by Sweet, Izzy
Motherfucker knows I didn’t turn rat.
Folding my arms across my chest, I slip into a slow doze as I think of the things that could be waiting for me once I get out of this car. I highly doubt it’s going to be a balloons-and-cake kind of event.
I can feel my eyelids growing heavier as I shift enough to feel the comfortable presence of the forty-caliber pistol snuggled into my hip holster. It’s been a long time since I’ve had my little mistress at my side, and I ain’t going to lie, it’s giving me a sense of peace that helps me feel better about falling asleep.
Violence gives me purpose, something beyond sitting in a cell block waiting for death to come. Violence gives me the power to take control of the world.
* * *
My dreams are fucked up. In my mind’s eye, I can see everything floating around me in a crimson lake of fire. There are bodies bloated from the gases built-up after death. Charred planks of wood surround them, encased in frames.
Snapping awake, I go from frozen, unable to move, to instantly putting my hand on the gun nestled at my hip.
Old habits die hard.
Even back in prison, I’d go reaching for my gun when the guards would start in on me. Not having it is the only reason they’re still breathing.
I just need to get the fuck out of this SUV. I’ve been confined for too long, and sitting in this car for hours is starting to get to me.
Too much surrounds me. Seats, heat, windows, and another human are just too fucking much to deal with right now.
Just before I start putting fucking holes in everything around me, Simon pulls up to our destination.
Lucifer’s favorite little hidey-hole of torture.
Getting quickly out of the car, I slam the door behind me and take in my old killing grounds.
The old sheet metal warehouse looks exactly the same as it always has—like it’s about to fall down around its concrete footers. I have no doubt Lucifer has spent money to keep it this way. When I look closer at the ‘rusted’ beams keeping things in place, I can tell he’s had them painted to look that way.
I guess this place will stay up and looking this way as long as he has a use for it. A use for violence and answers.
“What’s the situation we’re heading into?” I ask as I walk beside Simon.
His gimpy ass tries to take the lead and walk in front of me, but he doesn’t have the sack to take the pain his cracked ribs will cause him. That’s his problem, he’s never had to endure pain long enough that you come to crave it just a little. Crave how it keeps you sharp.
Crave how it feeds the anger and violence pent up inside you.
“Same as always. We have someone who annoys us, and we need to get all the information we can from him,” Simon says as we open the heavy steel door of the building.
Inside, the cold isn’t as bracing. The spring winds that rip through Garden City are shut out.
A high-pitched wailing scream suddenly pierces the air, and the sound causes a bit of that old, familiar excitement to pump through my heart.
I missed being on the outside of the cage. Missed bring able to hurt people when I needed to, and when I just felt like it.
I’ll be the first to admit that there’s nothing healthy about my brain. I like to cause people pain, and I don’t mind watching the light dim from someone’s eyes.
“Sounds like they started without me,” I say as I walk past Simon. “No need to show me the way, gimpy. I know it.”
“You miserable, suffering cunt,” Simon hisses as I leave him behind.
“Yeah, so was your mother,” I say over my shoulder.
Walking through the rows of unused machinery, I wonder how much of this shit was used before Lucifer bought the building. Used for different, more legitimate purposes, no doubt.
“Just hold the asshole still, James. Jesus fucks a mule, hold him down!” I hear a loud, gruff voice shouting over what sounds like a gagged-asshole trying to yell his head off.
For the first time in what feels like an eternity, I feel the blood starting to course through my veins.
It’s like getting fucking high, but so much better.
Walking into the room, I stop short as I take in the scene unfolding before my eyes. A man strapped into an old metal chair bucks and thrashes as he rages behind a taped-up mouth. He’s got that Eastern European look to him, and from the tats on his chest, I can tell he’s been inside a Gulag. Long years in a Gulag, if I’m reading those tats right. He’s one tough fucker, and I’m betting he’s got stars on his knees.
So this is my welcome home present.
Removing my coat, I stand in place for a long moment, just watching the room. Most of the guys are here, and the ones that aren’t are most likely dead.
Sucks for them, I guess.
“Gentlemen,” I say, and the words annoy me because my throat aches as I talk.
I haven’t talked this much in ten fucking years.
Almost as one, Andrew, James, Jude, Johnathan, and Lucifer, all turn to look at me. Each one has a different expression on their face, and it’s startling to me that I can read the emotions now when all I ever saw for so long were the cold emotionless faces of the guards.
Everyone’s all smiles that reach their eyes, even dear old Lucifer. The man I spent ten long fucking years in a cell for. From what Simon said, I probably would have spent the rest of my life there if they didn’t get the governor in their pocket.
They know I didn’t rat on them, but the fucker in the chair will mostly likely be my baptism back into the family.
Instead of water, I’ll be christened in blood and murder.
John takes three long strides over to me, his arms opening up as he tries to wrap me up in a hug. He stops short though when he looks into my eyes. He knows better than to touch me right now. He spent enough time in a cell.
Nodding his head, he shoves a hand out to me. “Good having you back, brother.”
