by R. A. Smyth
This gets one last reaction out of the man in the chair, who starts shouting out muffled curses through his gag, albeit weakly, due to his significant blood loss. Before he can do anything further, my father slashes the knife deeply across his neck, practically severing his head, causing an endless stream of blood to run down onto his chest.
Closing my eyes, I take deep breaths in through my nose trying to stop myself from puking. In and out Sophie; deep breaths in and out, I tell myself, until I feel my stomach start to settle.
While I was zoned out, focused on not giving myself away by projectile vomiting all over the floor, I missed part of the conversation in the room, only catching the end of what Robert says.
" - shipment arriving tonight. Trey will be in charge of it and any future shipments for the time being."
There is a murmur of agreement amongst the men before Robert speaks again, "I’m asking all of you to step up with our current operations, but I have new merchandise coming in in the new few weeks, and I guarantee I will have plenty of new playthings for you all."
His words elicit a round of cheers, everyone clearly having forgotten about the dead man sitting in the chair in front of them.
“Everything is going smoothly, for now, however, Sophie could be a problem. Her being here helps support the story I’ve been telling everyone. The residents here are less suspicious when they think I'm a family man grieving my dead wife," the asshole says, chuckling, "but she's a liability. She has been asking questions she shouldn’t be and I can't have her snooping around or doing something that could ruin this opportunity for us.
“Aiden, Tyler, keep an eye on her. Watch where she goes and who she interacts with and report back to me. Keep your tattoos covered if you’re in town. You need to look the part if you are going to be seen in public here. I won’t let anyone blow this for us.”
My father’s statement is followed by a few moments of silence where I’m assuming, whoever Tyler and Aiden are, agree with my father’s orders.
“Does anyone have anything else that needs to be addressed?" My father asks the room and gets mumbled ‘no's' in response.
"Alright. As I’ve already said, this will be our last meeting for a while. Get this mess cleaned up before you leave,” he demands, waving his hand dismissively at the now dead guy.
“Meeting’s over guys, go find yourselves some booze and a hot hole to stick your dicks in for the night,” he finishes off saying to a round of cheers and ‘hell yeahs’, making my stomach churn again and my face wrinkle up in disgust.
Before I have a chance to move, the door opens, and out comes a large group of men, most of whom look like they are Robert’s age. Nearly all of them are wearing jeans and leather jackets, with tattoos covering every bit of skin I can see; some even have tattoos on their faces. These people are nothing like the clean-shaven, suit-wearing businessmen here in Crescentwood.
Not that I’m one to judge anyone by their appearance, it just raises more questions about who Robert really is.
It suddenly dawns on me that these are the men I saw leaving the mansion last weekend. Robert shakes hands and slaps some of the men on the back in a friendly farewell as they leave.
After a few minutes, there are only two men left in the room. Both of them are younger-looking, probably only a year or two older than myself. I can’t get a good look at them without giving away my position, but they look more put together than the older guys. They still have tattoos running over their arms, but somehow they seem to enhance their features, rather than appear unsightly or unappealing.
My father stops in front of them on his way out of the room, ”Here’s a picture of Sophie. Don't approach her or talk to her. Just make sure she's hanging out with the right crowd, and that she isn’t snooping around or digging into stuff she shouldn’t be. I want regular updates.”
“Yes, Boss,” one of them agrees, as he takes the photo from Robert's outstretched hand.
“Get this trash out of here.” Robert slaps them both on the back before leaving the room, closing the door firmly behind himself, crossing the hall towards his office and closing the door behind himself.
Not wasting any time, and needing to get away from the horror of what I have just witnessed as quickly as possible, I leave my alcove and dash back down the hall and up to my room.
I spend the rest of the night lying in my bed, wide awake, thinking over everything I heard and saw tonight. I have so many questions I don’t even know where to start. Who were those people? Who the hell is my father? Based on what I saw tonight, he is not the rich businessman that he has been pretending to be.
In fact, I’m willing to bet at least some of those people are part of The Feral Beast criminal gang I was researching. However, if that is the case, that would make my father their notorious leader. If that’s true, then what the hell is he doing in Crescentwood? Whatever it is, one thing I’m sure of, his presence here isn’t for anything good.
The next day, when I finally find my lady-balls and leave the safety of my bedroom in desperate need of coffee, there is a bank card and a new top of the range iPhone on the kitchen counter.
Looking around the foyer and kitchen, everything is as it normally is. You would never have known a secret meeting of violent murderers took place within these walls last night; but everything about this situation, this house, this town, suddenly feels dangerous. I’m no longer fighting just against my father, but against some criminal organisation he has at his back, and I have no idea what to do, or how to get away from it all. I’ve never felt so small, so lost in my life.
Chapter 12
TYLER
“Full club meeting tonight, Boss’s place.” Juan says, sticking his head through the door of my room at the abandoned motel we are currently using for our base here in California, before leaving me alone again, not needing a response from me. I’m not stupid enough to defy the boss’s orders.
