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Disciple's Descendant 6

Close to Satan’s abyss, he smells burning flesh…

C. Scariot can’t help himself from returning to one place in time again and again especially after discovering he is a descendant of Judas Iscariot. It’s where Riot first sees the lady in white who chooses not to acknowledge him with anything more than a look, a look that leaves a raw scar of desire on Riot’s heart deeper than the one that will soon run along his right cheek.
Demise yearns to give in, wants nothing more than to be with Scariot. He thinks of her as Lady. She is anything, everything, but a lady. Already a pandora-like box is open, one Demise finds harder to close each time she follows him, each time she stares across an expanse into merciless brown eyes.

Alone, they live. Together they risk death as Scariot is—one misstep away from Hell!


In an attempt to sidestep punishment, the bandit spoke with bravado. “Let’s be frank, fella. You want a share, right?” Robbing a local mom and pop store that supplied the tiny neighborhood with groceries and other sundry items wasn’t bad enough, he beat the owner to within an inch of his life. Not his first offense.
Holding the man pinned against a brick wall in an alley behind the shop, the descendant was aware before his leader sent him that this lowlife wasted days and years of his existence and the disciple knew nothing would change. “No, I don’t want a share.” Shaking his head, he moved closer noting fear’s putrid smell leaching from the reprobate’s pores. “You’ll never stop.” Men like the one he held thrived on bullying others and far too often left death in their wake. Deciding not to personally kill him; he envisioned dropping his sorry ass dead center of the Kalahari Desert. Picking an era that would see wild animals not yet extinct, and coupled with a severe drought causing hunger and thirst, inhabiting beasts would sniff this one out far before daybreak.
“Wait, let’s talk about this. Hold on…” Understanding he would not be released when fingers tightened against his windpipe and hoisted him a few inches higher, the cretin gurgled, “You, arrgg, can-can’t kill me.”
“I won’t.” Not wanting to choke him to death, he slackened his hold.
Terror laced the crook’s next words. “Hey, you’re crazy. Please, I’m begging, let me go!”
Hovering upward, the disciple admonished, “Shh, we don't want to wake the neighbors.” A handful of night dwellers scurrying among shadows avoided the dank, dimly lit alleyway.
Pawing at the hand around his neck, he continued with a barely discernible plea, “I-I’m sorry.”
“You can say that again.”
“Wha…what… Holy shit!” Disorientation from being pulled through eons jumbled the culprit’s words. “No, do-don’t, please.” Breath wheezed through his lips as he sputtered, “Lis-listen to me.” Eyes widened in realization their surroundings drastically changed when hot air buffeted against them and desert sand stung their faces. “Jesus, help me, you’re the devil!”
“Nah, but I know Lucifer well.” Unceremoniously releasing him, the offender fell in a heap at his feet. “Soon you will too.”
“Where are we?” Thinking himself free, he stood and became a bit courageous. “You’re letting me go?” Hearing no reply, he blustered, “I’ll find a ride out of here.”
Bastard still had no idea.
Nearby, a roar rent the air followed quickly by two, then three more ferocious growls. “Let’s see how well you fair when you are preyed upon.” Backing away, he watched horror etch the criminal’s countenance. “It’s the year of our Lord, eighteen twenty and trust me, no one is doing a drive by.” Softly, with menace, he continued barely above a whisper, “My name is Scariot.” Riot dematerialized hearing footfalls flee toward thick brush visible in moonlight. “And I’m always frank, motherfucker.”

Growl and roar-it's okay to let the beast out. - J. Hali Steele

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