by Leo Romero
Contents
TITLE PAGE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
THE CLAW ORDER EXCERPT
THANKS FOR READING
THE CHAOS ORDER
FANGHUNTERS BOOK THREE
LEO ROMERO
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Copyright © 2016 Leo Romero
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
Cover art by Lou Harper © 2016
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
Ramon Escobar was about to meet her. Magdalena. La Madre Impía, the Unholy Mother.
The Jeep went over a bump, snapping Ramon out of his drug-induced sleep. He swung his head left and right; behind his blindfold, the world was a hot, dark mystery, his location unknown to him. Where the hell am I right now? he asked himself in his world of darkness. Honduras? Mexico? The plains of Guatemala? The mountains of Peru? The forests of Brazil? He had no clue. The Brotherhood had sedated him back in El Salvador before transporting him to the temple of Magdalena.
The sacrificial ceremony was over. Now it was onto the hidden temple, where he’d be united with the Unholy Mother and finally anointed Don. What he’d spent his whole life striving for, surviving the streets of San Salvador for, where he’d engaged in petty crime, moving up through the ranks of Los Niños, leaving a trail of bodies to burn. From soldier to sergeant to captain, and now to Chaos Don.
He licked his dry lips. For the first time in his life, he was nervous. Something was swirling and fluttering in his stomach, something he didn’t like. It made his body tense like a taught guitar string. Made every bump in the road feel like an explosion. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel like he was about to shit his pants any second. It was funny to him; he’d had the business end of guns shoved in his face, been chased by cops—who were more like a military unit—across dusty streets, even thrown in a cage filled with hardcore bangers from rival gangs, but none of that ever made him feel like this. This was something different. It was fear. Pure and simple fear. And he didn’t dare let anyone see it on him.
He stiffened his back, wanting to be rigid, like a piece of steel. The two bodies sandwiching him were silent, except for the occasional cough or clearing of throat. Sometimes they’d spit out of the window or pass gas, letting rip and sharing their stink with Ramon whether he liked it or not. They smelled of dry sweat, burned tobacco, and cheap cologne. The heat emitting from their bodies was suffocating, the crappy air con doing a shitty job of cooling him. Sweat poured down his back, sticking his shirt to his skin like glue. He wished they’d put some music on the radio; some Latino, hell, even some gangsta rap would do, hombre. Anything to break the tense ambience.
They moved on in silence, the journey seeming to last an age. Where were they going, the center of the earth? The temple location was a deeply held secret, its whereabouts known only by highly ranked and trusted members of the Brotherhood. But, after today’s encounter with the Unholy Mother, Ramon would earn that trust. She would kiss him, bestow him with eternal life, and he would finally be Don of Los Niños, Don of El Salvador. From there, he’d be vaulted into the Inner Circle; those who ruled the lands of Latin America with an iron fist.
The sense of anticipation was overwhelming; suffocating. He wanted the moment to arrive already. He wanted to feel her caress, to have her blessings flowing through his veins, to be taken to the higher level where he’d take his rightful place among the chosen. They say that only those with unclean blood can survive an encounter with the Unholy Mother and ascend to the rank of enlightened. Was his blood too clean for her? Were his sins and the sins of his forefathers worthy of her dark embrace? The Brotherhood had faith in him; he’d been the one selected amongst all the other scum to lead them to the promised darkness. If they believed, then so did Ramon. All that mattered now was what Magdalena made of him.
The Jeep came to a rough stop; Ramon’s heart skipped a beat. We’re here?
Car doors were flung open, and he was finally relieved of the fat, sweaty guys squeezing him either side. His head rolled in its socket, the world still a dark mystery. A hand grabbed him under the arm, making him flinch. He didn’t like being touched like that; he was about to be made a Don. He wasn’t some punk off the street. The hand yanked him across the seat. Ramon played it cool; this wasn’t the time to start any shit. Not a word was spoken as he was guided out of the Jeep. He stood to attention, weird sounds and sensations all around him. The sudden humid atmosphere clung to his skin like hot gas, sending his body temperature soaring. Somewhere in the distance a river ebbed and flowed; above him, exotic birds cawed. Wild animals rustled bushes as they darted left and right.
Am I in a jungle?
Before he had a chance to answer, hands gripped him under his arms, and they got moving.
Ramon kept a steady pace, placing his faith in the Brotherhood members accosting him. Each step he took on the uneven ground was another obstacle. Every now and then, he tripped on some small branches and stones, but he was held upright before he could fall. He was a blind man being taken to an unknown location. It was like being led to a remote jail.
