The Disciples: A Dark Romance Collection

by Sweet, Izzy

  Both of us look down at the guy, and he starts to yell from behind his gag.

  “What else?” I ask.

  “The Yakuza have been causing us more issues,” Simon says.

  When I give him a look, he explains, “Awhile back, a drug deal went south in Ohio and a guy got five million off of us.”

  “Five fucking mil?” I ask, incredulous. “What the fuck? How’d he get that much?”

  “It was a mistake that was remedied, but with it came the Yakuza and Russians. This all falls back to that five million loan. Since then, we’ve been at war with both groups,” Lucifer says.

  “The Russians are claiming no responsibility for the bombings though, and have offered peace talks through Father Coss. Which doesn’t sound right coming from them. The Yakuza have been silent throughout all of this, except for the attempt on mine and Meredith’s life,” Simon says.

  Ah, shit. That old fucker’s still around. I thought he was fucking dead.

  “I’m not going to see that asshole,” I say.

  And now comes the laughter, and I’ve got a feeling I’m the butt of a joke.

  “What?” I ask.

  “He’s asked to see you already,” Lucifer says with a smirk.

  “Send James,” I say as I move over to an empty desk.

  Dropping my coat on it, my new phone falls out of the pocket and clatters against the floor.

  Squatting down to pick it up, James starts to hand it to me before snapping it out of my reach.

  “Simon gave you this, right?” he asks.

  “Yeah, though I have no clue what the fuck I’m supposed to do with it. I mean, phones are for making calls. Why the hell do I have a computer screen on it?” I ask.

  Eyes wide, James breaks out in a grin. “I’ll set it up for you. Simon’s too fucking stupid to do it right.”

  With a shrug, I say, “Sounds good. But what the hell do you do with ‘em?”

  “You do remember the internet, right?” he asks.

  “Yeah, that’s where all the porn is at?” I smirk.

  “Something like that. Oh, and no chance. I already did my confessional time back in elementary school,” he says as he starts tapping on my phone’s screen.

  He must be in his own little world now because he looks like some happy kid who just got a Christmas present.

  “I want to visit the graves,” I say quietly to James.

  Looking up from the phone, he stares at me for a moment and then nods. “I made sure they were buried properly. I’ll take you over there.”

  Heading back over to Lucifer, Simon, and the rest of the guys, I motion to our current warehouse resident.

  “Don’t forget the Saudis, though,” James says to us from where he’s sitting.

  “Yes, but they have been handled for the time being. We’ll discuss them later,” Lucifer says.

  “One of you is going to need to give me the rundown on just what the fuck’s been going on since I left,” I say.

  Shrugging his shoulders, Jude says, “I’ve been out of the state for almost a year. I just about shit when I came back and found everyone fucking wifed up with kids running around.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Bullshit! Not this guy,” James says, raising his hand over his head while he keeps working on the phone.

  “Okay, except James.” Jude shrugs.

  I can feel a fucking throbbing pulse of pain forming behind my eyes as I try to adjust to everything that’s been thrown at me. Bombings, millions of dollars lost, wives and children.

  When the fuck did crime become so fucking complicated?

  “Let’s get this show on the road, gentlemen. Meredith and I have plans for the evening.” Simon says.

  Motioning to the Russian, I ask, “Does he need to be alive at the end of this? What do we know about him?”

  “That fully depends on him. If he gives us the information we need, then he might be able to go free. But I doubt he’ll make this easy,” Lucifer says.

  This fucker’s a corpse already. No way we’d let him go after this.

  “His name is Anton Yelchin…” Simon says. “Yes, just like the actor.”

  “Huh?” I ask.

  “Never mind, you were in prison. We found him flying into Bethlehem three days ago, under a different identity of course. I’m willing to bet, though, he’s just a testing rat for the Russians. They’re seeing where they can get in without our notice. Bethlehem is close, and they’ve been using it as a staging area. They want easy access to us.”

  “Bethlehem is another powder keg that’s full of rats.” Johnathan says.

