Free Wrath James White and Maurice Broaddus by Orgy of Souls Page B

certain that everyone he passed on the street could see the other entities within him, rippling beneath the surface of his skin like cats fighting beneath a blanket. Gradually, the riot of souls quieted down as they submerged deeper and deeper, migrating from his flesh into his own immortal spirit. Samson smiled as their warmth filled him, replacing the chill in his bones with their vibrant energy, like warm brandy on a cold winter night. This was not an unpleasant feeling at all.

    With only two souls, Samson knew his blood covenant was far from complete. He needed more. If God was watching, He would be coming for him soon. Coming to claim what was His. If Jacque was telling the truth, someone else might be coming as well. At any rate, Samson knew he didn’t have much more time. He also knew that getting women or even men to sign the contract would be a slow process. It would be quicker to just rip the souls right out of them. But then they wouldn’t technically belong to him and God might simply take them back. The contracts had to be signed for this to work.

    The line to the club stretched all the way to the end of the block. The excitement of those waiting to get inside electrified the air. Each and every one of them would be affecting airs of cool aloofness once they were let in, despite the annoying puppy-dog enthusiasm they currently displayed.

    At the front of the line two large bouncers in black turtlenecks and leather jackets manned the door. A thin wannabe model with platinum blonde hair wore a baby tee with the words “Porn Star” emblazoned across the front of it, a miniskirt, white tights, red hip boots and a white faux fur coat. Another bouncer stood behind her, manning the guest list and the VIP line; his steroid enhanced muscles bulged through the layer of leather.

    Samson stared her up and down, thinking she had a far greater chance of becoming a porn star than the model she imagined herself to be. Her face lit up when she saw him.

    “Samson! I heard you were spotted at Club 7 the other night partying with Jacque Willet? I hope you aren’t going to break all of our hearts and tell us you decided to play for the other team?”

    He leaned over and whispered in her ear, reaching inside her fur jacket and hefting one of her saline-filled mammaries, rubbing the nipple with his thumb as he spoke.

    “Why don’t you meet me up in VIP as soon as you get a break and I’ll let you decide for yourself what team I’m on. Pick out a few other lovelies to join you. I’m celebrating a new contract tonight.”

    Samson checked his pockets. In his shirt pocket he had a prescription bottle labeled Acetaminophen. Eight hundred milligrams written out to Jacque Willet. Samson knew there was anything but Tylenol in that bottle. It contained at least twenty hits of Ecstasy.

    He opened the bottle, and pulled out one of the pills that he popped it into her mouth. She sucked his fingertips lasciviously before she swallowed the pill.

    “Tell them the party favors are on me tonight.” Samson kissed the little porn star, tasting the bitter chalkiness of the Ecstasy. Then he unhooked the velvet rope that separated them and walked past her into the club.

    The flashing lights, the artificial smoke, the club goers in lace, leather, and latex, gave the club a haunted house ambiance that Samson found rather silly most nights, but tonight it felt almost inviting, as if everyone in the club sensed the bloodbath that was about to ensue and welcomed it. Grateful to be released from their pathetic pseudo-death, their garish mockery of the undead. Grateful for a chance to experience the real thing.

    Samson checked his other pockets as he dove into the sea of humanity, sweating and gyrating around him, their flesh pulsating and undulating with the techno drum beat. In his pants pocket he found what remained of Jacque’s stash of cocaine. It might be hard for Samson to find enough people willing to sell their souls for sex, but