by CJ Bishop
Emilio approached Tazz and stared at his swollen, bruised face. “You boys fucked up when you fucked with this family.”
Clint liked Emilio. The kid was young and raw, but didn’t flinch when it came to the workings of a torture chamber. Some people had to adapt to their world; Emilio was born for it.
The young man walked over to Clint. “You’ll take care of them?” The anguish of his friend’s death resonated in his eyes. “Throw in a little extra pain and suffering for Diego?”
“Count on it.” Clint nodded.
Emilio looked down. “Diego and Marissa were so in love,” he murmured with emotion. “I don’t know if she’ll ever recover from this.”
Clint had spent two-and-a-half decades suffering the loss of Donny. If not for Axel…he was certain he would still be suffering. “I’m sorry,” Clint offered sincerely. “This was supposed to be a clean sweep, with everyone going home safe and sound.”
Clearing his throat, Emilio raised his eyes. “I guess it’s never a guarantee, is it? Even the simplest jobs can go wrong.”
“Yeah,” Clint whispered.
Emilio breathed deep and released is slowly. He held out his hand. “I guess I’ll be heading out.”
Clint clasped his hand. “Take care. Let us know when and where Diego’s funeral will be held. We’ll be there.”
“I will. And thank you. I know it would mean a lot to Cruz if you were there.” He sighed, his eyes sad. “I wish you could’ve met Marissa under better circumstances.”
“Yeah,” Clint nodded. “Me, too.”
When Emilio and the others were gone, Clint approached the two guests. “Don’t go anywhere,” he drawled. “We’ll be back to play real soon.”
Tazz stared back at him through swollen eyes, his mouth gagged. Blade jerked at the chains, his own face bloody and swollen from Clint’s elbow and Cory’s boot. Muffled shouts bubbled behind his gag.
“Don’t wear yourself out,” Clint murmured. “You’re gonna need your strength.” He and Cory headed for the door then paused when Cochise held back. “You coming?”
The Egyptian pulled up a wooden chair and sat down. “I’ll wait here with our guests,” he said low. His eyes were dull and distant as he stared at the two captives.
Cory looked at the man with uncertainty. “You okay?”
Cochise continued to stare at the chained men and nodded silently.
On the way up to the main floor, Cory expressed his doubts that the Egyptian was all right. Clint said nothing of his conversation with Cochise back at the warehouse. Cory frowned. “Are you all right, Uncle Clint?”
Clint was still uncertain of the answer and didn’t try to offer one, other than a single nod.
“You guys are kind of worrying me,” Cory admitted. “You’re not slipping back into your old mindset, right? I mean, both of you have good lives with men who love you and need you. You would never…go AWOL again, would you?”
Clint huffed. “Axel would kick my ass.”
Cory nodded. “And don’t you forget it. The two of you have been through hell and survived. You belong together.” He paused and halted Clint, staring at him intently. “Tell me you believe that. Just for reassurance.”
Real concern reflected in Cory’s eyes. “Yeah,” Clint said. “I believe it.”
“And Cochise?” Cory added. “Does he know it, too—that he belongs with Kane?”
The Egyptian lived with one foot out the door. In his mind, it wasn’t really his home—his family—and couldn’t be as long as he harbored such a dark and damaging secret. “You’ll have to ask him.”
“That isn’t a comforting answer,” Cory mumbled and continued on.
It wasn’t for Clint, either. Kane and that family was good for Cochise. But under the same circumstances, would Clint feel any more “at home” there? That was one answer he did know…and also knew what he would likely do in the Egyptian’s place. Him and Cochise were men of like mind, and that worried him.
♦
“Uncle Clint!” Jules leaped into the cowboy’s arms as soon as the man entered the room. He hugged Clint’s neck then kissed his face. “You came and got me.”
“Of course.” Clint held Jules close. “No way we were going to let you go.”
“’Cause you’d miss me?” Jules smiled big.
Deep emotion filled the cowboy’s jade eyes and his voice strained a little. “Yeah. We’d miss you like crazy.”
