Read Online The Broken Isles (Legends of the Red Sun 4) by Mark Charan Newton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mark Charan Newton
Ads: Link
time,’ Jeza replied with a frown, but still, she couldn’t contain her excitement. She leaned over the table and kissed him, and sat back happy
and determined. But first, she resumed her dinner and everything tasted just that little bit better than a moment ago.
*
They finished their meal and headed home, to their room at the top of Factory 54.
It wasn’t much, but it was nice to have everything all in one place, and certainly better than most other cultists lived, surviving in a windowless room with little but a few technical
manuals to play with. As it was, most of their existence was actually spent in or around the factory. Every flesh-being, every mechanical device, every crude relic was manufactured by the team.
Most of the meals she ate, most of the boys she’d slept with, were all under the one roof.
The hour was late, nearly thirteen, and a little tipsy from the drink Jeza shambled up the rusting metal stairs. Suddenly she realized what a noise she was making and then tried to act
stealthily to make up for it. Diggsy chuckled as he pushed her towards their bedroom.
They opened the door, and she pulled Diggsy to the bed, one soft beam of moonlight hitting the wall behind them. Haphazardly, she pulled off his clothes, then her own, before dragging him
clumsily under the bedclothes.
He was tender, too tender and too slow at times, when she wanted that little bit more . He did this thing with his tongue, which she appreciated, but he was more hesitant than she really
liked.
Enough . . .
Jeza pushed him over on his back, climbed on top of him and, once he was hard and inside her, she began to fuck him aggressively.
A little later and they both collapsed in a state of sweaty breathlessness. She’d needed that, even though he barely lasted five minutes. What was it with good-looking guys? Did they just
not try that hard to hold it? Still, it had only been their fourth time. Maybe things would improve as they grew used to each other.
The room seemed hazy, she could taste the drying alcohol in her mouth and, just about satiated, she passed out.
*
Jeza woke up in the night, paranoid. Diggsy lay asleep beside her, his arm sticking out of the bed; she pulled the sheet over him to keep him warm, climbed out of bed and walked
to the window that overlooked the streets behind Factory 54.
Hidden somewhere behind the clouds or over the horizon, none of the moons was present, and the place was in darkness. She stood there, naked and cold, suddenly afraid of what she was getting
herself into.
She remembered the screams from the war. These streets were, not too long ago, littered with carts that carried dead bodies from the centre of the city. She remembered people crying and the
carts becoming more frequent. Some of the bodies had limbs missing, and even though she spent her time working with the animation of flesh, her experiences had not desensitized her – she knew
that they had been real people.
At the time they had all felt survivor guilt. They felt they should be doing something to help – but, as she said at the time, their contribution would come through what they were good at,
not lining up to die with so many others. Now was their time. She knew that, and liked that the commander spoke to them like real people and didn’t dismiss them like other
cultists.
She was only eighteen. Part of her wanted to spend time studying and drinking and sleeping with Diggsy. If she was to represent those who worked at Factory 54, would she be some kind of
commander herself? When money began to flow in and out, would she be in charge of its distribution? Would she be assuring the commander that they would hit deadlines?
What seemed a wonderful idea in the bistro began to cause her concern and she realized, then, that she would not be able to sleep well.
Instead she reached into the drawer beside the bed and pulled out a small sketchbook and pencil, and immediately began to plan out what their next monster
and determined. But first, she resumed her dinner and everything tasted just that little bit better than a moment ago.
*
They finished their meal and headed home, to their room at the top of Factory 54.
It wasn’t much, but it was nice to have everything all in one place, and certainly better than most other cultists lived, surviving in a windowless room with little but a few technical
manuals to play with. As it was, most of their existence was actually spent in or around the factory. Every flesh-being, every mechanical device, every crude relic was manufactured by the team.
Most of the meals she ate, most of the boys she’d slept with, were all under the one roof.
The hour was late, nearly thirteen, and a little tipsy from the drink Jeza shambled up the rusting metal stairs. Suddenly she realized what a noise she was making and then tried to act
stealthily to make up for it. Diggsy chuckled as he pushed her towards their bedroom.
They opened the door, and she pulled Diggsy to the bed, one soft beam of moonlight hitting the wall behind them. Haphazardly, she pulled off his clothes, then her own, before dragging him
clumsily under the bedclothes.
He was tender, too tender and too slow at times, when she wanted that little bit more . He did this thing with his tongue, which she appreciated, but he was more hesitant than she really
liked.
Enough . . .
Jeza pushed him over on his back, climbed on top of him and, once he was hard and inside her, she began to fuck him aggressively.
A little later and they both collapsed in a state of sweaty breathlessness. She’d needed that, even though he barely lasted five minutes. What was it with good-looking guys? Did they just
not try that hard to hold it? Still, it had only been their fourth time. Maybe things would improve as they grew used to each other.
The room seemed hazy, she could taste the drying alcohol in her mouth and, just about satiated, she passed out.
*
Jeza woke up in the night, paranoid. Diggsy lay asleep beside her, his arm sticking out of the bed; she pulled the sheet over him to keep him warm, climbed out of bed and walked
to the window that overlooked the streets behind Factory 54.
Hidden somewhere behind the clouds or over the horizon, none of the moons was present, and the place was in darkness. She stood there, naked and cold, suddenly afraid of what she was getting
herself into.
She remembered the screams from the war. These streets were, not too long ago, littered with carts that carried dead bodies from the centre of the city. She remembered people crying and the
carts becoming more frequent. Some of the bodies had limbs missing, and even though she spent her time working with the animation of flesh, her experiences had not desensitized her – she knew
that they had been real people.
At the time they had all felt survivor guilt. They felt they should be doing something to help – but, as she said at the time, their contribution would come through what they were good at,
not lining up to die with so many others. Now was their time. She knew that, and liked that the commander spoke to them like real people and didn’t dismiss them like other
cultists.
She was only eighteen. Part of her wanted to spend time studying and drinking and sleeping with Diggsy. If she was to represent those who worked at Factory 54, would she be some kind of
commander herself? When money began to flow in and out, would she be in charge of its distribution? Would she be assuring the commander that they would hit deadlines?
What seemed a wonderful idea in the bistro began to cause her concern and she realized, then, that she would not be able to sleep well.
Instead she reached into the drawer beside the bed and pulled out a small sketchbook and pencil, and immediately began to plan out what their next monster
Similar Books
