by BT Urruela
Jimmy leads us down some rickety wooden stairs once we pass through the utility closet door, the area dark around us. He reaches the bottom and flips the light and I look to my right to see a large concrete basement, the smell damp and musty. There’re rows and rows of weapons on black metal racks and it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
“Holy fuck,” Shane mutters as we join Jimmy at the bottom of the stairs. He grins, putting a palm up for us to proceed.
“Go’on, gents. Check out the goods,” he says with a laugh.
“I wish the ladies were here to see this,” Irish says and I nod in agreement, my eyes still fixed on the arsenal as I walk slowly forward.
“Ahhh, best they aren’t,” Jimmy says with a chuckle and we eye him curiously.
“Fuck, Jimmy, you weren’t kidding,” Shane says, scoping out a stack of wooden boxes in the corner labeled EXPLOSIVES. “You got everything we need and then some. How the hell long have you been collecting?” he asks. “You got enough shit here to blow up this whole damn town.”
“Well, shit…” Jimmy looks at the ceiling as if in thought and taps at his chin. “Damn near ten years since I bought the place.”
“Christ,” Shane mutters, observing what looks to be rocket-propelled grenades. Jimmy taps me on the shoulder and motions to the door.
“I told y’all I got a present for ya too,” he says, grinning, and Shane eyes the door curiously.
“And what kind of present would that be, Jimmy?” Shane asks as Jimmy steps up to the door and places a hand on the knob.
“Why don’ ya see for yerself?” He winks and turns the knob, pushing the door open. He takes a few steps into the pitch-black room and flips a switch that floods the room with light.
Dead in the center of the bedroom-sized storage closet are two men, duct taped to metal folding chairs, with sand bags over their heads. They squirm in their seats, but to no real effect as Jimmy has them taped around the legs, midsection and chest. They’re seated on top of a large blue tarp nearly the size of the room.
“Two of Javi’s guys,” Jimmy says, walking toward them. He pulls the sandbags off their heads. Their mouths are duct taped as well and there is a desperate fear in their eyes. “They came in here all liquored up last night. I thought, hell, might as well do my part.”
“How the hell’d you bag both of them, Jimmy?” Shane asks, pacing back and forth in front of the two men, his eyes roaming from one to the other.
“Well, like I mentioned, they were piss drunk. Two spiked beers and an emptied out bar later and I had myself some fun.”
“Yeah,” I say, motioning to their bloodied faces. “If you drugged them, what’s with the blood and bruises?”
“Hey, Gabi’s pop was my best friend. I may only be about fifteen years older than her, but I’ve always worried about her like a dad would. He was always talking about her, ya know? Always proud…” His voice trails as he looks to Javi’s men, and then his eyes drift back up to mine. “I just had to get some for myself before I let y’all have at ‘em. Now, go’on and do your worst,” he says with a chuckle, leaning back against the doorframe and crossing his arms.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Shane grunts, and immediately grabs the man on the left by the nape of his neck and throws him, chair and all, face first into the tarp and concrete flooring beneath it. The man lets out a groan, twitching against the ground when Shane pulls the gun out of his waistband and puts the barrel to the back of his head. Before a thought can even be processed, a loud bang echoes throughout the room, bringing all of us back with our arms blocking our faces. As a ringing ravages my eardrums, the smell of gunpowder thick in the air, I slowly lower my arms and see the man’s head split in two and a thick crimson pool of blood spreading out quickly around it. The other man screams into the duct tape, his eyes bulging, as Shane paces slowly past him, the blood-splattered barrel mere inches from the man’s head.
“Now, listen to me, and listen to me good,” Shane says, though it’s muffled through my still-ringing ears. The rest of us in the room compose ourselves as best we can as we wait to see what Shane will do next. “I have no problem with killing you. No problem at all,” he continues, tapping the barrel against the man’s forehead. “But your boy here got it easy. Your death will come much, much slower if you don’t talk.”
