Razing Grace: Razing Grace Part 1

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Preface

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Acknowledgements

  Follow Amo

  RAZING GRACE: Part One

  The Devils Own #3

  By Amo Jones

  Copyright 2016 Amo Jones

  This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Note: This story is not suitable for persons under the age of 18.

  *Potential triggers lie within this book.

  **If the word “fuck” offends you, please don’t read this book.

  Cover by Kari Ayasha from Cover to Cover Designs

  Model images from Bigstock

  Editing by Daryl Banner

  Proof-reading by Fiona Dreaming - Proofreading & Formatting

  Interior graphics and formatting by Max Henry from Max Effect

  This book is dedicated to all the crazy girls.

  The girls who weren’t born crazy, but the world is a fucked up place.

  Only the strong survive.

  And the ones who survive?

  They’re the girls who are crazy enough to know they can.

  *Deuces*

  MILLIE

  The heavy bumps of the gravel road bounce me up and down in the back seat of the dark SUV I’ve been thrown into. My silent sobs wrack through my body while I silently pray that whoever these people are, they at least kill me fast. I rub the tears off my swollen cheeks and bring my eyes up to everyone who is sitting in the back with me. Every single person’s face, including the driver’s, is covered by a steel ghost mask. They’re all in different colors with different markings but they’re all steel. I swallow past the bile coming up my throat and bring my eyes to the rearview mirror where the driver’s mask is silver with a chunk near his mouth slashed off slightly but not in a manner that could give away any of his facial features. When his eyes move off the road and meet mine in the rearview mirror, chills seep into my veins. His dark grey eyes glare right into me. It’s like looking into the eyes of a corpse.

  My face pales. “What do you want with me?”

  His eyes come back to the mirror. “You’ll know what we want you to know.”

  One of the other men in the back with me, wearing a mask that’s dipped in red with a single white stripe going down the middle, cuts off my vision by tying a rag around my eyes. He takes hold of my wrist when the SUV comes to a halt. “Mmmm,” red mask growls into my ear. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any hotter, I put this baby on you.” He tugs at the blindfold around my head. His voice is low, filled with malice and oozing with death.

  My jaw sets with my arms handcuffed behind my back. The truck door opens and someone pushes me out the door. I trip, stumbling forward until my chest and forehead connect with the hard concrete ground. My sobs start again as the burning graze I gained on my head begins to sting with fire.

  “Stop,” a deep commanding voice says. “Kurr doesn’t want us to fuck with her. He wants his toy pretty.”

  Hands go around my arm as the blindfold is ripped off my eyes.

  I squint, the now-morning sun rising over the masses of trees until I can see the body that stands in front of me. He is massive—the same silver mask I recognize from the driver with the same eyes glaring down at me. I can’t tell how old he is, but there’s no sign of aging from what I can see, which isn’t much. His eyes narrow, the dark rings glaring right through me like a dark light saber slicing through the halo of light. I flinch.

  “Ready to meet the dungeon?” he growls. I swallow, prying my eyes away from the man in front of me. “Come on.” He tugs my arm to hurry me up.

  “What does he want with me? I’m just the sister of one of the girls who was seeing a guy in the motorcycle club!”

  He stops, turning his body around, his chest pushing against mine until my back hits the SUV. His eyes narrow again, his hand coming up to my chin. One of his legs inches in between mine, spreading me open. His face comes down to my ear, the cold steel from the mask brushing over my cheek. I slam my eyes shut.

  “Here we go. I was wondering when the games would start,” the guy who blindfolded me says excitedly.

  “One, you don’t ask questions,” he growls before his other leg comes in between mine, spreading my legs further apart until his hardness is pressing against my stomach. “And two? I’ll do what the fuck I want with you.”

  “You’re sick!” I splutter, my lip curling in disgust. “Is this…” I look around nervously. “Turning you on?”

  His cock presses into me even more while he drags it over my stomach in one stroke. “Oh, you have no idea.” My eyebrows draw together as he continues to drag me forward. “Move.”

  When I bring my head up to see what’s in front of me, my mouth drops to the ground. “What the F?”

  In the crater of what looks like an old volcano sits one monstrous home with other little housing buildings scattered around it. There’s also a massive structure that is beside the home. There are men and women walking around the place casually, all wearing interesting attire.

  I swallow, my eyes glazing over. “What is he going to do with me?”

  The masked man turns toward me. “Who? Kurr?” The dark depths of his eyes twinkle with excitement. He drops his hoodie from his head until it sits casually around his neck. Tattoos cover the front of his neck. “He’s the least of your worries, pet.”

  “Who’s my biggest?” I manage to choke out through my fear.

  I chance a quick look at the five other men standing behind him when one turns around, displaying the back of his hoodie which reads, in white writing, “In man we trust”. I remember hearing Hella and Beast saying that that was The Army’s motto.

  My blood drains from my face as prickling fear reverberates over my flesh and my breathing increases.

