Precious Jules: A Cowboy Gangster Novella

by CJ Bishop

  “Where’s Jules?” Clint asked the boy.

  Callum turned back around slowly, eyes widening as his stare fell on the dead man. More shocked than upset, Callum mumbled, “He…he’s out front, with the others.”

  “What kind of weapons do they have?”

  “Handguns, mostly,” Callum said. “I think they might be expecting you. Jules told them his real dad was dead, so now they’re thinking Adrian is just stalling.”

  “They’re right,” Clint murmured. “Clearly.” He stared at Callum until the young man shifted nervously. “Why did you steal Jules then change your mind and try to bring him back?”

  Lowering his gaze, Callum whispered, “It was Jules. When I saw how scared he was of Tazz and Blade…and the way they treated him…I knew I’d made a mistake. I didn’t know they would be mean to him.”

  The kid was suddenly jerked forward as Cochise lunged at him, clutching his shirt. “If they fucking hurt him…” his face twisted in a vicious snarl and he tugged Callum closer. “…I will beat the living fuck out of you for bringing him here.”

  Callum swallowed hard. “They didn’t touch him,” he croaked. “They were talking mean, scaring him, threatening to hurt his pup.”

  “Did they hurt the pup?” Clint asked stiffly, his jaw tight.

  “No, not really. But Blade might. He’s fucking crazy.” Callum looked at them uneasily. “I think if Tazz let him, he would…he would hurt Jules, too.” Callum’s eyes darted to the dead man and a visible shiver ran through him.

  Clint glanced at the corpse. “Was this the first time?” he murmured.

  “Huh?”

  “Was this the first time you were handed over to this fucker, or someone else?” The kid just stared at him, lingering tears in his eyes. Clint frowned. “Were you raped before?”

  Callum shook his head slowly. “No.”

  Though his voice wavered, Clint detected no lie in his answer and was startled to feel a wave of relief seep through him. After Axel, and Donald, the last thing he wanted was to encounter more boys who had been viciously raped.

  “Hey,” Cory spoke low. “Someone’s coming.” He and Colton withdrew from the doorway and out of sight of the corridor.

  Clint heard the movement a moment later; a man’s voice and…Jules. The boy’s breath was hitching with sobs as he tried not to cry openly. Clint’s pulse spiked as fury exploded through him but he held his ground, kept his cool, and motioned for the others to move out of the center of the room and up against the wall. Cory stood stone silent to the left of the doorway, weapon drawn. Clint took position on the opposite side of the door, Berretta gripped in his fist.

  “Quit your fucking whining,” the man growled at Jules. “If you were my kid, I’d fucking beat this shit out of you. No fucking way a son of mine would be a pussy.”

  Cochise caught Clint’s stare and fiery indignation burned between them.

  “That’s Blade,” Callum whispered.

  The pup yipped suddenly—not from pain but excitement—and Clint heard its tiny claws clicking dully on the concrete floor as it took off down the corridor.

  “Cowboy!” Jules cried and raced after the dog.

  Clint nodded at Cory and the man sank to his heels and very lightly tapped the floor and whispered the pup’s name. Cowboy burst into the room, excitedly mauling Cory, climbing his chest. Cory suppressed a laugh and passed the pup to Callum and waited. Seconds later, Jules came through the door in a hurry and Cory scooped him up, immediately covering his mouth as the boy started to scream.

  “Shh.” Cory stood up, lips pressed to Jules’ ear. “I got you, kiddo,” he whispered. “It’s just me.”

  His breath surging into Cory’s palm, Jules’ wide eyes locked on Clint and he started to exclaim – “Uncle Clint!” – when Cory clamped his hand tighter over his mouth.

  “Shh. Gotta be quiet, bud,” Cory murmured. “Okay? Not a sound.”

  Jules nodded, his chest heaving with excitement as he was handed over to Colton. He threw his small arms around the man’s neck and clung to him for dear life. Colton and Callum moved back a little, giving way to the other three men.

  “Hey!” Blade called out. “Where’d you go, you little shit? If you try to hide from me, this time I will fry up that fucking mutt of yours.” He approached the room with a casual stride and stepped through the doorway. “And eat him for breakfast-” Clint’s elbow nailed him in the face, dropping him to the floor. Blood gushed from his nose as Blade grabbed his face. “What the fuck-” Cory’s boot heel smashed into his jaw, landing Blade on his back.