Fuck this can’t be good though. Why would the boss insist on every member going to his house, potentially blowing his cover? He would only do that if he had something important to tell us, or something serious had happened.
As I park the car in the driveway of the mansion and take in the various cars, vans, and bikes in the driveway, it's immediately clear that everyone is here, even those we left behind to handle shit in Oregon.
Not wasting any more time, Aiden and I get out of the car, our masks of indifference in place so no one has any idea of our real thoughts; so everyone thinks we are as cold and heartless as they are. No one here can know what we really think of them, of this lifestyle.
Nodding to a few other members as we head inside, we quietly follow everyone else as we make our way through to the back of the house.
Doesn’t his daughter live with him? No one even knew he had a daughter until he told us about his plan; not that he shared much of that with us either. I wonder where she’s been until now; if she knows who her father really is. Surely, she’s somewhere in his gigantic house right now; or maybe she’s out with friends or something. It seems like a big risk to bring us all here though. Isn’t he worried about her seeing us? What would happen if she caught us all here tonight? The boss is as ruthless as they come. I don’t believe he has a heart, or understands empathy, so I don’t for one second believe he would be more lenient on his own flesh and blood, especially a girl. Women aren’t exactly seen as being of much worth in our world. They are good for one thing and one thing only. No, wherever his daughter is tonight; I hope she stays there, far away from us.
Stepping into some sort of office, the reason for this meeting is immediately obvious. Hell, the reason is tied to a chair in the middle of the room, dripping blood onto a plastic sheet beneath him.
Despite his swollen eyes, split lip, and bruises already starting to form on his face, I instantly recognize this guy. He’s one of our newest recruits, Rich, or Ron, something like that. I don’t make a point of getting to know the newer members. Hell, Aiden and I try to keep ourse
lves as distant from everyone else as we can. We aren’t like these people; this isn’t the life we want, but you can’t just leave The Feral Beasts, so we have to pretend we are just like them. For now.
The guy in the chair is beaten to hell. He’s slumped awkwardly, his hands, which are tied together behind the chair’s back, are the only reason he hasn’t fallen onto the floor already. The guy is basically unconscious, only emitting low groans of pain every now and again. I’m pretty sure he has no idea what is going on around him right now, although that’s probably for the best given I’m certain he’s about to die.
Other than the chair, there is no other furniture in the room, so there is sufficient space for every member to cram themselves in. Once the last member arrives and closes the door behind themselves, a hush settles over everyone; all of the men keen to find out why we are here, and inflict pain on this guy, for whatever he has done to incur the boss’s wrath.
The boss himself, Kirk Jones, or Robert Montgomery, as the people of Crescentwood know him as, leans against the far wall, watching each and every one of us like a hawk as we take in the bloody pulp of a man in front of us.
Kirk doesn’t look anything like his normal self. The usual shaggy beard, leather jacket, jeans and boots have been switched out for a close shave, slicked back hair and a fancy three piece suit. He currently looks more like he belongs in a boardroom; not amongst us unruly outlaws.
“Men,” he begins, bringing us all to attention and officially starting the meeting, “It’s so good to see you all again. It has been too long since we have all been together.
“Unfortunately, we are here under less than pleasant circumstances,” he sneers, casting a disgusted look at the man in the chair. “This meeting has been deemed necessary because justice needs to be served. One of our own has betrayed us, has been colluding with our enemies in a vain attempt to bring us down, but every man in this room tonight knows no one can bring us down. We are The Feral Beasts, we are invincible!” He declares, riling up the crowd of outlaws, each of them nodding in agreement at their indestructibility and readying themselves to take their pound of flesh.
As the men quieten down again, Kirk continues, his voice full of darkness and promises of the pain to come. “Tonight, he will pay for his crimes; for his lack of loyalty; for turning his back on his brothers.”
With that he slips on his brass knuckles and steps up to the man, continuing to beat at him, using smelling salts to return the man to consciousness every time he passes out.
Once Kirk has tired himself out, he steps back, retrieving a knife he had stored in a sheath tied around his waist, initially hidden from my view by his suit jacket.
“This man” he hisses, spitting at the basically unconscious man, “has wronged each and every one of us. As such, it’s only fair that all of us claim our own justice. There is no place for traitors here.” He finishes before hefting his arm up and slamming the knife into the guy's thigh, causing him to howl out in pain.
“Trey, your turn.” He barks out, pulling the knife out of the guy and handing it over to Aiden’s dad who repeats the process, before handing the knife off to the next person, each man taking their turn to step up and stab the traitor. Every time he loses consciousness, Kirk intervenes, using smelling salts under the man’s nose to bring him back, ensuring he doesn’t miss out on a single moment of pain.
It’s fucking brutal to watch, but it’s not the first time I’ve been witness to a scene like this, nor is it the first time I’ve had to participate. So, while my body is tight with tension, not wanting to be here, my outward appearance gives nothing away. I’m a stone statue. I can’t fake it enough to make it seem as though I’m actually enjoying this display of savagery. It would be too obvious amongst the faces of the other Beasts who genuinely get off on this shit, but a cold mask of indifference? I’m a pro at that. Just like Aiden. I’m pretty sure everyone thinks we’re a pair of psychopaths, which is exactly what we want them to believe.
