I Kill Monsters: Fury (Book 1) by Tony Monchinski Read Free Book Online

been promised. And what has been promised must be
delivered. Surely, you understand all this?”
    She lowered her gaze and her shoulders shook
as she sobbed uncontrollably.
    “Look to me, girl.” She ignored the dark
Lord.
    He repeated the request, and again, she wept
but did not look upon him.
    “Finish this then,” Rainford bade the
Albanian.
    Kreshnik pulled the glove off one hand a
finger at a time, revealing a cadaverous, vascular-blue hand. There
were whispers of anticipation from those gathered. Its fingers were
long and slender, almost feminine, each ending in sharpened claws
an inch and half long.
    “Look to me…” Rainford’s voice had trailed
off to a whisper. She would not comply. There was nothing to be
done for her.
    The crowd gathered in the dark was silent in
anticipation. Somewhere in the gloom, water dripped.
    Rainford looked away as the Albanian reached
down and, with his remaining gloved hand, pulled the woman’s head
back by her hair—
    “No, please, ple—”
    —and slashed his other hand across her
exposed neck, her throat opening up and blood spilling in thin
rivulets and then a flood down her chest and shoulders. The woman
shuddered and grabbed at the hand that held her hair but Kreshnik
snarled and held her out away from him.
    She shook and bled out and was dead a minute
later.
    Kreshnik held his hand up to the light and
contemplated the blood under his nails.
    One of the human women who served him as a
wife emerged from the dark and knelt before him, drawing the hand
down to her mouth. She was dressed partially in the habit of a
sister of Christ, her head covered in a white coif and wimple, the
black veil and white underveil pulled up to reveal her lean, pallid
face. She wore garters and stockings and, aside from this and the
head garb, was otherwise nude.
    Rainford watched as she suckled first one and
then another of the Albanian’s bloodied fingers. Disgusting .
As a second and then a third similarly-dressed concubine joined the
first, Rainford rose from his sham throne and walked off into the
gloom.
    As he departed, those cloaked in the dark
came forward, shedding clothing and inhibitions.
    This younger generation …Rainford shook his head, caring less if anyone
saw him do so. Decadent. Given to the pleasures and perversities of
the flesh. After three hundred and twenty six years of existence,
sex didn’t mean what it once had to the dark Lord. The steady drip
of water was lost amid moans of ecstasy.

 
9.
6:25 A.M.
     
    “Should we wake him up?”
    Boone made low, plaintive, broken sounds in
his sleep, caught in the grip of some nightmare. Santa Anna watched
the big kid shudder.
    “Should we wake him up?” Jay repeated his
question.
    “Who, Boone?” asked Bowie. “Nah, let the pup
sleep…”
    The back of the panel truck was packed with
the four men and the cases of blood and cash.
    “Looks like he’s having another nightmare,”
noted Jay.
    “Sounds like,” agreed Santa Anna. The Ithaca
12-gauge rested across his legs.
    “That’s no nightmare,” wagered Bowie. “What
you’re witnessing here gentlemen is a nocturnal emission. Boone’s
dreaming of all his steroids and his bench press.”
    “I go away for almost ten years,” said Santa
Anna, “and shit still don’t change.”
    “How’s that?”
    “You still ain’t funny. And by the way, what
the fuck is this shit we’re listening to?”
    Light FM was piping into the back of the
panel truck.
    “This is none other than Sir Elton John,”
noted Bowie, “commemorating the lovely Princess Diana herself.”
    “Oh shit,” said Santa Anna. “You’ve got to be
kidding me. This song was fucking bad enough when it was about
Marilyn Monroe.”
    “Are you kidding me?” asked Bowie. “The
original was a classic.”
    “No, Santa Anna’s right,” said Jay. “Marilyn
was trash. The Kennedy brothers used to run a train on her—”
    “When DaMaggio wasn’t,” added Santa Anna,
“but I don’t think that makes