she’d never be clean again.
Special Bonus!
Sample of Tim’s Upcoming book:
Part 3 in The Hand of God Trilogy.
Prologue
Jorge sat at the table trying to concentrate. The thud thud thud of the music from the club below made the floor vibrate. He hated working out of this place. It was always too hot, and smelled like sweat and booze. However, this is where the boss wants them to be. The sound of crying came from behind him. He stood and walked over to the door in the back of the room, yanking it open. One of the girls had worked the duct tape off her mouth and was sobbing.
The little Mexican girl looked to be twelve or thirteen. She muttered something in Spanish as she cried. Jorge pulled his switchblade from his pocket and stuck it in her face, cutting down her cheek.
“Shut up, puta or I’ll cut your heart out and let the other girls play with it,” he said.
She looked up at him, trying to hold in her sobs. Jorge grabbed the roll of duct tape and placed a strip over her mouth. This time, he tore off several long strips of tape and wrapped it all the way around her head several times. He tossed the roll behind him, and looked over the rest of the girls. There were ten of them stuffed into the large closet, all bound by duct tape around the hands, feet, and mouth. The truck would be arriving in the morning to deliver north. Jorge wasn’t sure where they go from there, and didn’t care. Some would be prostitutes; some would go work on farms or sweatshops. None of this matter to him, he got paid the same regardless.
Jorge had hoped that after surviving fifteen years working for the cartel, that he’d have a more respectable job than babysitting a bunch of pre-teen girls. Yet, this wasn’t exactly an organization you retired from. As he closed the door, he noticed the thudding of music down below had stopped. He listened carefully but heard nothing, absolutely nothing. It’s never that quiet down there this late. It was just after midnight. The place is usually jumping. He headed for the stairs when he heard the screams. Horrific, blood curdling screams. Drawing his gun, he ran down the stairs and cracked the door just enough to peek through. The crowd was surging in all different directions. Through the strobe lights, he could see blood spraying through the air as bodies collapsed all around.
A woman threw herself against the door pushing it open. He pushed it back, but she was halfway through wedging it open.
“Help me! Please! Help!” She screamed. “He’s killing us! Stop him! He’s killing us!”
“Who? Who’s killing you? What do you mean?” Jorge asked.
Before she could answer, she let out one final scream as the flesh tore away from her body. In an instant, she was a living, breathing pile of blood, muscle, bone, and tissue. Her naked, wide eyes bore into Jorge as she screamed, grabbing him by the shirt and falling over dead. Looking out into the club, he saw the other bodies looking like the woman’s. Totally skinless, all of them. The screaming died down as the last of the patrons fell. There was one man standing in the middle of the club. The man turned and looked right at Jorge.
Jorge ran up the stairs and began to pry the window open. It was stuck shut, since they kept the air conditioning on most of the time, no telling last time it had been opened. He got it halfway open when he saw a reflection coming up behind him. When he spun around, the man was standing several feet from him. The man was white, maybe five foot nine or ten, medium build. He had a friendly face, not scary looking at all. Yet, he had torn apart an entire night club in minutes.
Jorge took the gun and fired three shots at the man. The rounds each hit him dead center in the chest. The man looked at him and smiled as the bullets protruded from his body and fell to the floor. Jorge pointed the gun back at
Special Bonus!
Sample of Tim’s Upcoming book:
Part 3 in The Hand of God Trilogy.
Prologue
Jorge sat at the table trying to concentrate. The thud thud thud of the music from the club below made the floor vibrate. He hated working out of this place. It was always too hot, and smelled like sweat and booze. However, this is where the boss wants them to be. The sound of crying came from behind him. He stood and walked over to the door in the back of the room, yanking it open. One of the girls had worked the duct tape off her mouth and was sobbing.
The little Mexican girl looked to be twelve or thirteen. She muttered something in Spanish as she cried. Jorge pulled his switchblade from his pocket and stuck it in her face, cutting down her cheek.
“Shut up, puta or I’ll cut your heart out and let the other girls play with it,” he said.
She looked up at him, trying to hold in her sobs. Jorge grabbed the roll of duct tape and placed a strip over her mouth. This time, he tore off several long strips of tape and wrapped it all the way around her head several times. He tossed the roll behind him, and looked over the rest of the girls. There were ten of them stuffed into the large closet, all bound by duct tape around the hands, feet, and mouth. The truck would be arriving in the morning to deliver north. Jorge wasn’t sure where they go from there, and didn’t care. Some would be prostitutes; some would go work on farms or sweatshops. None of this matter to him, he got paid the same regardless.
Jorge had hoped that after surviving fifteen years working for the cartel, that he’d have a more respectable job than babysitting a bunch of pre-teen girls. Yet, this wasn’t exactly an organization you retired from. As he closed the door, he noticed the thudding of music down below had stopped. He listened carefully but heard nothing, absolutely nothing. It’s never that quiet down there this late. It was just after midnight. The place is usually jumping. He headed for the stairs when he heard the screams. Horrific, blood curdling screams. Drawing his gun, he ran down the stairs and cracked the door just enough to peek through. The crowd was surging in all different directions. Through the strobe lights, he could see blood spraying through the air as bodies collapsed all around.
A woman threw herself against the door pushing it open. He pushed it back, but she was halfway through wedging it open.
“Help me! Please! Help!” She screamed. “He’s killing us! Stop him! He’s killing us!”
“Who? Who’s killing you? What do you mean?” Jorge asked.
Before she could answer, she let out one final scream as the flesh tore away from her body. In an instant, she was a living, breathing pile of blood, muscle, bone, and tissue. Her naked, wide eyes bore into Jorge as she screamed, grabbing him by the shirt and falling over dead. Looking out into the club, he saw the other bodies looking like the woman’s. Totally skinless, all of them. The screaming died down as the last of the patrons fell. There was one man standing in the middle of the club. The man turned and looked right at Jorge.
Jorge ran up the stairs and began to pry the window open. It was stuck shut, since they kept the air conditioning on most of the time, no telling last time it had been opened. He got it halfway open when he saw a reflection coming up behind him. When he spun around, the man was standing several feet from him. The man was white, maybe five foot nine or ten, medium build. He had a friendly face, not scary looking at all. Yet, he had torn apart an entire night club in minutes.
Jorge took the gun and fired three shots at the man. The rounds each hit him dead center in the chest. The man looked at him and smiled as the bullets protruded from his body and fell to the floor. Jorge pointed the gun back at
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