Page 1 of Sweet SIN Slaughterhouse

1

SID

“Ican’t hear you!” Shouting many octaves above the soundtrack playing in my ears.

Rolling my eyes, I turn around and scan the table. My fingers tingle with excitement at all the options before me, but my eyes keep drifting back to one in particular, a long, thin piece of beautiful bronze, with a slight hook at the end. Very similar to a crochet hook, but much cooler andfarmore deadly.

Biting my lip as my fingertips graze the cool metal, tingles electrify throughout my body in excitement. My pussy clenches and my eyes hood knowing what is to come, and it gets me so fucking horny.

Slowly, I slide my white crystal-encrusted gas mask down my face, my long and bejeweled black nails rake across each bump and ridge. With each click, it adds to the suspense and tension radiating in my tunnel.

The sweet melody of “Party in the USA” by Miley Cyrus is playing on repeat, but I pause it so I can hear the precious symphony of the screams one last time. Removing the headphone off my ear slightly, I turn around, bronze hook in hand, and take in my latest slaughterhouse casualty.

She’s naked.

Legs bent at the knee, similar to a squat position, ass up and arms strapped behind her, wrists chained to the ceiling. Her head hangs forward, her ankles shaking, and the tension is taut against the chain. At any moment, the traitor's shoulders could pop out of the sockets—an excruciating pain, I imagine. And fucking hope.

Pulling the rope hanging next to me once more, a bucket of ice-cold water rains down on her. I’ve been told it feels like a thousand sharp knives digging into your skin, and in her case, spine. The back is very sensitive, full of nerves. The perfect spot for this technique.

I don’t want her to talk, because I know everything I need to. I want her to suffer. I want her to hurt and regret ever betraying my family and The Devil’s Society.

“Suzzie Q, was it worth it?” I taunt, my words muffled by the mask. Cries echo throughout the cement cylinder as her body shivers and her toes spasm against the dirt and rocks.

Her name isn’t Suzzie, but she isn’t worth her name anymore.

She is a pest. An annoying little cockroach who I keepstepping on, drowning with ice bucket after ice bucket, but she just won’t die.

She and her family hate us. They, for some fucking reason, have an allegiance to the dead and defeated. The cowards and deranged. There is a small group in town who keep trying to revive the legacy of The Exiled, even if they know what we are capable of. But it never fails; everyone wants to be a hero. They sent this one in as a new recruit; they thought she'd get in undetected, but she couldn’t have been more obvious. Always asking questions and always the first to volunteer. We passed on some bullshit information to her and waited. The Exiled took the bait, and we confirmed the mole.

My dad and I watched in the woods as the small group thought they were about to attack some vulnerable society members, but the area was empty, and they knew then they had been found out. But as the cowards they are, they left her to die. No attempt at a rescue mission. She was just another pawn in their game.

My dad and Papa have told me that those who are still loyal to The Exiled are those who were related to Brad and Dalton, or those still living off the cash left behind. They are a small group, an annoying group, actually, who take up our resources in humoring their playtime, when we have real shit to run.

A couple fluorescents hang throughout the tunnel, but the light is dim, shadows casting over her pathetic face. Her head hangs as her entire body is now engulfedin one massive shiver. The teeth chattering has begun to annoy me, so I slip my headphones back on. Miley Cyrus greets me once more. What a banger. And the perfect song for my next performance. Because I’m about to fucking party in here.

Stepping toward her in my black combat boots, I tilt my head and take in the pathetic pest. Bending at the waist, I feel a cool drift of air on my backside from being suddenly exposed. I’m in a short black plaid schoolgirl skirt, my legs bare, and a black torn cropped tee, with no panties on. They are far too restricting.

My sharp, pointed fingernail drags down the side of her damp cheek, hard. Warm blood counters the coolness of her skin, and I think this is what it must feel like in South Africa, where the Atlantic meets the Indian Ocean, hot versus cold, the ultimate battle for dominance. And I love it.

Twisting the once cool but now warm bronze between my thumb and forefinger in my other hand adds another element to my analogy. I ponder for a moment before smirking.

Heat always wins.

I am a Demon’s daughter and Diablo’s grandchild; heat runs through my veins.

Nothing could be more perfect.

Holding her chin firm, I tilt her face up toward me and take her in one last time. What a shame; she is so pretty like this, nipples hard as her stomach muscles contract, and tears join the stream of blood runningdown her face. I shaved her head earlier in the day because I didn’t like it long. She is far more beautiful without it, raw and bare.

Looking up at me, my pest pleads once more with her eyes, so sad and pathetic.

Winking, I give a half smile she won’t be able to see under my mask as I move swiftly, shoving the hooked bronze rod up her nostril and past her sinus. Things get a bit tricky the higher I get, so I angle her head back toward the ground and knee the rod, thus pushing it farther up her nose and into her brain. Only an inch of bronze is left to be seen. Tilting her head back up, blood has begun trickling out of her mouth, nose, and now her eyes. Gripping the tool, I slowly rotate it so the hook can begin attaching itself to her brain tissue. The more I turn, the more resistant it becomes. Carefully, I wiggle the bronze hook down, not wanting to lose anything on the other end. This is my take on the ancient Egyptian process of mummification, just one of the many steps to their process. I don’t have time to fulfill and honor all aspects of the ritual, so I pay my respects by adapting bits and pieces of their technique.

As I pull the hook out, a large piece of brain matter comes with it. Giddy with excitement, I take a moment and examine it. White tissue with red blood encasing it, the sharp hook severed this piece beautifully.

Looking down at my pest, her tongue is hanging out and drool drips from her chin to the gravel floor. I push the tool up once more, and this time it's easier; just a bitof elbow grease and I am back inside her head. Twirling my tool around, I hum along to sweet Miley as I pull another piece out of her nose. More blood pours out of her and begins to pool at my feet.

Before I can continue, my phone rings through the headphones, interrupting my song. Assholes.

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