by Jake Bible
“Yes,” Shane said as he squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit the first man, center mass, vaporizing his chest and lower rib cage. Before the man fell, they could see right through him.
Max joined his brother, but with an Accuracy International .300 Win Mag, instead of the higher caliber rifle Shane preferred. It didn’t vaporize flesh like the .338, but it came close. Max was a headshot shooter and three skulls went pop in rapid succession. Shane liked the center mass shot, knowing that if his shot was off a little, the target would at least be gut shot and die later. No one came back from a .338 round to the belly.
The cartel men lay dead in the pine needles, their blood pooling around roots and twigs.
“Now we get to work,” Shane said, getting up and hurrying down to the corpses.
“Here, hold this,” Max said as he handed his rifle to his uncle, “only take a minute.”
It wasn’t until they were in Thorne’s SUV and almost to the brothers’ house that he brought up what they did.
“Did you have to flay them open like that?” Thorne asked. “And jam their junk in their mouths?”
“It sends a message,” Shane said. “The cartels don’t fuck around. That shows them that the owner of that field doesn’t fuck around either.”
“It’ll go two ways,” Max said, “they’ll see the bodies and think it’s not worth the hassle and move on.”
“Or they take it personally,” Shane continued for his brother. “And they kill the guy. Which was what was going to happen to him anyway, so at least we gave him a fifty/fifty chance.”
“You guys are regular heroes,” Thorne said.
“Hey, we know what we do and who we work for,” max said. “These guys grow weed, they don’t cure cancer. We explain to them just how dangerous a life they’ve gotten themselves into before we take a job. We guarantee nothing except for giving them some mad gun skills; staying alive is, and always will be their job, not ours.”
“We’re instructors and consultants,” Shane said, “not bodyguards.”
“So full disclosure up front?” Thorne asked.
“Signed in triplicate,” Shane said, “we have a good lawyer.”
“Good for you,” Thorne said.
A quick prep and pack at the brothers’ house and they were on I-5 and heading south back to San Diego. And Kinsey Thorne.
None of the three men kidded themselves that they were looking forward to it.
***
The ones that make it through BUD/S are the top of the top. Not physically, but mentally. Less than ten percent graduate from the program, because less than ten percent have the mental fortitude to take all the pain and fear, roll it into a massive ball, and bury it deep inside themselves. The SEALs weren’t made up of men that were the strongest or could run the fastest; SEALs were the men that could outlast the strongest and the fastest and still kick ass.
They were, to an extent, superhuman.
And like all superhumans, they didn’t handle failure well. And to a SEAL, living a “regular” life was failure. More than a few fell into the bottle after retiring. Some found harder things. Even though Kinsey Thorne wasn’t ever officially a SEAL, she had qualified as one, and was raised by a SEAL father with two SEAL cousins. If it hadn’t been for the blood work coming back positive, she would have easily been assigned to a Team.
That made her a hundred times more dangerous than the average junkie.
And not just to herself, but to those that she ensnared in her elaborate junkie plans to stay high.
The scene the Reynolds and Thorne walked into was a perfect example.
“Get up, you lazy fuck!” Kinsey shouted, spittle flying from her lips as she bent over a naked man stretched out on the shag carpet of her dingy apartment. Dressed in only a pair of soiled panties, her normally blonde hair cut short and spiked on her head in various neon colors, Kinsey cocked her leg back and kicked the man square in the gut.
He rolled over and threw up, projectile vomiting against the wall and baseboard just a foot from his face.
“You fuck!” Kinsey yelled as she straightened up and kicked him again (which produced more vomit) then took a long drink from the bottle of cheap whiskey she clutched in her hand. “You’ll fucking clean that up now, bitch!”
The knock at her door puzzled her for a minute or two. She couldn’t place the sound at first since no one ever came around. The complex’s super had learned to stay clear of her even when she was late on the rent. He could have called the police, or had her evicted, but Kinsey had figured out the underage prostitution ring he had been running for years and they came to an agreement. She paid when she could so he didn’t look bad, and he left her alone so she didn’t blow the whistle on his business.
