Page 5 of Unholy

Rolling his eyes at me, he shoves his hands into his leather jacket pockets and leads us down the dimly lit hallway. It’s midday and since most of the activities at The Ranch begin after dark, the house is quiet as we make our way toward the frontdoor. Just as we round the corner, the click of a door behind me catches my attention.

Turning my head, I can see a long black ponytail. It reaches her lower back, which is clad in black shiny latex. Tall knee-high boots are in her tiny hands, and her bare feet pad against the floor. If she feels me looking, she doesn’t turn around to check. I stare a bit longer, stopping in my tracks. Absolutely captivated.

Her hips sway with each step as my eyes take her in. As I reach her bare ass, the latex bodysuit being a thong, I can feel my cock react against my trousers. Her long pony sways as I squint harder at her. Why is this so familiar?

My hand scratches at the stubble on my face as a flood of memories rush over me.

It’s her.

It fucking has to be.

She came out of the orgy room with such confidence during Hell Fire Night at the cabin, just like she does now.

“Sinclair. Move.” D’s deep voice grabs hold of my attention.

Blinking my eyes, my focus returns to the present as I pivot on my heels, taking wide steps and reaching the staircase. He doesn’t question me once as I catch up; he either didn’t notice or doesn’t care. Some days his inability to give a shit about certain things drives me absolutely insane, but this time I am thankful.

We both remain quiet as we make it through the rest of the house. A couple girls sit at the bar in the parlor. Glancing over, I give them a curt nod. A couple I recognize from the house calls.

My car is parked out front, and we both get in. Sliding my hand inside of my jacket, I reach for my phone and pull it out. Scrolling through my contacts, I find the one I need.

I want her for the next house call.

Greta

Greta replies immediatelywith a laughing emoji.

Putting my phone away, I put my matte-black Bentley SUV into drive and say, “I hope you took a picture, this is the one time you and your missus are ever winning a bet.”

He doesn’t respond, instead pulling out his own phone, likely messaging Cecilia.

It turns out Elijah did in fact destroy D’s Range.

I called him after my son left, telling him what his missus accomplished, then D baited me with, ‘Want to bet?’ This one time, he knew my son better than I did.

The next morning, I got a bunch of pictures of the Range Rover's tinted windows gone emailed to me. Even the front windshield was destroyed. Dents decorated the outside. That is when I knew I was fucked. He never wins, and they were not going to go easy on me with this time.

Well fucking played.

The drive home is quiet. As much as this experience has been less than ideal, it has taken my mind off one thing.

The Exiled.

So much shit has changed since Hell Fire. My son and his girlfriend, Rain, have been initiated; she found out they are expecting, and now shit is getting messy within the society. Not because of them. It's been since that night, though, and I can feel it. Tides are changing, rumors are swirling, and unease riddles my bones.

I continue driving through town, and before I know it, I am pulling up to Delacroix’s. Parking, he starts to get out, but beforeclosing the door, he bends down and flashes his phone at me. Leaning over, I see a picture of my dick in the glory hole on the screen, before the girl came in.

A loud chuckle erupts from my mouth. “Well fucking done, brother,” I praise.

D responds back, “I know.” Then he shuts the door.

Before taking off for home, another text comes through, the vibration against my chest alerting me to it.

Unknown:

New World Order.

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