  Clint went to his knees, straddling the man’s waist. He clutched his throat and shoved the barrel of the Berretta between his eyes, grinding it into his skull. “No one fucks with our family.” Clint was on his feet an instant later, dragging the man off the floor. He slammed him against the wall, gun shifting, stuffed up under his chin. “Make a sound—just one fucking sound—and I’ll paint these fucking walls with your brains.”

  Blade stared back at him, eyes wide and bloodshot, blood draining down his chin and soaking his shirt. His lips twitched in a snarl. “The cowboy,” he rasped. “The big, tough motherfucker who’s gonna beat me up.”

  “That is the plan,” Clint said.

  Blade glared at him. “I ain’t scared of you.”

  Looking deep into his eyes, Clint leaned closer. “Yes,” he whispered. “You are.”

  Blade trembled—then spit blood in Clint’s face.

  Releasing a hard breath, Clint wiped his face. “The last man who spit in my face…” Clint turned his head and looked at the dead body.

  Blade followed his stare, noticing the body for the first time. His face paled a bit.

  “That fucker got off easy,” Clint murmured. “You’re not so lucky.” He turned to Cory. “Gag him and take him out back to Cruz.” He nodded at Colton. “Get Jules and the kid out of here. Wait for us outside. Do not come back in, understand? Send in Cruz, Sanchez, and a few of his guys but you stay outside. And Corrigan…” he looked at Cory. “You know what to do. We’re finishing this today, once and for all.” His focus returned to Blade, eyes cold. “No fucking loose ends.”

  ♦

  The man holding Jules motioned to Callum to follow him. Callum cast Blade a quick look as he followed the man out of the room, Jules’ pup tucked in his arms. Blade was trying to put up a brave, unintimidated front, but like Clint…Callum saw the fear in his eyes. “I hope they shove a stick up your ass and fry you,” Callum mumbled as he passed by the man.

  Blade started to snap back when the cowboy shoved him harder against the wall. “You think I’m bluffing, asshole?” He dug the gun harder under his chin. “This room could do with a new paint job.”

  The man grunted, his face straining as the barrel of the gun gouged into his skin. Callum left him to the cowboy and other men and exited the room, glancing anxiously down the corridor as they headed toward the far end of the warehouse. He wasn’t sure how they had gotten in, but suspected they may have made their own door.

  “You’re lucky, kid,” the man murmured as he led the way. “It’s good, for your sake, that you changed your mind and tried to return Jules to us. These guys weren’t prepared to show mercy to you or anyone involved in this.” He glanced back at Callum. “Believe me, you do not want to feel the brunt of their wrath.”

  Callum didn’t need convincing. The Indian-looking guy and the cowboy scared the living hell out of him. The other one didn’t have a frightening “appearance” – in fact, kind of looked like a model – but his eyes radiated a warning that he wasn’t to be fucked with any more than the other guys.

  By the time they reached the makeshift entrance, Blade—gagged and restrained—was being shuffled along after them by the model who kept a gun shoved into his back. When they stepped outside, Callum halted, shocked at the sight of all the men gathered together.

  A bunch of pansy-ass faggots, huh, Tazz? Callum thought. You and your gang are going to die an u
gly death.

  One of the men popped a car trunk and Blade was shoved inside, the lid slammed down on top of him. “One down,” the model smiled. “One to go.” He turned to the man holding Jules and took the boy, hugging him hard, eyes dampening with tears. “I missed you, bud,” he whispered thickly. “Don’t ever scare us like that again, you hear me?”

  The boy leaned back and flattened his palms on the man’s face and kissed him on the mouth. “Okay.”

  Callum’s throat knotted unexpectedly as guilt quivered through his gut; all this was his fault.

  “Cruz.” The model addressed the man who had opened the car trunk. “Bring some of your guys, we’re going into the belly of the beast.” He looked at the others standing by. “When you get the signal…light the fucker up.” He handed Jules back to the first guy. “Get these two out of here. Take them home. Dad and the others need to know as soon as possible that Jules is okay. We’ll be along shortly.” He cupped the man’s face and kissed him deeply. “I love you.”