  “When the fuck did Bethlehem go to the fucking rats?” I ask as I look around at everyone.

  Spreading his hands out in a what-can-you-do gesture, Lucifer says “We’ve had our hands full with getting Garden City under our full control. If it wasn’t the Russians, it was the Yakuza, or the crack-slinging gangs that are sprouting up here and there.”

  That doesn’t surprise me, although it probably should. I’ve been gone for ten years. A lot can happen to a place in that long of a stretch.

  Time to do something I’ve had to keep bottled up for ten long fucking years. Ten years and I finally get to do what I’ve always done best.

  I get to hurt someone.

  Squatting down in front of our special guest, I ask, “You speak English?”

  The man just stares at me. He was squealing like a stuck pig when I walked in here, but I’m betting he thinks we’re just going to give him a good scare and he’ll get to go home. He’s not too big of a guy, probably fifty or so pounds lighter than me, and at least six or seven inches shorter.

  He’s trying to act tough to the big man in front of him. He’s been in prison though, so he might just make it past the first couple of rounds with me.

  “Simon, can I use your black bag?” I ask without looking away from Anton.

  “Of course,” Simon says, and I hear him shuffle behind me.

  There’s a loud plop as he drops his bag down beside me.

  Anton’s eyes barely shift from my face, but they do. Just a brief flutter of movement.

  “Now Anton, I know you’re gagged, but you need to nod your head if you can speak English,” I say quietly.

  Nothing comes from him. He’s trying to act hard, like the interrogation isn’t going to break him down.

  That’s fine, I’ve got all night if need be.

  Reaching up, I push his sweaty hair out of his eyes. He needs to see the mistake he just made.

  “Alright, man. That was your only chance to answer me without pain. I’m going to start causing you some now. I won’t be asking any questions during it, though. But don’t worry, you’ll have a chance to talk after I’m done,” I say as I pull the black bag from my side.

  Inside, I find all kinds of toys. Most of the metal instruments were originally meant to heal. No longer, though, Not here in this place of hell.

  “Jude, I’m going to need his right leg secured from the knee to the foot,” I say as I pull out a scalpel.

  Jude moves instantly to grab ratchet straps to help me secure the leg.

  That gets Anton’s attention. He starts trying to buck up in his chair.

  John moves to my side, preparing to calm Anton down with his fists, but I wave him off.

  Looking down at the scalpel, I examine its razor-sharp edge.

  “Ah fuck, I’m out.” John grimaces and walks away to sit with Lucifer.

  Jude looks up from Anton and shrugs his shoulder at the work of the ratchet straps. “This tight enough?”

  “Yeah, I don’t want to push all his blood down there. Don’t want him bleeding out,” I say.

  Anton has calmed a bit now. His eyes are practically bulging out of his skull, but he’s trying to play the hard-ass who isn’t scared.

  “Anton, I’m going to give your leg a skin avulsion from the knee to the foot,” I say as I cut into the jeans covering his leg. “This shit’s going to hurt, not gonna li
e about that. You’ll probably pass out from this, but we’ll wait until you’re awake to ask another question.”

  He’s got a couple of tats on his leg that look like they’re straight out of the jailhouse, but they’re well done.

  That’s a shame.

  “I’m going to ruin your ink, man.”

  Lifting the pant leg up and over his knee, I look at the stars tattooed there. “Your boy here’s a made man with the Russians.”

  “Then he should have plenty to talk about,” Simon says.

  “Sure, looks like it,” I say, and then look Anton in the eyes.

  He may have given a bunch of oaths over in Russia about how loyal he is, but I doubt they’ll hold true here.

  Pushing the scalpel into his shin bone, I work slowly around his calf.

  His screams reach past his gag and fill the room with the sounds of pain.

  Blood spills out of the wound. As the life sustaining fluid runs over my hands, I almost feel like I’m washing my hands clean of ten years of restraint.

  “Jude, push down on his shoulders. James, I’m—” I start to say, but James immediately shoots me down.

