Razing Grace: Razing Grace Part 1 (3 page)

MILLIE

Prickles of one hundred needles pierce my face, and I toss my head from left to right, attempting to shake the feeling. Wetness pours down my neck and slowly my consciousness returns. My eyes snap open from the ice cold water and onto the familiar deep stormy depths of nothingness. Pushing off the concrete floor with my hands, I bring myself to my feet, my hair clinging to my face in sticky wet strands that fall around my shoulders.

“You just threw water on me?” I ask, noticing his ripped, worn jeans and how the black t-shirt he’s sporting today displays his embossed muscles. An array of tattoos cover both his arms, disappearing under the sleeves of his shirt. Another man walks in, his face covered in a blood red mask with a white line that goes down the middle. His body isn’t as thick as Tripp’s, but the way he carries himself seems to throw up enough warning signs. My silk white blouse now clings to my chest, displaying my plain cotton bra.

Red mask walks toward me until the tip of his boot connects with mine. His hand flies up to my neck as he pushes my back against the wall. His grip around me tightens while his other hand finds my center and strokes violently in pressured, circular motions over my clit. A low grunt vibrates over my skin from his groan as the hand that was around my throat drops to the buttons on my blouse.

“Your training starts now. You’re going to learn how to behave like a good little whore.” Words die in my throat as his fingers dive into the cup of my bra and grate over my nipple. “That feel good, nun?” he taunts.

My eyes remain closed. This isn’t happening.

“Answer me!” he roars, his pinching intensifying until a sharp sting burns on the tip on my nipple. He just cut my nipple! His hand disappears under his mask as the sound of suction breaks the unknown silence. “Mmmm,” he groans seductively. “The blood of a virgin.”

His hand grips tightly around my blouse until he rips it off, throwing it to the ground, and I’m left standing in my slacks and white cotton bra. The breast that he had just assaulted is exposed to the cool air, sending another sharp pang shooting through it.

He steps back, his face tilting. “I’ve seen better, but nothing is more priceless than a virgin. Your virginity may need to stay in check…” His eyes darken as the word “virgin” leaves his mouth. He comes back towards me, his hand sliding behind my back where he unhooks my bra, keeping his dark eyes trapped with mine. “But you will need training in all other aspects we deem fit, and I’m your day one, nun,” he announces, watching me. He throws his head over his shoulder. “Black mask? He’s your day two.”

The light material of my bra had now completely fallen off my body, joining my blouse on the dirt-ridden ground.

“White mask? Day three,” he continues, his knuckles skimming down my erect nipples courtesy of the cool, empty air. “Blue mask? Day four.” My eyes drift to the man standing near the door in a blue mask. His hair trails down to his wide shoulders as he leans against the metal cell. “Day five goes to grey mask.” He drops his head down to the crook of my neck. “You get the one and only executioner on day six, because he likes them trained well, and you need warming up for him,” he trails, his fingers gripping around my upper thighs as he wraps them around his hips. “Guess what happens on day seven, nun?” he whispers so harshly, I flinch. “You. Get. Us. All.”

The cool winter night whisked around the golden archway that lead into the armory on base. Kurr knew it was a risk, but it was a risk he was willing to take. This baby had to be welcomed in the right way, the way he knew was only fitting. The mesh veil which was draped over the lean frame of a petite woman walked through the doors, clutching a baby in her arms. Kurr stepped backwards from the podium and began to walk towards her.

“Don’t,” she hissed. “This isn’t what I wanted.” Her whispers were loud pleads, but Kurr didn’t care; he had a plan. This was a part of his plan all along. The veiled woman had a brain that was far too important to lose. With her intelligence and his power, this baby would grow to be the soldier he should be.

“This is his life,” Kurr clarified, stepping into the woman’s space. His soldiers surrounded his back, they were new but they would learn. Beast, the child who was born here, was growing every day. Every breath he took was that of Army air. He was going to be indestructible; it’s why Kurr named that child Beast.

“Kurr,” the woman whispered. “You have Beast. Please leave this one be. Let him be raised in a life that is away from this.” She pleaded from behind the white veil which hid her face. Kurr didn’t care for the baby to be raised outside of the walls in The Army; he had bigger plans for this kid, and no one was going to know about these plans until he saw fit.

“I will have them both,” Kurr grunted. “Yes, I will have them both,” he repeated as his eyes set into stone. “I will raise a breed of them, like a pack.” Kurr nodded as the wheels in his brain began to turn. He had a perfect plan. He wanted a group of men who were similar to the legendary Four Horsemen, only he wouldn’t have four; he’d have six. Where the four Horsemen rode on red, white, black, and pale horses, his would have distinctive masks, made from steel to cover their identity. Kurr smirked as his plan unraveled inside his brain slowly.