  The man licked his lips. “I love you, too. Be fucking careful.”

  “Yes, sir,” the model grinned then kissed Jules’ cheek. “You’re going home, kiddo.”

  Jules squirmed excitedly in the man’s arms. “Yay!”

  Callum smiled, though a small knot twisted up his gut; home. The only home he’d known for years was the gang, and it had been a shitty home. Where would he call home now?

  CHAPTER 11

  The Egyptian stood stone still over the dead man, his back to Clint. Blood smeared his right hand—the one used to slit the man’s throat. Clint moved closer. “You all right?”

  Cochise didn’t answer; brow tight, eyes vacant.

  “Hey.” Clint touched his shoulder. “What is it?”

  Cochise blinked and slowly raised his hand, rubbing his bloody fingers together. “Is it just an act?” he murmured.

  “What?”

  “Our lives…” Cochise looked at Clint. “…at home. We pretend to be…family men. But this…” he held up his blood-stained hand. “…is what we really are.”

  Clint stared at him. “It’s not an act. That part of us and this part are not two complete opposites. It is the same. We protect our family. And this…” He grabbed Cochise’s wrist and gripped hard. “…allows us to do that by any means necessary. The two go hand in hand. We do what we have to do to take care of our own.” He squeezed Cochise’s wrist tighter. “Without this—what do you think would have happened to Jules? To Callum? This keeps the people we love safe.”

  “This,” Cochise whispered tightly, clutching his hand into a bloody fist. “Tried to kill Gianni Venetti. An innocent kid.” Guilt and pain pulsated behind the man’s gray eyes. “This and family do not go hand in hand. I cannot be John’s father—I killed his father.” His eyes darkened with the shadows of his past mistakes. “Out of pure fucking revenge.” He stared at Clint, his facial muscles knotting as he clenched his jaw. “You said even I deserved to be happy.” He shook his head. “I don’t. I don’t deserve a fucking thing that’s waiting for me back home. Somehow you made the transition with Axel, and you do deserve it. But you’re not the one who shot a kid just to even a fucking score.” His throat worked and brow pinched tighter. “Eye for an eye. One of his for one of ours. That’s what I told Venetti—right after I put a fucking bullet in his son’s head.”

  That was a night Clint would never forget; it haunted his dreams. Cochise wasn’t just “haunted” though; he was fucking tormented every second of his life.

  He was in the way…I guess that makes him collateral damage. Cochise’s final words to Carlo Venetti before emptying his gun into the man’s head.

  Clint stared at his friend; his brother. The man was suffering a slow death. Clint gripped his shoulder. “A man can’t go back and change his past,” he murmured. “He can only move forward. Being a father to John…that’s a step forward. You could have left him in the hospital, alone, and let him wake up to an empty world with no one to look after him, care for him…love him. But you didn’t do that. You made sure there was someone waiting for him, someone to take him home and make him part of a family.” Clint took hold of his wrist again and raised his bloody hand. “This is not who you are. It’s simply what you do to keep your family safe. A family that knows about this…and loves you regardless.” He shook his head. “Don’t say you don’t deserve what’s waiting for you at home, my friend; you damn well deserve it all.”

  An uncharacteristic dampness glistened the Egyptian’s eyes. “And when they learn the truth about John…do you really think they’re still going to love me? Do you think John is going to forgive and forget? I killed his father. I tried to kill him. Do you think he’s going to give a fuck if I’m sorry?” he released a hard breath. “There’s no going forward. Not from that. I will lose everything…as I should.”

  Clint started to counter his argument when Cory entered the room with Cruz, Sanchez, and a few of their guys. Clint cast Cochise another glance then turned to the other men. “Let’s get this done and get home.”

  ♦

  “Take it easy.” Anthony reached out and took away the bottle of scotch from Angelo. “You want to be clear-headed when they bring those fuckers to us.”

