Beggar

Prologue

He didn't notice, or didn't care.
"I will not be threatened by some bilk whore." Briar waved a finger accusingly as his broad figure turned and stomped out. His boots bucked as he tripped over my tossed heel and stomped out more frantically than I would of liked.

I took out the dagger sticking to the skin on my side before collapsing on the bed. I thought of waiting out the storm. An extra hour in the room on Briars tab for the extra coin he could of spent on me.

No, I wouldn't waste my time here. Tonight I would hunt. Men that needed to pay in blood for their sins, I'd be ringleader tonight for the miscreants in the bar, an effective seed spreading. Tonight I wouldn't pick up a man from the streets to slaughter, I'd do Briars wife a bizarre favor as her useless husband bends an elbow at the bar playing cards.

I tucked my dagger into the belt pocket on my pants, digging it into my skin beneath this damed corset. The bar, surely he'd be playing cards there after another session.

I will show him where a real rush comes from.

Ф

The rain was irrationally heavy but as the souls of the sky crackled with thunder as I entered the bar, I couldn't help but miss it for a moment. I looked over the men, the drunks, and the whores out in their jobs. I plunged in the hoard as they were readying to get their laycocks knocked up. Then, Briar. Spotted in a slump of men with his wife at a table.

But he and the other men shot up, not at the look of me, not by the crackling thunder either. The golden brown doors swayed not from the swirling storm, but from the kick of a leather boot. A rugged man halted as he was being thrown down to his knees, he begged the eyes around him for mercy, for help.

What in the devil was happening?

Then, the devil seemed to answer. The man behind, his boss is my guess, pulled off the victims hood, and behind it, a man half of skin and flesh, the other copper prosthetic. A glass eyes shifted across the faces in the room, looking for someone. His arm was silicone, peppered in bolts and gears to bring it to life. His arm, torn off by the man behind him, another likely guess. Most of him was silicone, they had probably been ripping him apart over the bleeding years, and now, they'd had enough of him.

The cyborg man started screaming when another figure stepped in. The man was tall, and if it weren't for his glinting knives on his sides, he'd be nothing more than a livid shadow. That, I realized, must be the intension. He was dressed in black, but spots on his clothes reflected little streaks and circles. That light caught in the stains danced, and I knew from the blades and the smirk it was blood.

It was the Crime Lord of the continent. Unguarded, as he went by nowadays. Not that he hadn't had a long list of businessmen for his head, but nobody was stupid enough to physically face him. His name in full was Sayter Hamel, currently holding a sadistic, amused look on his face as he looked at the prize in front of him.

Men paid in loans sometimes as I heard to hand prisoners, disgraced family members, traitors, anyone really someone felt needed to suffer gravely, over to him. He had a very brutal reputation, bringing his subjects into the bars basement to be peeled and cut and sliced and tortured.

How Sayter got his position is beyond anyone, I don't doubt, though, there was a price of blood and skin to pay, a horrifying, sadistic man. He'd watch in amusement at the suffering of others, and I couldn't help but get a few dangerous ideas. Oh, this man would make the perfect miscreant at the end of my knife, his screams would be unforgiven, unmerciful, making my sins look like a gods given gift.

I couldn't help but wonder how longs its been since he's been fucked by a woman willing to do it. I had a few intentions in the past to approach him, some reckless intensions. Perhaps, I think I would enjoy that session, but I wonder which of us would be screaming in the end of it.

The hookers kept their distance, men went so far as to dodge through to the back entrance, nobody was stupid enough to help the copper skinned man.

Sayter motioned toward the iron door, and as he pulled a shift to open the door and go down, down, down into the depths of the basement, the cyborg, metallic man begged and pleaded. It was a turn on.

He was about ten percent fake, ten percent of him away from his flesh that was very delicate, bold machinery and I had no doubt Sayter would pierce the human parts of him with every single piece.

Nobody chose to hear the cyborgs screams.

Only a few remained in the bar, and I decided maybe it was Briars luck, but I would toying with another man tonight.