“Tell Clint about your boots,” Angelo murmured. Having heard Jules’ story of what Blade put him through—especially with his pup—Angelo had to reign himself in from immediately rushing down to the guest room and laying into the bastard. Adrian was barely keeping it together as vengeance for his sister’s death was now at his fingertips. And add to that the emotional trauma they’d caused Jules…the younger man was nearly shaking with the need to get his hands on the guilty men.
Clint grasped one of Jules’ stocking feet and frowned. “What about your boots? What happened to them?” He carried Jules to the small bar and sat on a stool, placing Jules on the bar top.
The child’s face fell, the excitement in his voice waning. “Blade burned them,” he mumbled. “He said they were sissy boots and cowboys were sissies. He said you were a sissy.”
Clint’s brow raised. “He said that, did he?”
Jules nodded. “And…and he was gonna burn cowboy, too.” Tears dampened his eyes. “I told him you would beat him up for being mean.”
Smiling softly, Clint nodded. “You were right, little man. I am going to beat him up. Him and Tazz. For being mean to you, and Callum, and…your mom.”
Jules stared at him with glistening eyes, swallowed, then smiled. “Good.”
Clint took the boy’s hands and kissed them. “And don’t you worry about the boots. We’ll get you another pair. Any ones you want.”
That cheered him up and Jules grinned and flung his arms around Clint’s neck, hugging him hard, then jumped down and ran over to Angelo. “Papa Jo, Uncle Clint’s gonna get me new boots!”
Angelo’s emotions continued to wreak havoc on his senses and he blinked back tears as he scooped Jules into his arms and kissed his face. “I heard. That’s great.” Despite the child’s jubilance that was infectious to everyone around him, Angelo noted the lingering strain on the faces of Clint and Cory; something had gone wrong. He read it plain as day in their troubled eyes. He set Jules down and glanced at Anthony and Adrian who were picking up the same vibe. “What’s wrong?” Angelo murmured. “Something happened. What is it?”
He and the others listened with sick dread as Clint told them of Diego’s death, as well as his imminent fatherhood.
Anthony cleared his throat, his eyes wet. “Cory,” he said quietly with a stiff tone. “You and Colton stay here with Jules and Callum.” He moved out from behind the bar, his movements rigid. “While we tend to our guests.”
CHAPTER 14
“Tell me something.” Adrian stood before Tazz, unfazed by his brutalized countenance. “What were you going to do with Jules if you had gotten a hold of his real father?” He yanked off the gag and tossed it aside. “Make him watch you beat the man to death?”
Tazz’s narcissistic personality refused to allow him to back down despite the dire circumstances. “It would’ve taught the little shit what happens to bastards who fuck another man’s woman.”
“Another man’s woman.” Adrian stared at him. “She wasn’t that piece of shit’s woman by choice.” He glanced at Blade who snarled around his gag, glaring viciously at Adrian. “And she wasn’t his woman at all when she first met Shay.”
Eyes narrowing, Tazz muttered, “She was promised to Blade before she ran away. That made her his, whether or not they had fucked yet. She was unfaithful and she paid the price.”
Adrian had never understood his brother; his lack of feeling. The man possessed no empathy—or sympathy. Never had. What hell would he have put Jules through had they managed to keep him? Adrian didn’t want to think
about that. “She was your sister,” he whispered tightly. “How could you hurt her like that? How could you beat her?”
Clint approached Blade when the man began struggling and trying to speak. He removed the gag. “Got something to say, motherfucker?” Blade started to spit in his face again and Clint backhanded him hard, projecting the bloody spittle out the side of his mouth.
Blade shook his head to get his bearings. His chest heaved and he shot Adrian a hateful look. “That ain’t all we did to her.” An ugly grin spread across his bruised face.
“Shut the fuck up,” Tazz hissed.
Adrian exchanged a look with the cowboy. Clint cocked his head, eyes narrowing. “No,” he murmured. “By all means, share with the class. What else did you do to her?” He cast a glance at the Egyptian. “Take notes.”
Cochise stood back silently and nodded.
