Flesh Factory: An Extreme Horror Novel by Sam West Page A

about.”
    “I’m serious, Hope, Mick is majorly fucked up. This party is going to be monstrous, all of London’s perverted elite are invited. You know, all the sickos that buy the girls and gals from The Factory, all the perverts with some serious money. Mick’s painted it as a fetish party to end all fetish parties, the type of bash were every perversion under the sun is catered to, like bestiality, scat, necrophilia, and extreme S and M. And worse,” he added darkly. “But what the guests don’t realise is that they too are on the menu.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Mick thinks that if he sacrifices some of the sickest, most perverted, corrupt individuals on the planet along with the innocent, lost and the vulnerable, then his reward in Hell will be greater. Like I say, fucking crazy. All it will achieve is a few low-level demons haunting the house, and perhaps attaching themselves to a living person. If any survive, that is. But as for the Devil making an appearance, there’s no way. It’s like writing a fan-letter to some A-lister, expecting them to come round your house for dinner.”
    He fell silent and Hope pondered what he had just said.
    I probably overheard Mick say all of this when I was out of it. Perhaps when they were washing me, or putting me to bed, or anywhere really .
    “Rohan?”
    “Yeah?”
    “I’m sorry I killed you, and everything.”
    “Yeah, I know you are.”
    Of course he knows. Because he’s me .
    They regarded each other in silence for a moment. Rohan was the one to break it:
    “I have to go now, Hope. Just remember what I said. Rest, get strong. Mick will be busy at the party, there’s no way he’ll be able to watch you all the time. I’ll find a way to help you, I promise.”
    In the second that she rubbed her eyes, he was gone . Rest. Good advice, I guess . Picking up the half-eaten croissant, she chewed it slowly and methodically. When she was done eating everything on her tray, from the fresh fruit to the cold meats and cheese, she lay down and closed her eyes.
    Rest and be strong was her final thought before she drifted into an uneasy sleep filled with dreams of torture and demons.

 
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER TWELVE
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    “Wakey, wakey, rise and shine, it’s party time. I trust you slept well?”
    The bedroom was suddenly plunged into light, hurting her eyes. When they had adjusted to the bright light from the chandelier above, she focussed groggily on Mick leaning over her. How long have I been out? was her first thought.
    As disorientated as she was, she still felt refreshed after a long sleep. But now fear clung to her like a shroud and she scooted up in the bed, wrapping the dressing gown she still wore tightly around her body.
    “Come on, up,” he said in a jovial manner. “The guests have arrived and we must join them. You are honoured to be collected in person.”
    Her brain was slowly clicking into gear, assessing him. He was dressed in his customary suit, except this one was black, lending him the appearance of an undertaker. Knowing that it would be foolish to disobey him, she swung her legs over the side of the bed.
    “Good girl. On your feet and take off the dressing gown. You may use the bathroom and drink from the tap before we go downstairs. I want you to feel your best before the festivities commence.”
    Silently, Hope stood up and reluctantly shrugged off the gown, her skin crawling with his eyes upon her.
    “Do as he says, Hope, we have to bide our time.”
    She gasped and spun round, and there was Rohan standing there by the bathroom door in just his boxers with his arms crossed.
    “What’s the matter?” Mick asked. “You’re looking at the bathroom like you’ve never seen one before. Come on, we haven’t got all night, go and piss. And brush your hair while you’re in there, too.”
    “Yes,” she said, her eyes darting nervously from Mick to Rohan, then back again. Rohan smirked as she brushed past him. He was solid