Grace Anne - By Kathi S. Barton Page 0,49

this is over. I’m going to make sure that you are never allowed to come out ever again.”

“Fucking try it, cunt, and see where it gets you. You may be the top dog now, but I’m the one that pulled the strings. If I want I’ll murder myself a cop and get us put into jail for the rest of our lives. And you know who will have to be the first when we get there. Your little pansy ass would never survive past the first night.” They had been in jail twice now and, both times, Verrie had been the one who’d kept them together. “I might just let you be the first and then see how much you need me just for the fun of it.”

Ginny went away and left her to herself. Verrie sat on the couch and thought about how they had become. She knew there was probably a technical term for what they had developed into, but she neither cared enough to look it up, nor did she give a good shit. They just had become.

Verrie knew that she couldn’t make any one of them not appear again. And none of them knew who was in charge, but all of them knew that it wasn’t Guinevere. She knew that Ginny and the others couldn’t survive. And if they didn’t, or worse yet, got caught and put into a hospital, she might as well be dead. They would keep them so doped up all the time there would be no way for any of them to be very productive.

Being first, as in the host, was Guinevere’s role. Ginny had come to Guinevere when things had been too hard for her. Ginny the child had a horrific childhood. Over the first years of her life, the most fragile ones, her father and mother had abused Guinevere to no end. Locking her in closest, starving her, or worse, making her eat well beyond what she wanted were just a few of the things they’d done to the already unstable child. Then when things had gotten bad, or out of her control, Guinevere would become the docile, sometimes self-abusing Ginny again. It wasn’t until later, in her preteen years, that she’d turned to her.

Verrie had been the bad-assed Guinevere. Guinevere would turn to her when things got to be overwhelming. And Verrie would take care of it. The boy who had made fun of where she’d lived had been in a diving accident. A little bit of drugs from Guinevere’s mother’s array of barbiturates in his water bottle made him dizzy and he slipped off the high dive during practice and hit his head. He’d died almost instantly.

Then there was the little girl from the library that had made fun of Guinevere’s clothes. They weren’t new, nor were they very clean. That little girl was mauled to death by a dog. Verrie had known the dog was wild and had let it smell the girl’s shirt every day for two weeks while Verrie beat him. When he’d been allowed out of his pen and found himself with his supposed tormentor, he’d gone wild. The girl never had a chance and had died from massive injuries. Verrie felt bad for his death. She hated to see animals killed.

Over the years, she’d gotten better at hiding the murders. Then one day, she simply didn’t care. She killed her first man at the house Guinevere and Roscoe had shared. It had been a dump and he was in jail on some crime that he’d always told them that he’d been framed for. As far as Verrie had always thought, Roscoe was an idiot. But the man she’d brought home because she’d been lonely and horny had proved to be so much fun that she’d made a habit of killing men whenever she could.

They’d been having sex. Of course, that was another thing. Verrie simply loved sex. But this guy with his huge cock had satisfied her completely. She asked him if she could tie him up. He’d told her that he wasn’t really into that sort of shit, but he’d tie her up. She really wanted to bond him to the bed and he wasn’t playing fair so she pulled the gun and cuffed him to the bed.

She thought maybe he was excited. His cock was still semi-hard and she’d been happy to see that he hadn’t screamed at her. Guinevere’s kids were just down the hall and she didn’t want them