Skinzz Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Skinzz © 2012 by Wrath James White

  This edition © 2012 by Thunderstorm Books

  White Lightning Series Book 5

  Cover Art © 2012 by Travis Anthony Soumis

  Cover Design, Interior Layout and Copyediting

  by Leigh Haig

  Published by:

  Thunderstorm Books

  [email protected]

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be

  reproduced without written consent from the author.

  To Mom

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements 3

  Prologue 4

  Chapter 1 9

  Chapter 2 12

  Chapter 3 15

  Chapter 4 21

  Chapter 5 27

  Chapter 6 29

  Chapter 7 35

  Chapter 8 39

  Chapter 9 41

  Chapter 10 42

  Chapter 11 46

  Chapter 12 47

  Chapter 13 49

  Chapter 14 51

  Chapter 15 52

  Chapter 16 56

  Chapter 17 58

  Chapter 18 59

  Chapter 19 61

  Chapter 20 69

  Chapter 21 71

  Chapter 22 75

  Chapter 23 79

  Chapter 24 80

  Chapter 25 83

  Chapter 26 84

  Chapter 27 85

  Chapter 28 89

  Chapter 29 90

  Chapter 30 95

  Epilogue 97

  Demon Child 99

  Unstoppable 99

  Acknowledgements

  Special thanks to Chesya Burke and Mark Tullius for their insights and opinions. Very special thanks to Jeff Cooper for checking the story for authenticity and accuracy. Thanks, as always, to my wife, Christie, my son Sultan, and my daughters, Isis and Nala, for their patience, support, and understanding. And, thanks to all the readers who have supported my work throughout the years. I am flattered and deeply honored by the love you all have shown this humble author of pain and perversion. Thank you all and enjoy.

  Prologue

  Philadelphia, December 15,1988, Club Pizazz.

  Miranda was one tough bitch. That's how she would have referred to herself and that's how Mack thought of her. One tough bitch. Most guys said she was too manly to be pretty. Her jaw a little too square, nose a little too aquiline, shoulders a little too broad, body a little too lean and wiry. But Mack thought she was perfect. Her skin was that flawless porcelain white that Goth chicks spent tons of makeup and half an hour in the mirror trying to duplicate. There was not a blemish on it except for the occasional bruise or cut after a fight. To him, she looked like a Greek goddess.

  Most people assumed Miranda was a lesbian. With her short spiky black hair and her disdain for skirts or makeup, it was an easy mistake to make. Typically, she wore black jeans, black police-issue equestrian boots, a white t-shirt beneath a flannel, topped with a black motorcycle jacket. She wore a spiked dog collar around her neck and a spiked wristband. She smoked cigarettes in aggressive motions as if Andrew Dice Clay taught her the habit. There was an androgynousness about her that Mack found extremely sexy. He was pretty sure that she was bi. He'd seen her hanging out at a lesbian bar on Spruce Street called Maude's and saw her kiss a girl once. It was probably the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. He kissed her once himself, the first night he hung out with the group of punk rockers he now called family. It was also his first night getting drunk and the first time he ever kissed a girl who smoked. He'd found the taste of beer and cigarettes arousing. He could still remember the taste now when he closed his eyes. Mack could remember the feel of her lips, her tongue, her hard body pressed against his. Nothing else ever came of the kiss and it was never repeated, but Mack still cherished it, just as he cherished her.

  She nodded to him and smiled as she walked past. He nodded back, smiling awkwardly, wanting so bad to talk to her but feeling clumsy and nervous, not knowing what to say. Miranda was the only girl in the scene he gave two shits about, except maybe for Alexis and he just wanted to fuck her because she had the biggest titties he'd ever seen. He was pretty sure he was in love with Miranda. He came to the shows as much to see her as he did to kick skinhead ass.

  A large group of skinheads congregated in the back of the club, jeering and threatening everyone who passed them. They were starting early, setting the tone for the night. Several punks flipped them the bird or grabbed their crotch as they passed. A guy with three short black and pink Mohawks, mooned the group of skinheads before flipping both middle fingers at them. Several skins had to be restrained by their friends to keep from attacking and getting them all thrown out before the concert was in full swing.

  Miranda passed them several times, clearly itching for a fight. She had a tooth missing in the front from the last big skinhead brawl at City Gardens in New Jersey. She was apparently looking for payback. Mack didn't think the missing tooth detracted from her beauty one bit. If anything, it accentuated it in his mind. He often said that he wanted a girl with scars on her knuckles and Miranda was that girl. To Mack, there was something kick ass about a woman who kicked ass and Miranda hated skinheads almost as much as he did.

  The club had been open for less than an hour. Already there were more than twenty of the baldheaded Nazi bastards and their numbers seemed to be increasing every minute. Mack looked around at the smattering of punks scattered throughout the club, hoping the number of punks continued to grow in order to maintain the balance of power. He was certain that if the skinhead's ranks exceeded that of the punks they'd attack immediately.

