.

  Clint Jackson, the asshole with a pocket full of bad intentions, is strapped down to a chair and slowly coming back to his senses.

  Looking at the drugs on the little desk I’m sitting at, I can’t believe someone would have the balls to do the shit he does. Laid before me is a small bottle of liquid GHB and some powdered shit. There’s also cocaine, but whatever. This asshole has raped women before, there’s no doubt in my mind about that.

  I have no clue how many lives he’s shattered, but he’ll never do it again.

  Standing up from the desk to pace, my body is strumming with rage and something much worse. It’s feeling the ache of what could have happened to Sophia. I doubt this piece of shit was going to give up easily if she didn’t take the drink.

  “Do you know,” I ask the wobbling asshole, “just how many night’s I’ve spent protecting her?”

  “What?” he slurs out at me.

  Fucker’s probably got a concussion from how hard I hit him. He deserves much worse, but I can’t touch him yet.

  I’m too fucking angry.

  “Do you even fucking understand how beneath the word man you are?” I shout at him as I move closer.

  Shaking his head, he tries to focus on me as he asks, “Man, what are you…”

  “Just this fucking morning, I woke up fucking sweating and reaching for my gun! I was wrapped around a fucking body pillow because in my head some stupid fuck was trying to hurt her,” I scream at him.

  My throat hurts, but I can’t stop. I’ve bottled this damn shit up for too long. I need a release valve of some sort.

  “She’s one of the pure ones, you tiny-dick fuck,” I bellow and slam my foot into his naked ballsack.

  His screams aren’t music to my ears, it’s just a fucking background noise against the chorus of demons raging in my head.

  “I’ve watched over her, I’ve protected her. I’ve fucking pined away like some fucking lovesick schoolgirl for her,” I snarl out, spittle all over the place “But you… You decided to say, fuck all that shit, and want to drug her and what? Rape her with your tiny pathetic little micro dick?”

  Leaning down, I yank the tactical military knife out of the sheath I laid on the table.

  Walking over to him, I reach down and grab his tiny little pecker, growling, “With this little thing?”

  Slicing it cleanly off at the root, I toss it over my shoulders.

  Then I lean in and watch as he screams and weeps.

  His pain doesn’t soothe me. It doesn’t bring the silence I yearn for in my body. It only enrages me further.

  Because it reminds me even more just how much I don’t get to have Sophia.

  I don’t get Sophia.

  I don’t get her because I’m the one who has to protect her. I’m the one who has to hide in the background of her life.

  I don’t get her because she’s pure, and I’m soiled and unclean.

  Lifting the shithead’s head up from where it fell to his chest, I stare into his weeping eyes as I take my knife to his throat.

  “I don’t get to have her, and neither do you. Ever. I’ll see you in hell, motherfucker,” I say quietly to him.

  Shoving the knife in th
e side of his neck, I saw it back and forth as I rip it towards me.

  Blood splatters and arcs the short distance from him to my face and chest as I work.

  It’s my job in life to do the bad things, so that I can keep her safe.

  Special Preview: Trapping Sophia

  7 Months ago

  Somewhere in Garden City

  Sophia

  “Up against the wall!” a man dressed in all black fatigues barks loudly while motioning impatiently with the automatic rifle gripped in his hands.

  My friend Amanda clings to my side as we’re quickly herded into an empty warehouse room. Herded just like animals being led to slaughter with a group of other shivering, naked women.

  No, not animals. Pets. Isn’t that what that Russian man called us after he killed Lindsey?

  His pets.

  But we’re not even that in the eyes of these men.

  Since the night my friends and I were brazenly grabbed out of a parking lot and shoved into the back of a van, I’ve learned we are simply flesh.

  Warm flesh that is easily forced to move, bend, and break.

  And just as easily discarded.

  “Move it! Keep it moving!” another man yells from behind us, and without warning I’m pushed forward.

  My toes bump into the heels of the red-haired woman in front of me and we both nearly go down in a heap of naked limbs.

  Only Amanda’s death grip on me keeps me from dropping to the concrete floor.

  Catching my balance, I quickly grab the elbow of the woman in front of me to help steady her, and then suddenly Amanda bumps into me with a yelp as we’re both pushed forward again.

  “Backs against the wall! Get ‘em up against the wall!” the guy with the rifle yells, his words cracking like thunder over the small, fearful whimpers echoing around me.

  Then he shoves the woman closest to him to show he means business.

  The other women in front of me scramble to obey the order as the armed man works his way down the line, pushing and shoving. But I can’t move with the way Amanda’s fingers are digging into the flesh above my hips.

  “Amanda,” I whisper urgently and reach down, trying to loosen her grip, but it’s hopeless.

  Looking back into her eyes, it’s clear she’s gone. The lights are on, but she’s so terrified and traumatized, no one’s home.

  She completely checked out earlier when the men grabbed us from the concrete cell they’ve been keeping us locked up in to bring us here.

  And, god help me, I don’t know if she’s ever coming back.

  She’s been crying ever since we were first taken. Crying so much, at times it’s been annoying.

  But this is different.

  This is…

  I don’t even know what this is.

  We’ve only been separated once during this whole ordeal. Once, and she came back…

  Broken.

  Something must have happened to her when she was separated from Beth and me. Something so awful, she couldn’t bear to do it again.

  Something so terrible, it took two men to carry her out this time, kicking and screaming.

  I thought for sure they were going to kill her, just like they killed Lindsey when she put up a fight and resisted.

  Until one of the men grabbed Amanda’s hand, pressed it against his groin, and whispered in her ear.