It was not exactly the honor expected of a SEAL, but Kinsey had never become a SEAL and had made a point to take the SEALs’ code of honor and shit all over it. She blamed the whole damn men’s club of them for what happened to her. They couldn’t handle having a set of tits do everything they could do.
“FUCKING SHUT UP!” Kinsey yelled as she swayed her way to the front door after realizing the knocking wasn’t in her head. She looked over her shoulder at her collapsed companion and put a finger to her lips. “You shut up too. Or I cut your nuts off.”
She threw the door open and leaned against it in all her glory.
She never expected the fist that slammed into her face.
If it had been an average woman that the fist had connected with, then she’d have crumpled in an unconscious heap. But due to the many substances in Kinsey’s system, she just staggered back a couple of steps, barely feeling the hit. It did confuse her, though, and she dropped the whiskey bottle as she shook her head.
“What the fuck, MAN?” she yelled, rubbing her face. “You better run. I’m gonna have to kill ya now.”
“Jesus,” Max said as he rushed her, “this sucks.”
“No one should have to tackle their naked cousin, man,” Shane said as he followed his brother. “This shit is gonna give me nightmares.”
Max got her around the waist and lifted her into the air, and then came down hard, slamming her into the floor, his shoulder buried deep in her gut. All of the air left Kinsey’s lungs. So did the contents of her stomach. Luckily, she’d only been on a liquid diet for the past 48 hours; whiskey and bile sprayed into the air.
“Fuck all,” Thorne said as he crossed the threshold, his hand to his mouth and nose, trying to block out the stench. “I didn’t think it would be this bad.”
“Daddy?” Kinsey called out as soon as she heard her father’s voice. “Daddy! Help! These fucks are trying to rape me! They’re raping your little girl! And this one is a monster! His face is melting!”
Max started to respond, as he struggled to grab a hold of Kinsey’s flailing arms, but instead, he took a shot to the throat and the words were stopped instantly. Luckily, the booze and drugs softened the power behind the shot, or he’d have choked to death right then.
“Fuck, Max!” Shane yelled as he pulled is brother away, checking his neck to make sure his airway wasn’t crushed. “Jesus, Sis!”
The mentioning of her nickname made her pause as she recognized the voice, but was unsure of the source. It gave her father just enough time to move in and drop a knee onto her chest. He kept his eyes averted from his daughter’s bare breasts, but he couldn’t help but look at the rest of her emaciated body. Her skin was pallid and hung from her bones, her ribs poked out, her hips stretched the skin at her waist, her cheeks gaunt and sunken, matching the depth of the dark hollows under her eyes. She had various cuts, scratches, burns, and the worst of all, track marks, covering her arms.
She looked like the walking dead.
But she was more like the fighting dead as she thrashed against her father with a strength that didn’t seem possible from such a wasted body. Normally, a skinny junkie wouldn’t have been a problem for a trained SEAL, but Thorne couldn’t separate the fact that it was his daughter he w
as dealing with. That slight distraction made him hesitate, which was not the best strategy.
Kinsey brought her knee up and Thorne cried out as his balls were jammed up inside him. It hurt enough for him to lose his grip, which allowed Kinsey to worm out from underneath him. She rolled to the side and her hand darted between the couch cushions, pulling free a large hunting knife. Shane left his brother and came at his cousin, his eyes on hers, very aware of the blade that Kinsey brandished.
“Sis, dammit, knock it off,” Shane said. She cocked her head, but he could tell she still didn’t recognize him. “It’s me, you stupid cow. It’s Shane.”
“Shane?” Kinsey said. “Who?”
“Your fucking cousin, dipshit!” Shane yelled. “What the fuck, Sis?”
“Disarm her,” Thorne said as he stood up on shaky legs, “I’ll handle the rest.”
“Gee, Uncle Vinny, thanks,” Shane said. “I’m glad I get to be the one that disarms her.”
Kinsey pushed herself to her feet, the knife steady and pointed right at Shane.