“Keep your fucking mouth shut!” Tazz slammed at Blade. “Don’t be fucking stupid!”
Clint smiled dryly. “Afraid it’s too late for that.” He stepped closer, his face just inches from Blade. “You terrorized my little boy. Burned the boots I gave him. Threatened to kill his pup.” He shook his head. “You passed stupid long ago.” He withdrew his knife and tapped the tip of the blade on the man’s cheek. “So, come on, tell us the whole story.”
Nausea welled inside Adrian as he guessed what the whole story was. Shannon wouldn’t have told him that part—for his sake. For Jules’ sake.
Blade ignored Tazz’s order and the blatant reasoning behind it. “We raped her,” he sneered in Clint’s face. “A lot. Both of us…once at the same time—in the pussy and ass.”
Adrian felt sick and dizzy. Oh Shannon…I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.
Turning his head slowly, Clint looked at the three men standing back, waiting. “You boys get that?”
The men nodded. Angelo walked over to the square wooden table on which was strewn an array of toys. He gathered up five pairs of standard brass knuckles and began handing them out to the others. When he came to Clint, he gave the cowboy the last pair and looked at Blade. “If my baby boy develops nightmares because of your shit, I will come to hell, drag your ass back here…” He slipped on his pair of brass knuckles. “…and kill you all over again.”
Blade snorted. “You think I’m scared of you, old man?”
A short huff escaped Clint and he stepped back. “Go to it, old man.”
Adrian shivered at the deadly look that crept across Angelo’s face seconds before he busted at least three of Blade’s ribs with a single punch. The man let out a wrenching cry and gasped for air as his legs gave out and dropped his full weight on his arms, jarring his entire chest cavity.
Angelo moved closer to Adrian, cupped his head, and kissed him deeply. “That one was for Jules.”
“Sick fucks,” Tazz muttered with a wheezy rasp when Angelo administered another kiss.
The men stared at him. Rather than acknowledging his remark, Angelo said, “Callum told us what you said you’d do if you got your hands on Jules’ father.” His eyes darkened. “Cut off his cock and keep it for a souvenir?”
Tazz just looked at him, confirmation in his eyes.
“Shay was my boy.”
“Then be glad he was dead before I got a hold of him.”
Adrian stepped back out of the way.
A storm of emotions rolled through Angelo’s eyes. “Be glad he’s dead.” He slowly circled the man while the others watched in silence. “Be glad he’s dead?” Angelo struck with sudden fury, embedding the brass knuckles in Tazz’s kidneys then grabbed a fistful of hair and wrenched the man’s head back. “When you’re dead,” he murmured against his ear as Tazz gasped, body jerking. “Then I’ll be glad.” He released his hair and nailed him in the lower back, igniting a convulsing spasm.
“Save some for us.” Anthony pressed close behind Adrian and kissed his shoulder. He whispered, “You ready to do this?”
In his mind, Adrian replayed the moment he walked into the motel room and found Jules lying next to his dead mother…thinking she was simply asleep. The boy’s tears because his mom hadn’t kissed him goodbye…wanting to go back so she could give him his kiss. Adrian’s vision blurred. “Yes.”
♦
The five men formed a circle around Tazz and Blade. “Don’t beat them entirely to death,” Clint said. “I have a special final sendoff that I think they can relate to and appreciate.” He hadn’t shared with the others the finale details, but they didn’t question him and merely nodded. He addressed Cochise. “We’ll take this one,” he said and indicated Blade. “He called us sissies. Wouldn’t be good for business if our badass reputations were ruined by a rumor.”
The Egyptian chuffed. “He called you a sissy,” he corrected with a faint twitch of his lips.
Clint looked at him dryly. “Nevertheless,” he muttered—then turned suddenly and plowed his fist into Blade’s gut. His lungs emptied with an audible whoosh of air erupting up his throat.
“You’re all a bunch of pussies,” Tazz wheezed, still suffering from Angelo’s previous hits. “You tie us up and beat the shit out of us. Real badasses. Too scared to give us a fighting chance?”