  The skinheads were dressed almost identically in green bomber jackets, Levis, white tshirts or thermals, and oxblood Doc Marten combat boots. Their heads glowed like Halloween skulls beneath the strobelights in the dimly lit nightclub. Some had swastikas tattooed on their arms, hands, some even had them on their heads or necks and one had a tattoo on his cheek. They were members of a white power group from New Jersey called The Unrest and, unlike a lot of other skinheads who tried to hide their hatred and bigotry, they wore theirs proudly.

  Mack was not a small kid. He was over six feet. His arms, shoulders, and chest were heavily muscled even though he had a small waist and skinny legs. He had seen many skinheads stammer and stutter when he confronted them, claiming that they promoted "White Pride" not "White Power" and that they didn't hate anyone. They said they were just celebrating their heritage the way other races and nationalities were free to celebrate theirs. Mack always thought that was bullshit and had grudging respect for The Unrest for not hiding behind such cowardly rationalizations. Still, he hated every one of them and would happily kill them all if given half a chance. His grandparents and great grandparents had marched for civil rights. His grandmother could vividly recall being told to use the colored bathrooms and being evicted from an all-white pool. His great uncle had been beaten by
cops and arrested during a civil rights march on Washington. The idea that these assholes were trying to turn back the clock and rescind the equality that so many had suffered and died for enraged Mack.

  The Unrest began as a hardcore band fronted by a skinhead named John Jones. The group sucked, but their inflammatory, racist lyrics garnered them a following anyway despite their lack of genuine musical talent. After fights began breaking out at all of their concerts, they were banned from just about every music venue on the east coast. That's when they went from being a band to becoming a movement. Now, The Unrest was one of the most violent and vocal neo-Nazi skinhead organizations in the Tri-state area.

  The skinheads stared at Mack with undisguised disdain. Mack knew they would have already lynched him if they could have, but Mack wasn't just black, he was big, he could fight like the devil, and he was popular. He knew half the kids in the club would rush to his aid if it came down to a fight. It was looking like he was going to get a chance to test that theory.

  Mack came to Club Pizazz looking to kick some skinhead ass and so had most of the punks in the place, including Miranda. Alexis and Breezy were there too, but they had probably come to actually hear the bands. Those chicks went to every concert, regardless of who was playing. Uncivil Disobedience was headlining along with Terrorist Threat and everyone knew that a group like Uncivil Disobedience would bring all the bald Nazi bastards streaming out of the suburbs and across and through every bridge and tunnel. Kids who never showed up for shows and didn't even like hardcore music came out just for the opportunity to bash the Nazi motherfuckers.

  The bouncers would be busy tonight. They frisked everyone who walked in and waved metal detection wands up and down their bodies. It only made Mack slightly more at ease. He had a knife in one boot and a pair of brass knuckles in the other. If he could sneak weapons in, so could they.

  Mack could feel the adrenalin seeping into his bloodstream. His muscles tensed. His heart rate increased, preparing for a fight. The air was charged with violence like someone had turned on an electric generator. Mack could almost see the current traveling from person to person. At its center, was the ever-growing group of white supremacists. There were almost a hundred of them. This was going to be one hell of a fight. Mack kept one eye on them as he bounced up and down to the frantic drums and guitar of Terrorist Threat. The lead singer belted out lyrics as if they were being sprayed from a submachine gun.

  "Violence and Pain!

  Violence and Pain!

  I love this world!

  Of violence and pain!

  Life is so cruel!

  Love is so violent!

  Drain the gene pool!

  Non violence is silence!"

  The crowd seethed. Roiling waves of humanity crashed against one another as the pit went wild. Beside him, Mack's best friend Jason was doing a frenetic pogo, bouncing up and down and slamming into the other dancers. Soon, the pit resembled a riot. Mack tried to keep his eyes on the skinheads as they moved toward the pit, pushing and shoving their way through the crowd. One of them knocked over a small Asian Goth chick. One of the other skinheads kicked the girl while she was down. Miranda came out of nowhere and punched the skinhead who'd knocked the girl down, catching him square in the mouth and staggering him. She threw three more punches that shattered the guy's nose, busted his lip and dropped him on his ass. Another skinhead stepped forward and she didn't hesitate one second, catching him with a picture-perfect left uppercut that whipped his head back like he'd slammed on the brakes in a speeding car. He dropped to his knees and she aimed a kick at his face that sent one of his teeth flying. He curled up on the floor in a fetal position, holding his bleeding face.

  Miranda took a step back, raising her fists in a fighting stance, daring anyone to hit her back. She was a girl and everyone knew you didn't hit girls. Everyone except The Unrest. Mack began crossing the dancefloor, moving in to protect her, though he knew she wasn't the type of girl who usually needed protection. It was just his instinct.

  A large skinhead with a big scraggly black beard stepped forward and punched Miranda in the jaw. She dropped like she'd been zapped with a taser. Several of the skinheads began to stomp and kick her. Mack couldn't believe it.

  "You fucking cowards! You beat up a fucking girl!"

  He hurled himself at the big Nazi fuck who'd punched Miranda in the jaw, kicking him in the chest and knocking him backwards into his buddies. He caught his balance and came back at Mack, swinging with both fists. Mack ducked the first two punches but was caught by the third. The blow felt like it could have taken his head off. The guy hit like a fucking mule.