“You get the fuck out of here,” she croaked, her voice raw and harsh. “I didn’t invite you here. This is my place.”
Shane turned so he only showed Kinsey his profile, lessening the target space, while Thorne pulled Max across the room and made sure he would be okay. Kinsey watched it all with frantic attention, her eyes darting here and there without any pattern. With a deep sigh, Shane put his hands up, fingers spread wide.
“Sis, listen to us,” Shane said, “we’re here to help you. Not fight. No fighting. Fighting is bad.”
“I’ll kill you,” Kinsey said, “you try anything and I’ll kill you. I’m a trained killer.”
“But not a murderer,” Thorne said, looking over his shoulder at his daughter.
“Daddy?” Kinsey asked, her arm dropping slightly, the knife angled more towards the floor than towards Shane. “Daddy? When did you get here?”
“I’ve been here for a while,” Thorne said sadly. “You already told me to stop them from raping you. Which they weren’t trying to do. They’re your cousins, Kins. That’s Shane and this is Max. Your cousins.”
“SEALs,” Kinsey said quietly, “I wanted to be a SEAL.”
Her face dropped and she looked like she would cry, but then it changed in a heartbeat and a look of intense anger and hatred overtook her features. Shane didn’t like that look and made his move.
Dodging to the right then ducking low and coming up fast on her left, Shane got under her knife arm and was able to shove it aside as he brought his knee to her elbow. She cried out and dropped the knife, but that just freed up another hand, which she used to rake at Shane’s face as he grabbed her about the waist.
“Fuck!” he shouted as Kinsey dug deep gouges into his cheeks.
A scream of deep rage came up out of Kinsey’s belly and she went for her cousin’s face again, but this time her arms were stopped as her father got around and behind her. He grabbed her by the wrists, bent her backwards, then slammed his elbow right between her gold/green eyes. She stared at him for a split second before those eyes rolled up into her head and she collapsed.
“What about him?” Shane asked.
“Him who? Oh, him,” Thorne said, “get that piece of shit out of here.”
Shane looked at the man passed out in his own vomit and shook his head. “Fuck him. We’ll just leave him.”
“I want him gone,” Thorne said as he scooped his daughter up into his arms.
At her prime, she had been a solid 140 pounds, and at five feet and eight inches, she had never been considered a small woman. But the person Thorne held in his arms weighed nothing and seemed to have shrunk to the size of a small child. To him, it was like carrying the little girl he used to put to bed after she fell asleep in front of the TV. He carried her to the bathroom, trying not to look at the state it was in, and set her in the tub. He then walked back out into the living room.
“Get him gone,” Thorne insisted. “You okay, Max?”
Max gave a thumbs up and pushed himself to his feet. “Yeah…ow,” he said, his voice a scratchy croak. “I’ll…help, bro.”
He grabbed the vomit man’s legs and Shane got him up under the armpits, wincing at the dampness. Thorne watched them carry the man to the front door, then turned and walked into the small bedroom. His heart sank as he saw more drug paraphernalia as well as piles of empty whiskey bottles. He wasn’t sure if he should be disgusted at all the used condoms that littered the floor, or glad his daughter was using protection.
Yanking a collapsible bag from his pocket, he shook it open and started to fill it with whatever clothing didn’t look toxic. He honestly wished for a HAZMAT suit as he waded through the trash and detritus of his daughter’s life. The bag was only half-full when he stopped, figuring whatever else she needed they’d acquire later. He was about to leave the room when he saw something sticking out from under the mattress. He went back and retrieved it, surprised to see it was a print of the same picture he’d looked at earlier in the morning.
Except it looked like Kinsey had scratched her face out of the picture. Thorne sighed and let the picture drop.
“Ready?” Thorne asked the Reynolds. The brothers nodded. “Good. One last thing and we’re done.”
Thorne had a wad of clothes in his hands –some sweats, a t-shirt, a bra- and he handed them over to Shane as he went back into the bathroom. Kinsey was still passed out in the tub and hadn’t moved a muscle. That would change quickly. Thorne turned the shower on full blast, leaving it on cold. The spray hit Kinsey in the face and neck and she started to stir, and then started to swat at the water.
