Read Online The Ancient Breed by David Brookover - Free Book Online
Authors: David Brookover
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darkness.
“Blossom?”
She recognized Jay’s voice.
“I’m . . . I’m awake,” she replied hoarsely. Suddenly her mental fog lifted and a stifled memory surged into her consciousness with the force of a tidal wave. Heartrending grief engulfed her fear and anger as a horrible nightmare played over and over in her mind. Jay had murdered Clay with no more feeling than someone shooting a rabid dog! Damn him!
“Clay!” Her cry was a dry screech.
“Shut-up!” Jay snapped and jerked her head back by the hair. “Listen and listen good. Your precious Clay is dead. They reported it on the news a little while ago. Now it’s you and me, baby. Forget the white boy. You’re where you belong.”
His cruel words only produced hysterical sobs. Jay unlocked her handcuff, freed her from a badly discolored brass bed and pulled her roughly into the adjoining room.
“Thought you might want to watch as we open our gold chest,” he announced, ignoring her emotional maelstrom.
Blossom tried to rein in her heaving sobs but it was nearly impossible. Her emotions were way beyond her control at the moment. Clay was dead. She was alone. Alone with this madman and his baleful friends. The bleak notion of suicide flashed through her mind. She had nothing to live for now. Her true love was gone forever. If she was forced to make a choice between Jay and death, she would gladly choose the latter.
Jay forced a box of tissues into her hand, and her depression abruptly changed into a steely resolve. There was something to live for after all, and that singular purpose stained every thought – every memory – every hope.
Blossom blew her nose and scrubbed the hot tears from her face. From this moment forward, she vowed to dedicate all her energy and effort, no matter how degrading and painful it might be, to accomplishing that solitary goal.
Kill Jay.
The tattooed man’s name was Jose, and he stood expectantly beside the wobbly dinette table at one end of the small living-dining room and anxiously awaited Jay’s command to break open the chest. A crow bar hung limply in his left hand while his right pinched an unfiltered cigarette close to his lips.
Blossom noticed that the heavy drapes were tightly closed and the sole window above the kitchen sink was painted black. Pale green-flowered wallpaper curled off the walls and the wood trim was rotted black from the dampness. The loops of the blue shag carpeting were flattened by years of heavy foot traffic, puddles of mold beneath the roof leaks and layers of filth. The air was stuffy, a foul mélange of mildew, cooking grease and cigarette smoke. From the layout of the place, she guessed that they were inside a bungalow.
Jay handed her a glass of water. The tepid sulfur water nearly gagged her as it passed through her parched throat.
“You’re not planning to break open the chest with that crowbar, are you?” she asked furiously.
“You have a better idea?” Jay countered.
“A locksmith.”
Jose and Lonny laughed.
“For obvious reasons, that’s out of the question, baby. We’re sequestered here until the big event. No visitors allowed,” he explained. “Go ahead, Jose, work your magic.”
Despite the dire circumstances, Blossom glared at Jay as Jose wedged the crowbar into an narrow seam beneath the beautifully engraved letter “H” and worked on springing the internal lock. But the chest stubbornly refused to surrender its contents. Lonny held the chest in place while Jose applied even more pressure to the seam. Jose perspired freely during his struggle but finally the lock was defeated with a loud crack and snap.
Jay applauded his approval. “Bravo! Now let’s take a peek at your treasure, baby.”
All four crowded around the gold chest as Jay pushed the lid back. Their smiles vanished. There was nothing inside but an oilskin envelope and a bulging bladder.
Lonny snatched the bladder and shook it. Liquid sloshed inside. “Hey, maybe it’s filled with wine,”
“Blossom?”
She recognized Jay’s voice.
“I’m . . . I’m awake,” she replied hoarsely. Suddenly her mental fog lifted and a stifled memory surged into her consciousness with the force of a tidal wave. Heartrending grief engulfed her fear and anger as a horrible nightmare played over and over in her mind. Jay had murdered Clay with no more feeling than someone shooting a rabid dog! Damn him!
“Clay!” Her cry was a dry screech.
“Shut-up!” Jay snapped and jerked her head back by the hair. “Listen and listen good. Your precious Clay is dead. They reported it on the news a little while ago. Now it’s you and me, baby. Forget the white boy. You’re where you belong.”
His cruel words only produced hysterical sobs. Jay unlocked her handcuff, freed her from a badly discolored brass bed and pulled her roughly into the adjoining room.
“Thought you might want to watch as we open our gold chest,” he announced, ignoring her emotional maelstrom.
Blossom tried to rein in her heaving sobs but it was nearly impossible. Her emotions were way beyond her control at the moment. Clay was dead. She was alone. Alone with this madman and his baleful friends. The bleak notion of suicide flashed through her mind. She had nothing to live for now. Her true love was gone forever. If she was forced to make a choice between Jay and death, she would gladly choose the latter.
Jay forced a box of tissues into her hand, and her depression abruptly changed into a steely resolve. There was something to live for after all, and that singular purpose stained every thought – every memory – every hope.
Blossom blew her nose and scrubbed the hot tears from her face. From this moment forward, she vowed to dedicate all her energy and effort, no matter how degrading and painful it might be, to accomplishing that solitary goal.
Kill Jay.
The tattooed man’s name was Jose, and he stood expectantly beside the wobbly dinette table at one end of the small living-dining room and anxiously awaited Jay’s command to break open the chest. A crow bar hung limply in his left hand while his right pinched an unfiltered cigarette close to his lips.
Blossom noticed that the heavy drapes were tightly closed and the sole window above the kitchen sink was painted black. Pale green-flowered wallpaper curled off the walls and the wood trim was rotted black from the dampness. The loops of the blue shag carpeting were flattened by years of heavy foot traffic, puddles of mold beneath the roof leaks and layers of filth. The air was stuffy, a foul mélange of mildew, cooking grease and cigarette smoke. From the layout of the place, she guessed that they were inside a bungalow.
Jay handed her a glass of water. The tepid sulfur water nearly gagged her as it passed through her parched throat.
“You’re not planning to break open the chest with that crowbar, are you?” she asked furiously.
“You have a better idea?” Jay countered.
“A locksmith.”
Jose and Lonny laughed.
“For obvious reasons, that’s out of the question, baby. We’re sequestered here until the big event. No visitors allowed,” he explained. “Go ahead, Jose, work your magic.”
Despite the dire circumstances, Blossom glared at Jay as Jose wedged the crowbar into an narrow seam beneath the beautifully engraved letter “H” and worked on springing the internal lock. But the chest stubbornly refused to surrender its contents. Lonny held the chest in place while Jose applied even more pressure to the seam. Jose perspired freely during his struggle but finally the lock was defeated with a loud crack and snap.
Jay applauded his approval. “Bravo! Now let’s take a peek at your treasure, baby.”
All four crowded around the gold chest as Jay pushed the lid back. Their smiles vanished. There was nothing inside but an oilskin envelope and a bulging bladder.
Lonny snatched the bladder and shook it. Liquid sloshed inside. “Hey, maybe it’s filled with wine,”
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