With each passing step, the anticipation inside him grew stronger; his stomach churned, his heart raced. He was nearly there; so near, so close. Mama, your favorite son is coming...
Somewhere high above him, a bird squawked out loud, making his head twitch. A flurry of similar sounds echoed throughout the d
ense jungle. Things he’d never heard before. The jungle he knew was filled with the sound of gunfire and cop sirens. This was another world. Like a dream.
Mud squelched under his shoes as they delved deeper into the jungle. The air turned even more cloying. Ramon’s throat dried out; he couldn’t remember the last time he took on fluids. It must have been back in El Salvador. He just hoped he didn’t collapse from thirst before they reached the temple. He was so close, he couldn’t let something stupid like that stop him now.
They carried on moving through the jungle.
And then, after what seemed like an age, they stopped. Ramon’s ears pricked. Now every jungle sound was amplified; the march of insects crawling along the ground, the croak of exotic frogs, the cry of birds, every flap of wing. In the near distance, the rush and crash of a waterfall. His breathing was shallow; his heart thudded hard and steady. Was this the moment?
Then, they began moving again. A hand was placed on top of his head, forcing it to lower. He bent down as he went, his feet scratching across stone, the sound echoing all around him. They stopped for a moment. The noise of the jungle was now replaced with a tomb-like silence. The air here was cooler; dank. Ramon instinctively knew his skin was enveloped by chilled darkness; it was welcoming, comforting. The hairs on the back of his neck sprang to attention. This had to be the temple of Magdalena.
He began striding further into the dank environment alongside his two chaperones, a shiver crawling up his spine. Like a switch, the sweat plastered all over his body turned cold. He spun his masked head left and right in trepidation. There was a strong foreboding all around him; he could sense it. Deprived of his vision, his inner eye was now amplified. He could smell and taste the evil around him; the stench of death and decay were strong in his nostrils. A pressure—a type of suffocating malevolence—was now omnipresent. This was a place of evil. A neighborhood of Hell.
There were eyes on him; unnatural eyes. Their cold stares burned on his skin. Ramon had stared into the eyes of a thousand gangbangers, witnessed the desperation, felt the hatred emanating from them, but this was on another level. These weren’t the eyes of gangbangers watching him; these were the eyes of inhuman creatures, injecting him with undiluted bile and hatred. Fear spread across his body like electricity; it shrunk him, cut off his cojones, made him weak. He was in the midst of something he couldn’t possibly understand. This wasn’t the hood, this was something from another world, another place, worse than any jail cell.
You better run, homie, a voice in his head told him. It was a childish fear of the unknown rearing its ugly head in his mind. His trembling legs wanted to turn and run, but he knew in his heart that if he did, the guys accosting him would just put a bullet in his skull and declare him a puto. And that’s what his legacy would be. Ramon the coward.
No, no, he had to soldier on. See this thing through to the end.
He steeled himself with a deep breath of that dead air and tried to stand tall as he walked, even though his legs were shaking. They led him deeper into the temple where he could sense those eyes on him with more intensity. In his mind, he envisaged a rotten tongue licking dry, ancient lips with glee. The Unholy Mother was waiting. And she was hungry.
They came to a stop once again, and now a low rumble took over as if they had descended into the very earth’s cavernous depths. His ears pricked to the sound of scraping stone. When it stopped, silence took over. Then, without warning, his blindfold was torn from his head. He started, his heart missing a beat. His eyes squinted in the dim light. Before he had a chance to turn his head, he was shoved forward toward the open cavity ahead of him. Waiting beyond was a flight of stone steps. Ramon tumbled down them, smashing into the stone floor at the bottom with a grunt.
He rolled onto his back, staring up the steps with eager eyes. He watched as a stone door slid down over the opening, blocking out the only light in the chamber inch-by-inch. Ramon’s eyes widened in horror. Before he could get to his feet and up the steps, the door closed with a stony crunch.
And he was dumped in pitch blackness.
He jumped to his feet. “Hey!” he shouted up toward that closed door. His voice bounced back at him; it was loaded with fear.
Everything turned deathly silent. He stood for a few moments in the darkness, his whole body trembling. The air was dank, musky. The strong stench of death enveloped it all; an aroma Ramon was well acquainted with.
What now? he asked himself.
He turned in a confused semi-circle. He licked his lips. “Mama?” he asked the darkness. He was answered by silence.
“Mama,” he repeated, this time trying to inject authority into his voice. His words rebounded off the surrounding walls. “Your son is here. Come to greet me. I command you!” He held his hands out to the sides as if awaiting an embrace. But nothing came. Only the sound of his hot breath in his ears.