  “Nope. I did a face peel with Simon recently. I’ve filled my quota,” James says, and I can tell he won’t be budged from that.

  Just what the fuck did I miss? Simon’s been doing face peels without me? Well fuck, looks like big brother has grown up without me around. I used to be the one who did shit like that for Lucifer. Now it’s like everyone has been doing my fucking job.

  “Looks like it’s just you, me, and Jude,” I say to Anton.

  Digging my fingers into the wound, I push past the hypodermis until I hit bone.

  Pulling down isn’t exactly an easy job, given all the blood. Makes things a bit slippery.

  Midway down, I stop and look up at Anton. He’s screaming and his eyes are almost rolled completely back. He’s about to go under.

  “Remember, Anton, I told you I wouldn’t ask you anything until I’m done with this,” I say, and then yank as hard as I can down his leg.

  It’s like skinning a deer. I feel the fat and hypodermis ripping away from what’s beneath it. Then I push the flesh down until it folds up like a pair of pants when a guy’s sitting on the shitter.

  “And… he’s out for the count, ref,” Jude says with a laugh.

  “He lasted longer than I thought he would,” I say as I stand up from where I’ve been kneeling.

  Anton screamed until I reached the bottom of his ankle.

  “I would have told you my mom’s social by mid-calf. Then again, that crack-headed bitch would have given me to you for a twenty spot,” Jude says with a shrug.

  He’s right, that bitch was one careless whore.

  Looking through Simon’s bag, I spot a small bag of vials with fresh needles. “You got anything to wake him up with?”

  “Yes. I stumbled across a cocktail mix a few years ago from a CIA dossier. It wakes them up pretty quickly, but it plays hell on the heart and respiratory system after too many uses,” Simon says.

  “Eh, not like this fucker’s going to need either of those in a couple of hours,” I say and hand the bag back to Simon.

  Simon quickly pulls a vial and syringe from the bag.

  Handing both of them to me, he says, “Into the neck artery is the quickest method of getting him to come around.”

  “Got it,” I say.

  Ripping the tape off Anton’s mouth, I yank the dirty gag out as well.

  “Jude, wake this fucker up,” I say as I hand him the needle.

  Like a Christmas fucking miracle, the asshole wakes up from his stupor and lets out a low moan of pain.

  Slapping his face twice brings his eyes back into focus.

  “Let’s get started with the questioning. I ask, you answer. If you need clarification, tell me so. That’s it, got it?” I ask.

  “Fuck you—” he starts to say, but I slam my fist into his balls.

  His moans like a little bitch.

  “Uh-uh. We’ve already established the routine, and that wasn’t part of it,” I say as I slap him across his sweaty face.

  When he finally quits whimpering and moaning, I ask, “Do you understand the rules that I’ve given you?”

  “Yes,” he says quietly.

  “That’s fucking grand. Is your name really Anton Yelchin?” I ask and lean over so that my eyes are looking directly into his own deep brown eyes.

  “Yes,” he answers quickly.

  “Are you a made man? You’ve got the stars.”

  He hesitates. I know why he doesn’t want to admit it, but that hesitation is going to cost him.

  “Yes,” he finally says.

  “Jude, remove his right big toe,” I say without looking away from Anton.

  Eyes wide, the man starts to struggle while sputtering, “I’m telling you the truth!”

  “I know that, Anton, but you hesitated. You didn’t want to tell me something, and I can’t allow that,” I say.

  Jude lines up the snips with Anton’s toe and the stupid fuck’s sputtering turns into screams of rage. “You can’t do this!”

  Snip.

  The sound is clearly heard over his protests before he starts screaming in pain.

  I don’t move away from, Anton. I keep my eyes directly on his while he screams and spits in my face. He needs to see me, he needs to know I’m the fucker whose causing the pain.

  I’m the man that’s become god in his shitty little world.

  When his head finally drops forward, I decide to take a breather. I head over to a wall and wipe my hands on Anton’s ripped shirt. My hands look big and bloody still, but I figure it’s only going to get bloodier.