  He stares right through me, his eyes piercing me with so much intensity, I almost squirm. I find time to wonder what he looks like without that mask on, though.

  “Me,” he finally answers before taking my arm and tugging me forward. When he turns, I see tattooed numbers on the back of his neck similar to Beast and Hella’s, only this man’s numbers read “000”.

  MILLIE

  Dark shadows dance around the cold concrete walls as I shiver in t
he corner of the locked cell. It’s been hours since I was snatched from the warm enclosure of my sister’s car. I still don’t understand who or what took me. My once pearl white blouse now hangs loosely in a soiled mess, and my black slacks are stained with mud.

  My body shakes, trembling in my skin as a pattern begins to form. First, a wave of fear washes over me, conjuring the reaper. Death is easy. Death is a means coming to an end, and you know the surges of pain that you feel whispering through your body is about to come to a merciful end, so you relish in that comfort. Just one more breath, you tell yourself as your eyes slowly close and a tingling sensation of defeat simmers inside of you. My breathing shallows as I inhale deep, slow breaths. Little colorful dots dance around behind my lids as I mentally take myself to somewhere warm. I think about hot chocolate on a cold winter night sitting by the blazing fire. Memories of Melissa and I cuddled by the fireplace on Christmas Eve with the scent of fresh pine dancing in the air. I smile, remembering how happy our family was before my father passed away. My head shakes from left to right, trying to fight off the memories of that fateful night. One nightmare at a time, Millie, I tell myself.

  Only this isn’t a nightmare. The cold metal shackles locked around my feet are very real. I peel my eyes open just as loud footsteps echo through the cold, lifeless walls, and my body stills. Climbing to my feet, a deep chuckle sounds out from the other side of the rusted metal bars.

  “Millie Hart. Well, it’s a pleasure, sister,” he snarls with the side of his lip kicked up in a smirk.

  I can’t see much more of his face, but I recognize his voice as the man Melissa and I spoke to inside the limo a few weeks ago. My throat freezes as a cold sweat breaks out over my forehead.

  The tall figure with a lean build steps back and gestures to the bars, commanding someone I can’t see from where I am. “Unlock it.”

  My throat bobs under my swallowing, but I still can’t manage to get a word out. The heavy jolt of a lock popping off causes me to flinch before the squeaking of a thick metal door pierces my ears. The tapping of dress shoes on the cold concrete pavement at Kurr’s arrival pitter patter into my cell. I instinctively step back.

  He chuckles. “Oh, sweet girl. One step back isn’t going to get you far.”

  My voice fights through the constricting of my throat. “What do you want from me?” Cold ice slips into my bloodstream slowly—not fast, not rushing, but slowly it seeps in and makes sure it doesn’t miss a spot as it slithers its frozen cube through my pulsing veins.

  The scraping of a chair squeaks out over the floor and my breath pauses again as he takes a seat. He throws his ankle up to rest on his knee and cocks his head. “You, my dear child, have more than one purpose,” he calmly declares before running his long fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair.

  Movement catches my vision from the other side of the cell, and my eyes flick up to find the outline of the same silver masked man who drove me here. I’m guessing he’s the same one. The masked man’s shoulders square as his feet separate, his stance morphing into the dangerous being he probably is. The entire atmosphere of the already-chilled cell takes a nosedive lower as chills break out over my skin. His eyes peer at me through the eye sockets of the mask as my pulsing vein pounds to a dangerous beat against my neck.

  “I’m just me, Millie Hart, twenty-one, a nun at our local church in Detroit who went to visit her sister in Westbeach before coming to Las Vegas. I’m no one special, I’m just me,” I reply through a hoarse whisper, my eyes remaining locked on the dark depths that brazenly glare right through me.

  He tsks at my comment as he sits forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “That’s where you’re wrong. You’re so much more than that, little Millie. You’re a walking paycheck, revenge. And you have made an enemy out of the good priest all in one. You, my sweet child, are a triple threat.”

  He stands and walks toward me until his chest is flush against mine. His rough fingertips run down my temple, pushing my ash blonde hair out of my face.

  “Boys, make sure she gets well acquainted with you all.” He pauses, running his eyes down my body, violating every speck of my skin through his glare alone. “Be sure to leave the innocent part of her intact.”

  He turns and leaves, the heavy cell door sliding closed behind him. I look to the side to see a lean man wearing a black steel ghost mask slowly walking towards me as the silver-masked driver remains leaning on the cell bars, his arms crossed in front of himself. I step away until my back hits the cold concrete wall. The driver pushes the black-masked man out of the way forcefully before stepping into my space. With a deep chuckle that vibrates around the empty silence of the damp cell, his body presses against mine, his taut chest colliding against my soft, heavy breathing. Cold metal skims over my cheek, setting off a tingle of fear in its wake as he tilts my face out of the way with his own and inhales deeply. His steel-covered face is in the crook of my neck, both of his muscled arms caging me in on either side of my head.