“Fuck!” she shouted. “Fucking stop!”
Thorne turned off the water as Kinsey sputtered and wiped the water from her eyes. She looked up at the angry face of her father.
“You’ll put on some clothes and come with us willingly, Kinsey,” Thorne said, “or we dress you and you come against your will. Do you understand the similarities in your options?”
Kinsey watched him for a moment, her eyes coming into full focus for the first time since the men came through her door.
“I’m getting dressed and coming with you,” Kinsey said.
“Good girl,” Thorne said as he patted her cheek.
He waited as she pulled herself out of the tub, not offering her any help, and watched as she put on her clothes. Once dressed, he pulled her by her elbow out into the living room.
“Now apologize,” Thorne ordered.
Kinsey looked from one cousin to the next and tears welled in her eyes. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and swallowed hard.
“Hey,” she said finally.
“Hey,” the brothers replied.
“Sorry,” she said.
“Not yet,” Max smiled.
“What does that mean?” Kinsey asked, looking at her father. “Where are we going? I’m not going to rehab. They’re all full of shit there. I’ll break out before dinner.”
“Not taking you to rehab, Kins,” Thorne said.
“Not conventional rehab, at least,” Shane added.
“Got a job to do,” Max said.
“And we’re late,” Thorne said as he guided his daughter past her cousins and out the front door.
Kinsey started to pull back, looking over her shoulder at her apartment.
“I don’t have shoes,” Kinsey said.
“I’ll grab them,” Max said. “In your room?”
“No,” Kinsey said as she shook her head. “I don’t have any at all. I think I traded my last pair for a hit.”
The three men, all battle hardened veterans, nearly choked up at that statement. What Kinsey had done to herself was her fault and no one else’s, but she was family. And for a time, they had all walked away from her. They looked at each other and silently came to an understanding that Kinsey Thorne would never be allowed to go without shoes again. Or go without the constant support of her family.
As they got in
to Thorne’s SUV, he looked over his shoulder at his nephews. “Glad you took control back there. I never would have been able to get through it.”
“He’s fucking with us, right?” Shane asked his brother.
“Yes, bro, he’s fucking with us,” Max nodded.
***
Two hours into the chartered flight was when Kinsey started to sober up fully.
“There has to be a bar on this fucking plane,” Kinsey said, her nails digging into the scarred flesh of her left forearm. “You know, with those tiny fucking bottles? I just need something to take the edge off.”
“What edge?” Shane asked. “What are you on?”
“Nothing now, asshole,” Kinsey snapped. “Sorry, sorry. Just, you know, stuff.”
“Crack? Crank? Oxy? Junk?” Max asked.
“It’s all junk,” Thorne added, a few seats away, his eyes closed.
“I mean heroin,” Max said.
“I know what you mean,” Thorne replied, opening his eyes and turning his gaze on his nephew. “It’s still all junk.”
“Yeah, well, when that junk is out of my system,” Kinsey laughed, “it isn’t going to be pretty. Just give me something to get through the flight. Come on. I’ll go cold turkey when we land. I just can’t do it while we fly.”
“You aren’t getting off this plane until we are at the job,” Thorne said. “This is your home for the next 48 hours. You start cleaning up as of now. No booze, no junk, no nothing. Got it?”
“No nothing,” Kinsey whispered then gave a short bark of a laugh, “story of my life.”
Thorne was up out of his seat and in his daughter’s face so fast she barely had time to track the movement. Max and Shane got to their feet out of instinct.
“Fuck you,” Thorne said. “Fuck you and your fucking self-pity. You have had a good life, Kinsey Marie Thorne. You had a wonderful mother and an amazing brother. And I know I haven’t been perfect, but I have always been there for you and I have shown you nothing but love and support. Even when it was only me and I had the weight of everything on my shoulders.” He jabbed a finger into her breastbone. “Fuck. You.”