As each member steps forward and takes their turn, my eyes land on Kirk across the room. He is in his element right now, loving every minute of this. He lives for the bloodshed, for the violence that comes with this life. More than that though, he loves the control. His eyes light up every time someone steps forward and does as he has commanded. That need for control is his true addiction.
Eventually, the knife makes its way round to our side of the room. Aiden steps up, delivering his own slash of the knife without a moment’s hesitation, before turning and holding it out for me.
Looking into his eyes as I take the weapon from him, I can see he wants to be here, doing this, about as much as I do. There isn’t anything we can do though, not unless we want to end up like this unfortunate idiot. No thanks.
Holding the knife firmly in my hand, I step onto the plastic sheet surrounding the chair. Now that I’m standing right in front of him, I can see the blood leaking slowly from his many wounds, the amount of blood loss causing the blood to seep out sluggishly.
There must be more blood running over the sheeting below him than there is left in his body. Yet he’s still alive. I can’t imagine the agony. I equally can’t afford to have any sympathy for this guy.
Delivering my own deep wound, I step away from the dying man and hand the knife over to the next person.
The last few people in the room take their turn before the blade is once again handed back to Kirk who steps in front of the man, delivering a final blow; this time with words, declaring that we are going to rape his woman and murder his family.
My stomach roils in disgust at his words. Out of everything that has happened here tonight, those words are what bother me the most. These men know what they are getting themselves in for when they join The Feral Beasts. The man in the chair knew what he was doing when he turned against us, but his children and his girl aren’t a part of any of this. They are innocent.
With his final blow delivered, Kirk ends the guy's pain, then moves swiftly on to other club business as though we didn’t just torture and kill a man, and aren’t discussing mundane business with a dead body in the room. I should probably be concerned that none of this phases me. Not what I’ve just seen and participated in, not that the body is just sitting there while we all ignore it. None of it. Then again, why would it? I’ve grown up in this life, been a part of it since I was eight years old. By now, I’ve seen it all.
Kirk finishes off the meeting by telling Aiden and I to keep an eye on his daughter, making me think she doesn’t know who her father really is. That’s probably for the best.
I don’t know why it matters who she hangs out with, but she’s pretty looking in the picture he showed us. I’m certainly not going to argue with getting to check out a hot girl. It sure as hell beats the other types of jobs we usually get stuck with. They are usually a lot messier and take forever to finish. This job, in comparison, should be a piece of cake.
Chapter 13
SOPHIE
Itossed and turned all night once I got back to my bedroom, barely sleeping a wink. I finally gave up on sleep early this morning, and instead took the spare time to check out my wardrobe. All week I’ve been wearing my school uniform and just sticking on the first pair of sweats I found when I initially dug around in my drawers, but I can’t live in sweats forever.
Going through each piece of clothing on the rails, I find everything I could ever need, and more. Jeans, t-shirts, jumpers, leggings, skirts, dresses, jumpsuits. You name it and I guarantee I have at least one of it.
After spending several hours trying on everything I like the look of, I finally settle on a pair of jean shorts and a long, loose vest top that shows just a hint of the shorts beneath it. I pair it with some strappy sandals before fixing my make-up and doing my hair.
I’ve never had straighteners or curlers to do anything with my hair, although, thankfully, my hair naturally falls quite straight so unruly hair isn’t something I’ve had to worry too much about. Now, though, I have the equipment
and the time to play around with different hairstyles. Today I plug in the curling iron and attempt to style my hair with some loose beach waves. I’m not sure I quite pull off the effect, but I’m happy with it.
Finally dressed, I’m ready to face the day. However, with nothing else to distract myself, the weight of everything comes crashing down on me, like a tsunami. I can’t bear to spend another minute in this house. I feel like I’m being suffocated here. After last night, my skin is crawling just being so close to where a man was brutally murdered. The thought alone has bile climbing up the back of my throat, making it difficult to swallow, and sweat slicking my palms.
I need to get out, away from the house, even just for today. With that in mind, I decide to head into Crescentwood and explore the town and surrounding areas. Thankfully I find Oliver in the kitchen and ask him for a lift into town.
Not one for words, he simply nods and goes to get the car and bring it round to the front door. We drive in silence into town and I take the opportunity to stare out the window and enjoy the views of the thick forest surrounding us on both sides of the road as we pass by.
Crescentwood is a town that has been built in amongst the tall, thick California trees. Everywhere you look you are surrounded by forest, giving you the sense that you could just wander off and get lost in amongst the canopy of green leaves and brown twigs, amidst the kaleidoscope of colours shining down between the branches from the warm sun overhead. A concept that sounds very frigging appealing to me right now.
All the mansions I have seen so far are surrounded by the thick woods, removed from the actual town centre.
As soon as we left the Montgomery property, the road quickly became shadowed by the tall canopies of trees that bow over the sides of the road, blocking out the sunlight.