  Then she went limp.

  She’s been completely out of it since then, and I don’t know how to fix her.

  The only thing I know with any certainty is that if we don’t do what these evil men say, they will kill us.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” the armed man asks as he reaches Amanda and me.

  His lip curls with disgust as his hard eyes roam down my body and lock on Amanda’s white-knuckled grip.

  “I said backs against the wall, you stupid bitches! Not to grab each other’s asses!”

  Still holding his rifle with both hands, he uses it to shove me backward, sending both Amanda and me into the wall.

  My right shoulder bangs and scrapes against the rough brick as I stumble back, and Amanda’s fingers clench so hard her nails pierce my skin.

  The pain barely registers though over my panic.

  If she doesn’t let go, this could be the end of us both.

  Reaching down, I frantically try to pry her fingers off me again, but nothing I do seems to move her.

  Nothing until the armed man takes a step in her direction and reaches out like he’s going to grab her.

  Throwing her hands up, Amanda quickly jumps away from me.

  With tears streaming down her face, she begs, “No, no, no… please…”

  Holding my breath, I watch the man with the rifle pause, and pray that he decides to move on and leave her alone now that we’re separated.

  But God must be ignoring my prayers again.

  A gleam of wicked realization fills the man’s eyes.

  My heart sinks to my stomach as the man takes another step toward Amanda, his mouth curving with amusement.

  Amanda tries to make herself as small as possible, nearly bending in half as she wraps her arms around herself.

  For a split-second, I’m paralyzed as I relive the exact moment I watched another man lift a gun and kill my friend Lindsey before I had a chance to stop it.

  I remember all the thoughts that have been looping through my brain ever since it happened.

  The thoughts of what I would do different or change if I could go back in time to save her.

  Forgetting the very pleas I whispered in Amanda’s ear earlier, pleas to do as they say and not to give them a reason to hurt us, I stick my arm out and step in front of her.

  Though I intended for them to come out bold and strong, the words, “Leave her alone,” crackle weakly past my lips.

  The man’s head swings in my direction and that wicked gleam dims with anger and indignation.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are telling me what to do?” the man snarls before he brutally thrusts his rifle back into my chest.

  He thrusts and pushes the gun into me until he has me up against the wall, choking for air and my spine trying to push through the brick.

  “Huh? Huh?! Who the fuck do you think you are, you stupid bitch?” he snaps, his eyes boring into my eyes as I reach up, clawing at the thing choking the life out of me.

  Maybe if I had the breath, I’d tell him exactly who I am.

  I’d tell him I’m the one and only beloved daughter of Garden City’s Police Chief.

  Maybe I’d even tell him he’s not going to get away with this. That he’ll pay for what he’s doing to us.

  That’s just how the world works. You can’t mess with people like me and my friends and not expect to suffer the consequences in the end.

  But I don’t have the breath, and he’s showing no signs of stopping.

  The cold metal of the rifle continues to dig and dig into my throat, and my head starts to feel light and fuzzy.

  “You’re nothing,” he snarls at me as my lungs burn and ache for a taste of oxygen.

  Even with all that’s happened, up until this point, I haven’t truly felt or believed those words.

  Nothing? How am I nothing?

  I’m someone. I’m somebody!

  Not only do I matter, I’m important.

  There are people who care about me. Powerful people. People that are probably looking for me at this very second…

  I watch his nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath and then exhales, “You’re no one.”

  And god help me, I never thought I’d be jealous of another person breathing.

  But fuck, I just want to take a breath.

  And where are the people that are looking for me?

  Where are they when I need them?

  Where’s my father?

  Don’t I matter? Shouldn’t I be a fucking priority?

  You’d think!

  But maybe he’s right... Maybe I truly am no one and they’re not even loo
king…

  Maybe I’m going to die right here.

  Just like Lindsey.

  “Hey, man. Hey! Cut that shit out! You leave any marks on her and it’s your ass!” someone yells.

  The rifle crushes against my windpipe as the man pushes even harder

  “You’re just a stupid bitch,” he growls. “A stupid cheap piece of ass being offered to the highest bidder.”

  With a look of contempt and a sound of disgust, he yanks the rifle away.

  Falling to my knees, I grab at my aching throat as I gasp in great big mouthfuls of air.

  Looking down at me like I’m shit he just stepped in, the man makes a loud, throaty noise and then something wet splatters against my thighs.

  “You’re not even worth my fucking time or breath.”

  Tears fill my eyes as I watch him turn his back to me, obviously not the least bit worried I’ll try to fight back again.

  I won’t.

  I won’t try to fight back again.

  Because he’s right.

  Here, in their world, I am nothing.

  I’m just a stupid bitch who thought for a split-second she could change things or make a difference.

  I have no power to stop this or him.

  I’m completely, utterly, pathetically…

  Weak and helpless.

  But I still want to live.

  With the sting of my own death still burning in my nose and tingling on my lips, I shakily force myself to get to my feet. Afraid that if I stay like I am for too long the man will turn his attention back to me and finish what he started.

  As I rise, the red-haired woman to my right purposely avoids meeting my eyes and shies away from me like she’s afraid to be too close to me.

  It shouldn’t hurt. I don’t know her, and I shouldn’t care what she thinks of me.

  But it does.

  What hurts even more though is when I look to Amanda and see her doing the same thing.

  Shying away from me like she doesn’t want to be associated with me.

  Fighting back more tears, I wrap my arms around myself and shuffle back until I’m against the wall.

  Surrounded on both sides by women just like me, naked, afraid, and just wanting to survive, I’ve never felt more alone.