I force myself to shake his hand then look over to the rest of the guys. After nodding to them all, I focus on Lucifer.
He’s perched on the side of a desk and his face is pensive now. He knows I served a long ass time for him, and I’m betting he’s trying to figure out where we stand with each other.
I’ve done time for this man’s will and sins. I did ten long fucking years in a cage. Ten long years of beatings. Ten years of my sanity slowly slipping into this dead husk that’s now who I am. All that I have left inside me is rage and barely controlled destruction.
My hands clench into fists so tight I can feel my nails threatening to break the skin on my palms.
Ten long fucking years for my crimes, for his crimes. I should have been in the chair, though. I should’ve fucking fried for all the things I’ve done in my life.
But I’m out now.
And like I said earlier, I’ll fucking kill anyone who ever dreams of putting me through the system again.
I should have killed them for even doing it in the first place.
That thought rips through my mind as I stare at the man. The devil. From this distance I won’t miss. He’d be dead in a matter of seconds.
Dead at the hands of his own fucking hellhound.
He holds my stare without flinching or apologizing. He knows what I’ve done for him. He knows the lengths I went through to keep him on the outside.
I’m not sure how long we stare at each other, but the tension in the room grows so thick I can’t fucking stand it. Before I snap and start punching all the shit around me, I decide the unfinished business we have will have to wait until later.
Walking over to him, I pull my gun from its holster and hold it firmly in my hand. “Matt, been a long time.”
“It has,” Lucifer says to me when I call him by his real name. “That gun for me?”
The corners of my lips quirk up and I hold the gun a little longer than necessary, letting him wonder what I plan on doing with it, before I set it down beside him.
I nod my head and the tens
ion in the room instantly evaporates.
And I feel like I fucking belong again.
“You still have my gun as long as you need it,” I say, cementing my place back in the family.
Lucifer nods his head and then visibly relaxes. He even smiles when he stands up from the desk and straightens his jacket. Then he motions to the man that’s strapped to the chair.
His eyes light up with amusement as he says, “John was wanting to castrate him, but I said you had better ideas.”
Chuckling, I turn to look over at Johnathan, giving Lucifer my back. “Still with the dicks, dude? You remind me of my boyfriend in prison, Doug.”
“Oh shit,” I hear Lucifer mutter behind me.
“Dude, you went gay in prison?” James asks me.
“No, you jackass. Your dick rot off yet?” I ask him with a grin.
“No glove, no love. My shit’s good.” He smirks.
Nodding my head, I take in the men surrounding me again. It feels good to be back among my brothers. But at the same time, I can feel the space closing in on me. They’re too fucking close. Too fucking happy. Lucifer and his band of merry fucking men.
Too fucking close.
“Can we stop the tomfoolery and actually work?” Simon asks with an annoyed huff.
Well fuck, I never thought I’d be grateful for Simon, but he’s giving me a valid reason to move the fuck away and put some space between me and everyone.
I walk over to the restrained Russian, all the while keeping an eye on the guys.
Simon’s face flushes as he slowly removes his outer coat. The pain in his ribs must be getting to him.
Shit, if I’m not mistaken John isn’t as spry as he normally is, either. He’s hunched just enough to show me he’s got a wound somewhere.
Fuck. Taking another look around me, I see all the gaps and missing faces. I’m not fully up to date with all that’s happened since I was locked up, but if it’s as bad as Simon has been saying, we’re missing a lot of men.
I know Paul and Peter are dead, but what about the others?
“Where’s Thomas and Bart? They out on assignment? What about Thad?” I ask.
The silence around me is instant and deafening.
Searching their faces, hard resignation stares back at me. All except Andrew. Andrew’s face tells me all I need to know.
“What the fuck happened?” I ask.
“Bart betrayed us. Thomas took a bullet because of him,” Andrew says.
Damn.
Thomas was a good man. Quiet as could be, but solid as a fucking rock.
“Where’s Bart?” I ask.
“Dead,” Lucifer says with a sigh. “Peter and Paul are both gone. Peter was blown up investigating our recent bombings, and Paul… He died protecting Evelyn and Abigail.”
“Who are they?” I ask.
And that question causes another fucking silence.
“Evelyn is my daughter, and Abigail is Andrew’s,” Lucifer says with a smile.
“Your what?” I ask with surprise.
This has to be a joke, right?
“Dude, me and Jude are the only ones who haven’t gotten pussied up. Everyone’s married and shit.” James motions to the guys around him.
“What?” I ask again and stare at the guys. “And Thad?”
“Thaddeus went back to Ohio to help the Italians. He’s trying to help plug a bunch of holes over there,” Andrew grunts. “Fucker’s been out there living like a playboy while the rest of us are here in the trenches.”
“We have a lot to talk about, but first lets get to work,” Simon says as he points to the Russian. “We need to know what the fuck is going on.”
“Someone blew up our strip club with a shit ton of people inside. Cherry got wasted, and when Peter was searching her house, they took him out with a big ass bomb,” Johnathan says as he walks over to stand beside me.
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.