“Mama!” he repeated with more force, his hands balled into fists, his fear suddenly displaced with anger. Anger at her lack of co-operation. She should come to greet her loyal disciple, not leave him alone in the dark like a chump. “Mama, come to me. I command you!”
A loud hiss split the silence. He spun in its direction, his ears pricking. More gas-like hissing then erupted, this time from all angles. Ramon whirled in a breathless circle, the dark hindering his view, that hissing resonating all around him now.
Something slithered over his feet; fat and meaty. His eyes shot downward and he hopped back in disgust. What the hell?
The hissing grew louder; it reverberated in his mind. As the seconds passed, it intensified. His bulging eyes rolled in the pitch-black.
His fight or flight sense triggered; he knew danger. And he knew what to do. He turned on his heels, but, before he could escape, something cold and slick wrapped around his ankle, almost tripping him. He tried to run, but the thing coiled around his lower leg, pulling him back. He groaned and yanked in the opposite direction, but the thing held firm. It wrapped around his thigh, then made it up to his waist, where it squeezed.
A horrified gasp escaped him. But, it was cut short as something thick and scaly like heavy rope slipped around his chest and tightened his rib cage. He fought against it, trying to push it off him, but it was too heavy, too slippery. It had him snared like an animal.
Fight! Fight! he screamed to himself. He began thumping the thing, but it was like hitting thick rubber. His fists bounced off it without making any impact.
He went to rain in some more blows, when another one coiled around his free leg; it slid up his body, making that hissing sound.
The horror of a forked tongue slid across his cheek.
Then, from nowhere, lots of them wrapped around his body; one, two, three, four. They bound themselves to any free limbs and splayed him like a scarecrow, his arms held out to the sides in the crucifix position.
Ramon’s mind exploded with terror. He’d been lied to. Deceived. Mama Magdalena was not here to greet him, only these creatures were. It was a trap. How could he have been such a bitch? Believing in those putas up there? All along they wanted to kill him. An assassination, pure and simple. A trick by a rival gang. Los Lagartos? N-9? San Miguel Cartel? Whoever it was, they got him. Got him good.
Pain tore through him as fangs penetrated first his clothes then skin. There was an intense pulling sensation as they sucked on his veins. It stopped for a moment; then, a squirt as something was injected back in. It shot up into his brain, clouding his mind in majestic elation, the pain numbed and malformed into intense pleasure. It rolled across his mind like a thick blanket, enveloping it in a soothing euphoria. His whole body became light like he was floating in space; it was better than any hit of any coca he’d ever had.
He was forced to ride the wave, still conscious of the fangs repeatedly biting and sucking from all angles; pleasure belied by brutal agony. Lightheadedness overcame him like standing from a hot bathtub. He was losing too much blood, too fast in the feeding frenzy; any longer and he knew he’d be dead.
He wanted to shout out, to scream, the pleasure of the venom flowing through him a contradiction, shutting down his vocal chords; it was like they’d been severed.
Mama, save me. Save me, he begged in his mind. Where are you, Mama? Why have you betrayed me?
The promise had been a deceit; an act of treachery played upon his soul. He was nothing but a bitch. A realization worse than death itself.
“Help me, Mama...” he managed to squeeze out of his constricted chest.
But it was too late. He was alone, and trapped.
A hot pair of fangs dug deep into his throat.
And only then did he begin to scream.
CHAPTER TWO
Vincent stuffed Leviah’s fangs into his pocket and spun away from the apocalyptic-like skies outside the smashed windows of the I-Sore Tower. His eyes fell on Trixie, who was sprawled across the floor, her eyes zoning in and out of consciousness. “We’d better get out of here,” he declared, his eyes flicking toward Dom.
A rumble of thunder built up to a crescendo high above them; it shook the whole room like a quake.
Dom grabbed Trixie’s dart gun and checked it. “Wasn’t planning on staying, Vincent,” he retorted.
Vincent marched over to Trixie and bent down beside her. “Trixie, Trixie,” he repeated into her ear, giving her shoulder a shake.
Her bleary eyes focused in on him, then went again.
“She’s not with us at all,” Vincent stated. “I’ll have to carry her.”
“I’ll get her if you want, Vincent.”
Vincent shook his head. “No, no. Your reflexes are sharper than mine. You take care of any remaining thugs or vampires.”
Dom nodded, just as a bolt of lightning lit up the chamber.
“Call... Mack...” Trixie then managed to squeeze out. “See... if he’s... still on the roof.” She had her hand outstretched, her phone clutched in it.
Dom grabbed her phone. He dialed for Mack. He soon got an answer.