Blood Mountain by J.T. Warren

Author:J.T. Warren [Warren, J.T.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fiction & Literature
Published: 2011-04-29T04:00:00+00:00

THIRTY-SEVEN

Victor wished Mercy could appreciate the moment from his point of view. If fear and panic hadn’t destroyed her mind, she might be able to admire how well this plan had progressed. Instead, she was in the clutches of white hot fear, nothing more than a cornered animal desperate to escape.

He could push aside the pain emanating through him; he had learned to do that many years ago. Later he would suffer the crippling spasms and full-body seizures, but not now, not with the adrenaline flushing his veins. Even so, he knew how to keep control, to harness that primal strength, to not be rash and do something stupid.

Caleb stepped into the tent and got to his knees. He was completely focused on Mercy but his brain was flooded with the fantasy of rape, so he didn’t register the flashlight clutched in the girl’s hand as a weapon. Its light flickered on his face, distorting his features like a facade in a dream, but it was Caleb who was in the dream. He was overcommitting out of desperate longing.

Victor was not surprised when Mercy brought the flashlight straight up into Caleb’s chin in a quick, powerful arc. Caleb’s jaw snapped shut on a sliver of tongue and his head rocked back as if he had slammed it against a wall. It had been too easy for her to catch him off guard, too easy for her to disable him and scramble on her knees for the exit.

“You fucking idiot,” Victor said without surprise.

Caleb responded in single-syllable moans while he clutched his face and rocked back and forth on the ground like a traumatized child.

Mercy’s white ass glowed in the tent doorway for a moment, a small moon just for his pleasure, and then she was gone.

Victor pulled up his pants, secured the belt and went after her.

He made it halfway out before the girl’s father screamed to life and grabbed him around the waist. His fingers latched onto Victor’s belt and pulled him back inside the tent. Victor tried to yank free of his grip but the old man’s last gasp was a mighty one.

“My daughter,” he said through clenched teeth. “My baby.”

Victor rolled onto his back and kicked the man across the face with his bare foot. The grip came loose and Victor could reposition above him. He punched him across the face twice and waited for another retaliation.

“My baby,” he said as if in a dream.

“No,” Victor said. “Mine.”

With that, he punched the man again, knocking him into unconsciousness.

Caleb was still groaning like a pathetic puppy that had been kicked against a wall. “If you want her, you better get your ass out here and help,” Victor said.

The nighttime air was a cool blast that gave him renewed strength as if something potent had been injected into his blood.

Mercy had run to the far end of the camp where the trail continued up to the summit. She’d stopped to put on her jeans. She was fumbling with the second leg, trying not to fall.

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