Free Shattered by LS Silverii Page B

unexpected ways. Much worse than he thought it could.
    The manicured grass opening was lined with tiki torches and string lighting—backyard BBQ style. Lawn chairs casually dotted the lush green area. Frank Sinatra played softly over a speaker system concealed in faux boulders. It would’ve been a welcoming setting except for the seven crucifixes that littered the outskirts.
    The unfinished-wood structures were fashioned in an X-shape. Most had a body attached. All nude. Some completely skinned. Others just started. All were men. It looked like maybe two were still alive, but they’d never recover, their stages of being peeled were so advanced. Even if Justice charged the collection, they’d perish. As he probably would, too.
    St. John fought in and out of consciousness. Justice understood St. John was tough, but also knew this scenario was more than most could psychologically digest. It had purposefully been designed by the CIA’s behavioral group to be that way.
    Justice whispered to St. John to stay quiet and still. The biker only choked up more bile and blood. If St. John couldn’t keep his shit together they’d have to flee, and running from a natural predator was useless. Gray Man would intercept each of them at various intervals along the route. Their best bet for survival was to lay still and be quiet.
    Justice wrapped his fingers behind St. John’s neck and jerked his skull against his lips. “Shut the fuck up. It’s him.”
    “I’m trying.”
    “Son, pull your shit together, or I’ll kill you right now. You’re jeopardizing both our lives.”
    “Oh, my lord, I’ve never seen anything like—not even in the movies.” St. John’s mind had fractured—he was fucked.
    Justice switched his NVGs off and on depending on the lighting Gray Man had used. He narrowed his sight to see Gray Man checking his collection near an open fire pit with metal slats across it. Justice’s gut revolted. The lump in his throat was huge. So swollen he couldn’t force air in or out.
    Justice kept his eyelids lowered except for quick glances—didn’t want the man to sense him watching. He knew what the fire was for. In training, this setting was called a buffet—Gray Man would sample each of his bodies while the other victims watched. Eventually it would be their turn. One would always be set free to tell what they’d seen.
    He would sample each until he’d consumed enough vital organs to bring on a horrifically slow death. Gray Man also liked to fuck the victims, but preferred that be post mortem.
    Justice’s voice alerted St. John. “Look, one of our weapons. He’s got our stash.”
    “What’s he doing?”
    “Target practice. That dude looks like he’ll be lucky enough to die quick.”
    Gray Man pressed an index finger beneath the chin of the intended target. The man’s head flopped up and then fell back down against his chest.
    “Now, let’s see. What can I shoot out of his mouth?” Gray Man marched among his captives like a toy soldier with a rifle propped against his shoulder. “Oh yes, I’ve got a dandy idea.”
    The captive he chose, had hands and feet nailed to each post in the X-shaped crucifix. Gray Man grabbed a fistful of the man’s dick. “Oh you like that, do you?” he said as the man moaned in agony.
    Gray Man set the rifle aside, unsheathed a saber and sliced off the man’s penis.
    “Let’s see if I’m skilled enough to shoot a bird out of your mouth.”
    He counted off ten steps, spun on a dime, and fired one bullet into the man’s mouth.
    “Jolly good shot, my man. You deserve a piece of ass for that grand display.”
    Gray Man yanked on the corpse until his hands flopped below his waist. He kicked at each leg until they broke and detached from the long rusty nails.
    “Dance with me, baby,” Gray Man sung as he hoisted the body to prop it over a wooden sawhorse. He dropped his shorts and jerked up an erection.
    Justice noticed St. John peering through slits for eyes. Covered in