  He growls a guttural groan that has my legs trembling in fear. “I smell… virgin…”

  Snapping my mouth closed, I move my head out of the way from him, evidently granting him more access. One of his legs force itself in between mine, spreading them open an inch. My eyes clench shut. I’ve been faithful to my religion all my life. I’ve been nothing but committed to the Catholic Church and what it demonstrates. I swore an oath that I would remain pure and untouched until the end of my days. So why do I feel like all those years are about to be ripped away from me and torn into little pieces?

  His crotch skims across my stomach, his hard bulge pressing into me.

  “Stop playing, Tripp. I need a taste,” chirps a hyena voice from somewhere behind the wall of muscle that is currently blocking my view.

  When I finish counting the imprinted patterns engraved into the dark, gloomy wall beside me, I finally raise my eyes to meet the deep sockets of whatever it is that lies behind that sinful mask. There are no windows in here, only a droplight which hangs from the ceiling by a cord. Every time it moves, the light casts a different shadow on the driver’s frame. I swallow as the light swings again, illustrating the driver’s—or Tripp’s— deep grey eyes. Normally, light-colored eyes lighten one’s features, but that isn’t the case here; his eyes are grey. A grey that you don’t find on the Prince Charming in your dreams, but rather on the Grim Reaper who is about to end your existence.

  His other leg joins the one which currently pushes against my core, and a light groan slips from my throat. It isn’t a groan of pleasure; it’s a helpless one of someone who is about to meet her maker. His shuffling pauses and I silently begin praying that he doesn’t take that groan in the wrong way. His other leg presses between mine forcefully, thus causing mine to stretch wider to accommodate him.

  “Don’t scream or fight it,” his voice slithers through my ears in a deep growl and seeps into my pores. His hand begins gliding up my thigh, leaving a trail of panic in its wake. “Ask me why,” he continues.

  His voice is like walking through the gates of Hell where the walls are alight with scorching flames that simmer over your delicate flesh, but you never die. You feel every excruciating, burning stab that the fire will leave over your skin and you wait, fully conscious, anticipating the holocaust to rattle the ground under your feet and commence. This man isn’t just dark. I can feel it. His aura is bleeding into my soul, touching it with a shadow so black it can make the celestial sphere seem like just another star in the sky.

  “Answer me!” he snaps, the grip he has around my upper thigh tightening with his tone.

  “Why?” I mumble quickly, fear clenching my throat so tight it’s as though an invisible hand has gripped around it, demanding for me to begin my final words.

  His hands skim up my thighs until they almost reach my apex. My breath hitches and deep chuckling ripples around me in echoes, breaking through my thoughts. “Because,” he growls, his voice cupping me down there. “I’m going to own every s
ingle inch of this delicate body, and what’s worse? You’re going to give it to me.”

  Shame washes over me—pure, undiluted shame. Something inside of me splinters, and a sob almost escapes my mouth. This is the most private, untouched, and pure part of my body. I haven’t even experienced an orgasm before on my own, so when his rough, calloused hand presses against it forcefully, a tear escapes and trails down my makeup-smeared face, and when his thumb presses against a spot that had at times ached to be touched, a whimper leaves me as my shoulders slack in defeat.

  Defeat, because as much as I hate it, there is a part of me that likes it.

  TRIPP

  I can’t let the boys have her, but I know I have to. If I show anything but indifference to Millie as I have with other girls who have been right where she is, Kurr would know. I may be feared, but I’d be outnumbered…… not that anyone would try to start trouble with me. I’m the alpha and the omega in the new Generation. I’m Army blood. The arms that raised me weren’t carrying love; they were carrying knives and AKs. I’m agent 000, the executioner, and the damn devil who walks in the flesh. I’m feared on these grounds and the ones outside of it. I can think of two hundred different ways to end a human life without lifting a finger. And I do. And I’m good at it. I’m no man. What I am is much more beastly than what even your darkest imagination could muster. I could make you want to eradicate your own mere existence, and while I’m at it, I’ll even make you enjoy it. I’m less man and more machine—a machine that operates by blood and the thrill of the kill, not by batteries. A machine that could paint your blood on the walls with your kid standing there watching while I give him or her a graphic play-by-play on how I tore apart every tendon in their father’s body until the life slowly drained from his eyes and slid to the back of his severed-open skull. I’m the man you would send to wipe out the very existence of your worst nightmare.

  I’m not the man whose chest tightens at a simple whimper that escapes from lips so plump, I have to fight the urge to dip my head down and bite them so hard that blood draws. I shouldn’t be thinking about how tight her little virgin pussy would be around my cock, but I do. I think about that whimper leaving her as I descend deep into her wet walls with each extraction the ribbed texture of her tunnel would grate over my throbbing dick. I wanna drop to my knees and feast on her all night until she begs me to stop as her orgasm rains down over my chin—and then I’d keep going. I’d lick up every single drop before latching my lips around her clit and sucking every little ounce of pleasure from her.