  I can't take too many more punches like that. I've got to end this shit quick, Mack thought. Besides the potential damage to himself a long fight might have caused, there was also the fact that Miranda was still down and the other skinheads were still beating on her. Mack ended the fight in the most expedient manner he could think of. He kicked the big skinhead in the knee with a sidekick, driving through the patella and snapping tendons with a satisfying "Pop!" that dropped the big Nazi bastard onto his ass, howling in pain.

  Other punks that Mack knew from the scene came rushing into the pit to meet the skinheads. Norm, a guy from Mack's neighborhood who dressed almost like a skinhead himself, in a bomber jacket and black combat boots but with dreadlocks forming small bangs at the front of his otherwise shaved head, charged into the pit. Bilal Muhammed, a big black guy Mack knew from high school, who was almost as tall as Mack though considerably softer, leapt in, combat boots first, immediately knocking three skinheads to the ground who got up throwing punches. A small white kid with short black hair with white polka dots named Clayton Dillard that also went to Mack's high school leapt into the fray, followed by damn near every punk in the place. It looked like a scene from Westside Story only without the dancing and a lot less Puerto Ricans.

  Mack rushed at the surging horde of skinheads, aiming straight for Miranda. She was still down and still being pummeled. There was blood leaking from her nose, mouth, and ears. It didn't look good.

  "Miranda!" Mack yelled as he fought his way to her. His fists collided with flesh and one body after another collapsed onto the dance floor to be trampled by the crowd. Mack took several punches and kicks on his way through the crowd of skinheads. His nose and lip were bleeding and his jaw throbbed in pain. Every time he took a few steps toward her, he was knocked back as he was attacked by someone else. He took a combat boot to the stomach that dropped him to his knees where he received another boot to the side of the head that turned everything dark for a moment. Mack didn't know who hit him but he quickly clamored back to his feet and struck the nearest skinhead. He grabbed the guy by the front of his jacket and punched him in the face repeatedly, fist pistoning up and down, reducing the guy's face to bloody hamburger until finally the skinhead stopped moving. Mack looked at the guy before he let go of him and allowed him to fall to the floor. Both the skinhead's eyes had swollen shut and his mouth was a bloody ruin. One of the guy's teeth had punctured through his lip, driven through by Mack's fist. A couple of his other teeth were lodged in Mack's knuckle. Mack plucked them out of his skin as he looked around to regain his bearings. He'd lost sight of Miranda and could no longer find her. Mack took another punch to the back of the head that caused him to stagger forward.

  That's what I get for stopping to admire my work.

  There was a large group of skinheads with their backs to him and Mack leapt into the air, landing with his knees on the shoulders of a large skin who looked like a linebacker, shorter than Mack but twice as wide. The guy fell forward and landed face first with Mack still on his back. The skinhead's face smashed into the dance floor, spraying blood in a huge star pattern. Mack turned to face the next one and the next, punching and kicking wildly.

  "Miranda!" Mack yelled. He still couldn't see her anywhere. The crowd was now a full-scale riot. Someone turned on the house lights. The band stopped playing as chairs began to fly and someon
e toppled one of the large speakers on the side of the stage. The bouncers joined the fray, attacking skinheads and punks alike. A guy named Chris that Mack knew from the comic book store on South Street, rushed up to him and stood back to back with Mack, swinging at anyone and anything.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I'm covering your back. You just saved my ass back there. Thanks. Those Nazi fucks were about to kill me before you jumped in and started whoopin' ass. They had me surrounded. I owe you, man. Really. Thanks."

  Mack didn't know that they had been about to beat the shit out of Chris when he'd jumped in. He didn't particularly like Chris and certainly wouldn't have risked his life for the guy. He had thought that Miranda was in the middle of that circle of skinheads, not this douchebag.

  Fuck it. Let him think what he wants.

  The sounds of battle echoed all around him as punks and skinheads went to war. Mack felt like a warrior, like a fucking Zulu on an ancient battlefield. He lived for this shit.

  "Mack! Mack!" Jason ran up to him and grabbed him by the shoulders. His eyes were wide. He looked like he'd seen a ghost.

  "What's up, Demon? Did you find Miranda? She went down and those fucking skinhead bastards were stomping her. Did you see her?"

  "Your shirt! You're bleeding!"

  The skintight black muscle-shirt that Mack was wearing had been sliced down the center and there was blood all over his torso from his neck to his waist. It looked like he'd been stabbed. Mack ran his palm down his chest, wiping away the blood. There was no wound.

  "It ain't my blood."

  Jason laughed.

  "Did you see Miranda?"

  "No, man. I didn't see her."

  "Go look for her, man! We've got to help her!"

  Mack turned toward the pit and charged back into battle. A few seconds later, he finally made it to Miranda. The skinheads were retreating leaving her crumpled on the dancefloor, her face had been pounded into a bruised, bleeding mess. Blood dripped steadily from her mouth and nose and she lay on her side with her eyes closed, unmoving. Mack scooped her up in his arms and ran for the front door.