  A lead ball of fear sat heavily in Angelo’s gut. He couldn’t relax until Jules was safe at home again…until he saw him with his own eyes and held him in his arms-

  The front door opened and distant muffled voices drifted up the hallway along with the sound of…

  Angelo trembled and gripped the edge of the bar, breath quickening. All eyes turned to the doorway as Cowboy exploded into the room so excited he was practically tripping over his own paws. His throat knotting as tears filled his eyes, Angelo moved unsteadily from behind the bar. Please, God…

  “Papa Jo!” Jules burst through the doorway, eyes bright and an ear to ear grin spread across his sweet face.

  “Jules…” Angelo choked and sank to his knees in a single move as the child dove into his arms, hugging his neck with as much strength as his little arms could muster. Sobs rose inside Angelo and he clung to Jules, tears spilling down his face. Thank you, God…thank you…thank you…He broke down completely, his hand cupped against the back Jules’ head, and cried openly.

  He didn’t know just when Adrian and Anthony kneeled next to him, but simply became aware of their arms wrapped around him and Jules, their tears mixing with Angelo’s own.

  “My little man,” Anthony whispered with a tremor and kissed Jules’ soft hair. “Thank you, God,” he shuddered as a sob lodged in his throat. “Thank you.”

  The presence of others filled the room and Angelo slowly raised his head, vision blurry. Colton stood close by, quietly watching them. Just behind him…

  Angelo let go of Jules and nearly lunged to his feet, startling the other two men beside him. “You,” he choked, rage boiling up inside him as his eyes locked on the kid standing with Colton. “You fuck!” He moved forward, fists clenching. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

  The kid stared at him wide-eyed and scared shitless, taking an unsteady step back.

  “Wait!” Colton blocked Angelo’s path and held out his hand, warding off the enraged man. “Just…wait. Callum…he fucked up by taking Jules, but he tried to bring him back.”

  “What?” Swallowing thickly, Angelo stared at the young man, noting the bruises on his face and his cut lip. “You…” his throat worked as the anger lingered, sizzling his blood. “You were going to bring him home?”

  Callum nodded hesitantly. “I-I tried. Twice. But I couldn’t…I couldn’t get him out. I-I swear, I tried. I’m sorry.” Tears formed. “I’m sorry I took him. I am.”

  Jules wriggled out of the men’s arms and ran over to Angelo, grabbing his hand. “He tried to bring me home, Papa Jo. He did. Uncle Tazz and Blade got him and beat him up. They’re mean.” His face scrunched. “Really mean.”

  Angelo picked him up and hugged him again, holding him tight.

  Coming cl
oser, Anthony frowned. “Jules? Son, where are your boots?”

  ♦

  “We’re going to do this nice and quiet,” Clint said. “Scatter them and pick them off one by one. I want Tazz alive. He goes back to guest room with the other fucker.” He turned to Cruz. “You got the stuff?”

  Cruz nodded and motioned to one his guys; a young man in his early-to-mid-twenties with short black hair and hazel eyes. “Diego.”

  The young man brought a small metal box to Cruz and opened it up. “Homemade smoke bombs, as requested.” He had a charming grin and gleam in his eyes that reminded Clint of Shay. “Ready to smoke them out?” Diego practically jittered with anticipation, eager to get the party started.

  Clint nodded and Diego took two of the smoke bombs from the box and handed the rest to Cruz. “Let’s stick this pig.”

  “Hey.” Cruz grabbed his arm when the young man started to scoot down the corridor. “Be extracareful, you hear me? No crazy stunts. You have a baby on the way. If something happens to you, Marissa will string me up by the balls.”

  Diego grinned. “Been there.” He winced and clutched his crotch. “You definitely don’t want that.” He laughed low and winked. “No worries, my brother, I shall be in and out like a flash.”

  “Marissa’s complained about that exact thing,” Sanchez quipped.

  Shooting Sanchez a wounded look, Diego replied with a smirk, “Ouch.”

  Cruz chuckled quietly. “Get it done and get back here—in a flash.”

  The kid winked again and slipped down the corridor, half crouched, legs nimble, movements fluid and silent. When he came to the turn that would take him out of sight, he cast a quick look back at Cruz, grinned and vanished around the corner. Cruz looked anxious as he addressed his boys. “Get ready to move.”

  The small group crept forward stealthily, led by Clint and Cory. Cochise took up the rear, knife in hand. Clint nodded at Cory and they both unsheathed their blades.