“The 6,” he announced, his eyes snapping to the woman in front of him whose identity he wanted to keep hidden…for now.

MILLIE

Present

“Day 1”

“What? Why?” I ask, the grip around my thighs tightening.

He drops my body and I fall to the floor with a thud. My eyes drag over his heavy black military boots, past his black denim jeans, and past the dark hoodie which hung off his body.

“I just explained,” red mask says, kneeling in front of me, gripping his hands around my knees and spreading my legs wide open. “Don’t make me repeat myself, nun. You won’t like me pissed.”

“I don’t like you much right now,” I whisper as his hands skim up my inner thighs slowly. My eyes close as his fingers find the button of my pants and he unclips them with one swift movement.

“Even better for me.” His voice heavy as he throws my pants to the side near my blouse and bra. “Get angry, nun. It will make this so much sweeter for me. Trust me when I say your pain is the fuel to my pleasure, your disgust is the igniter, and the way your sweet cunt will taste around my tongue will be your fucking rapture.” His hands grip around the rim of my underwear as he tears them off roughly.

“Please,” I attempt to plead with him. “Please don’t do this.” Tears pool in my eyes before overflowing down my cheeks.

He crawls over top of me, causing me to lay flat on my back from his invasion. The light pebbles which are scattered all over the cement floor press into my back making their presence known. “That’s it baby,” he growls, his voice dropping to a deathly low tone. “Talk dirty to me.” His leg rests between mine before his next one follows. I attempt to fight it, but when my gaze locks onto the green haze which lie behind the mask, I flinch inwardly and submit, spreading them wide to accommodate him more.

“Are you going to rape me?” My voice crackles as the words leave my mouth.

He props himself up on his elbows, his thick bulge pressing into my core as he circles his hips. My eyes close again as I attempt to think past what is happening right now. I have nothing, I had hoped that Melissa would be here by now. I know it’s been over twenty-four hours and no one has shown, so my chances are looking slim.

“It’s only considered rape if you don’t want it,” he states, watching my eyes closely. My nipples harden against his heavy chest and I curse at myself. I’m cracking in his very hands as everything I’ve ever known or lived for grows more and more meaningless as the hours pass by. Who will I be once this is all over? Will this ever be over? “You want it, don’t you, nun.” That wasn’t a question; that was him confirming his suspicions.

My jaw clenches. “No. I’ll never want you.” My nipples may harden, my most private part may be enjoying having something pressed against it, but I won’t give them my pleasure. I refuse. They may taste my body, but I won’t let them feast on my soul.

“We’ll see about that.” He watches me closely, his fingers finding the middle of my thighs instantly, and my back arches as his fingers invade me. My teeth snap down on my lower lip until it draws blood and it swells inside my mouth. “You feel that, nun?” he whispers. “That’s your body responding to me!” he declares. His thumb presses onto my nub, sending a jolt of electrifying pleasure rippling from between my thighs up towards my arms before exiting through my fingertips.

“No!” I cry out, my chest heaving as the breaths I struggle to inhale pull through me. “You can’t have it.” I shake my head from left to right.

His pressure intensifies as his circling becomes quicker in the hopes I let go. I won’t. I won’t do it. His other hand trails up my taut stomach towards my breasts as he pinches them roughly between his fingers again, setting off that similar sting on the very same nipple. A cry escapes my throat as tears trickle down my temple and run over my skull.

“Just kill me, please.” He doesn’t. His circling continues before his finger invades me roughly with long, thick strokes. My walls pulse, clenching around his finger, and I cry out louder this time. “Please! No!” Why is my body feeling like this? Why? Why does something that should disgust me, because it does, have the opposite effect on my body? I feel betrayed, pure betrayal from my own self, and my tears intensify. He presses his body down over mine, his hand still working its same tricks on me as his hips thrust into mine roughly, following his hands movements.

“Let go,” he orders. My head moves from side to side in thrashes as I attempt to shut out what is going on around me. The walls aren’t really concrete; they’re of the finest wallpaper. This floor? It isn’t cold hard cement; it’s of the finest plush carpet. It’s all a nightmare until I realize it isn’t. This nightmare is my reality. Bile rises up in my throat, leaving acidity in its wake.

He’s not going to stop, not unless I pretend like it has worked. The need to release is there, but the feeling of disgust and violation is more prominent. My lips tremble as more tears flow down my face.

My hand goes up to cup around my mouth as I let a guttural moan form my pretend release sound throughout the room. Fear zaps through me briefly. What if he finds out that I faked it? When his grip loosens from between my thighs, welcoming the cool air to brush over my center, I sigh inwardly at realizing I may have gotten away with it. I can’t let them have it. It’s what little part I have to hold onto and I will not be giving it away on a silver platter for anyone. The day I lose my willpower will be the day I lose myself.

MILLIE