Adrian rammed his brass knuckles against Tazz’s chest, grinding into bone. “Like you gave Shannon a fighting chance? What you did to her—was that fair?” He shook his head. “He who lives by the sword…dies by the sword. Reap what you sow. Eye for an eye. Take your pick, motherfucker, because it all comes down to the same thing; you’re gonna suffer as she suffered. What you did to her…is going to be done to you.”
Looking at Blade, who was still trying to catch his breath, Clint smiled darkly. “Still glad you shared the whole story with us? You raped the girl…”
“Fuck…you…” Blade rasped.
“Uh-uh.” Clint stepped closer and dragged the tip of the knife across the man’s cock. “Fuck you.”
Blade’s face twitched. The veiled fear that crept into his eyes ignited Clint’s adrenaline. The fear in his victims had always been his drug, more so than the pain he inflicted.
Strolling around behind him, Clint pushed up close, his lips touching the back of Blade’s neck as he whispered, “But that’s for later. I never fuck without a little foreplay first.” His fist dropped low and smashed into the back of his thigh, fracturing the femur bone.
“Fuuck!” The scream exploded from Blade and his leg instantly buckled. His face twisted in pain and rage, spit wetting his lips and dribbling down his chin. “You fuck!”
Clint straightened with a low chuckle. “Liked that, did you?” He slid his hand around Blade’s throat from behind and squeezed firmly, lips on his ear. “How about this?” He drew back and nodded at Cochise.
The Egyptian went for the man’s other leg, busting his kneecap beneath the brass knuckles.
“Guuuhh!!” Blade choked on his screams, jaw clenching and distorting his wails. “Fucker!”
The other three men had yet to lay into Tazz as they watched Clint and Cochise.
“You better fucking kill me.” Tazz glared at Adrian, chest heaving. “Because if I get out of this alive, I swear to God, I’ll fucking-” His words exploded into a hollow gasp as Anthony rammed his fist up under his ribs.
“No worries,” Anthony growled close to his face. “You won’t be getting out of this alive.”
The cords in Tazz’s neck strained and popped as he sucked hard for his breath, his face flushing red.
“These are my new boyfriends,” Adrian told him. “Still think all us queers are weak and sissified?” He gut-punched him hard, extinguishing what breath Tazz had regained.
“You fucking little…” Tazz gasped, eyes bleary. “I should’ve killed you a long time ago.”
“Yeah, you should have.” Adrian nailed him again, the brass knuckles clipping his hip bone.
“Fuck!”
The decimation of Clint’s brother Vincent was the last time he’d witnessed the true gangsters within Anthony and Angelo e
merge. He watched it again now as Angelo came forward. “Let’s stop fucking around.” Tazz’s head snapped viciously to the side, Angelo’s fist—squeezed fiercely around the hard knuckles—plowing into his jaw. Bloody spit sprayed off his lips and, for a moment, Clint was sure he’d been knocked unconscious as his head flopped against his upstretched arm, drool trickling from the corner of his mouth. Angelo backhanded the man, bringing him around. “Wake up, motherfucker, you don’t get to sleep through this.”
As a single entity, the five men unleashed on their victims. An observer might interpret the punches as uncalculated and haphazard, just eager to connect to with flesh and bone. They would be wrong. Strikes to the head were minimal to avoid knockout. Hits to the spine were carefully evaded to prevent paralysis; the two men needed feeling in all their extremities to truly appreciate the finale.
Busted bones—except the spine—were acceptable.
The brass knuckles tore holes in the guilty flesh, exposing bone, smearing the bodies with blood.
Cochise backed off abruptly and walked to the wooden table, his fists slick with blood. He grabbed up an item and returned, approaching Angelo. “Take this.” He handed him the Louisville slugger. “Shay’s baseball bat. It was his favorite toy. These fuckers beat, raped, and killed the mother of his child. He would want you to use it.” The Egyptian looked at Tazz, eyes dead. “Be glad Shay is dead?” he murmured with a deadly tone. “Shay would have had you strung up and gutted like a fucking pig before you ever saw him coming.”
His head lolling to the side, Tazz stared at him, eyes wet.