  Walking back over, I poke around again in Simon’s bag and pull out a small spray bottle of bleach.

  Aiming it at his leg, I give five direct squirts.

  It takes his body a couple of seconds to realize that the cold liquid isn’t a soothing balm before he starts to howl so loud I swear he’s going to burst my eardrums.

  I’ve gotta admit to myself, that screaming sounds pretty fucking good.

  “Damn dude, that looks like it hurts,” James says with a laugh, coming up to stand behind me.

  “I bet it does,” I say chuckling.

  “You fucking bastard!” Anton roars out at me as he tries to wrestle his way from the chair he’s strapped into.

  “I am.” I shrug my shoulders then punch his nose.

  Punch it hard enough that I feel it breaking.

  “Why are you fucking around in Bethlehem?” I ask.

  “You ran us out of Garden City. We want somewhere to work,” he slurs from the blood draining down his throat.

  “Who else is working with you guys?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  Lashing out, I catch him in the stomach. The air inside of him explodes out in a rush and I watch his eyes go round.

  Knocked the air right out of him.

  Standing up from Anton, I look to James and Jude. “Cut off the big and baby toe on his uninjured leg.”

  “You going to work your way up his body?” Andrew asks.

  “Yeah. He needs to understand I don’t give a fuck. He answers me or he hurts. I don’t care if he’s gonna be legless by the time this is done,” I say.

  James and Jude get to work on Anton, and I have to raise my voice so I can be heard over his screams. “Lucifer, Simon. What specifics do you need?”

  “We need to know who’s funding their operation. The Yakuza theoretically have the means, but it’s not feeling right,” Andrew says as he looks to Lucifer.

  “Agreed. They recently took a chance trying to take me out at a church,” Simon says after him. “They shouldn’t have been able to find me that easily. We’ve patched up any security leaks since then, but I’m not entirely sure who’s fucking with us.”

  “The bar and Cherry’s home were very expertly done,” Lucifer adds.

  “What do you mean?” I a
sk.

  “They blew up a bar with almost fifty people in it, or someone did. The men they used were out of Eastern Europe. What we can tell from the bomb forensics is that they weren’t random men. These men had military explosive experience. They made sure to do exactly what they needed with precision.”

  Fuck me. I’m not surprised Lucifer has taken over so much space, but international fucking warfare is definitely above what I was expecting.

  “Let’s get to it then,” I say as my hand slams into Anton’s testicles.

  The whimper he lets out isn’t loud enough for me, though. His leg, and everything else he’s been through, has worn on him pretty heavily.

  And I need louder. I need more.

  “Time to up my game,” I mutter to Anton. “You guys still have any of those rivet guns they used to use here for the sheet metal?”

  “Oh fuck,” James groans as he points to Jude. “I’m not holding any more bloody stumps tonight. I’ve touched too much gore lately.”

  “For shit’s sake, man.” John laughs. “You need to get your ass out from behind your sniper scope. You ain’t been doing any of the hard shit for too long.”

  “Dude, I did a face peel with Simon. That’s earned me some get out of jail free cards.” James laughs.

  “It’s going to take a couple of minutes to get it set up. Air compressor still good, Simon?” Jude asks.

  “It should be,” Simon says from where he’s perched beside Lucifer.

  Walking over to the toolbox, I pull out a bucket of metal rivets. They’re almost like nails, except these go into sheet metal. I should be able to use them pretty well with our dickhead.

  Anton is fidgeting nervously when I walk back over to him.

  Holding a rivet to his shoulder, I smirk at him. “This is about to get real painful, man. Painful, and I’m going to completely ruin all your fucking ink. That’s the one thing I feel bad about. All that ink work getting fucked up beyond repair.”

  A bloody wad of spit lands on my chest and Anton tries to stare at me with defiance. It’s not really defiance, though. There’s too much fear behind it.

  This motherfucker has something in him.

  He hasn’t spilled all the magical beans yet… but he’s going to.