Shane drops the gun to his side and turns, motioning to Jimmy. “You got a map?” he asks, and Jimmy nods, proceeding to storage boxes lining the walls. He riffles through a bunch of them, eventually retrieving a weathered map and making his way back over.
“I told ya’ll, I got fuckin’ everything, man. Even got a few toys for ya too,” Jimmy says with a chuckle, nodding to hacksaws, nails, cables connected to a car battery, and a blowtorch on the ground beside the door. Shane observes the items with a grin as he takes the map from Jimmy. He shoots Jimmy an affirmative nod and then opens the map completely, setting it on the ground at the man’s feet, away from the mess of blood beside them. Shane takes a moment, waiting for the man’s eyes to meet his, and when they do, he smiles. “Now, there’s an easy way out of this. With your life still intact. But you need to speak. And you need to speak fast. In two seconds, I’m going to cut one of your arms free. I’ll remove the tape from your mouth, and you will tell me where the fuck Gabriela Michaels is being kept. If you tell me… your life will be spared. Understood?”
The man doesn’t move, but Shane doesn’t look like he cares for a response anyway. He makes a cutting motion toward Rock and then proceeds to rip the duct tape from the man’s mouth carelessly. The man yowls out in pain, yanking his head back and groaning loudly as Rock proceeds to cut one of his arms loose.
“Help! Help!” the man screams, and Jimmy cracks up laughing.
“I already done told ya can’t nobody hear you from down here. Stop your fuckin’ belly achin’,” Jimmy says, scoffing.
Shane slips the gun back in his waistband and then walks around to the back of the folding chair. He squats, grabbing the folding chair by its legs, and he lifts the chair up, toppling the man face-first into the map just like he had done to his buddy before him.
“Hey, Shane,” Irish says, bringing Shane’s attention to him. “Let me bat leadoff here, huh? You guys can finish it out. I have a special treat for this motherfucker.”
Shane doesn’t say anything, considering it for a moment as he walks back over to us. He shrugs. “Have at it. Just don’t kill him.”
“Oh, I won’t,” Irish says with a smile. He walks to the man, squats near his head, and says, “So here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re either gonna show me where Gabriela is on this map, or you’re gonna regret having not. Understand?”
“You don’t fuckin’ get it, you dumb fucks. Whatever you think you can do to me, Javi will do ten times worse if I talk,” the man yells, hitting the floor with his palm in frustration.
Chase looks back at us and smirks. “Well, let’s get creative then, huh? I like a good challenge,” he says, standing. He digs into his back pocket and pulls out brass knuckles. As he slides them on his fingers, he looks toward Rock. “Hey, hold this cocksucker’s arm down for me, will you?”
Rock cracks a smile and nods, straddling the man’s arm as he fights to pull it away. With two hands controlling the man’s wrist, Rock drops down onto a knee, pinning the man’s arm to the ground. The man squeals in pain and balls his hand into a tight fist, but Rock forces his fingers open and holds his hand flat to the ground. Without warning, Irish drives his fist down into the man’s fingers. There’s an audible crunch as the brass knuckles crush up the bones. He howls in pain, trembling and fighting for his hand back without much luck. Irish comes down again, on the top part of the man’s fingers this time, the small bones, and there’s another stomach-turning crunch and the man screams out so loud it may almost be louder than the gunshot.
Irish nods toward Shane. “Hey, make this motherfucker watch.”
Shane drops to his knees and grabs a fistful of the man’s hair, y
anking his head up. Once he does, Irish punches his fingers again, over and over and over. By the time Irish is done, some of the man’s fingers are still connected by shredded flaps of skin. Others are completely detached. The man cries out, pleading with us and violently thrashing in the chair.
Irish pulls his fist back, shaking it off, and then he slowly stands, slipping the bloody brass knuckles off his fingers as the man weeps like a child. Admiring his dirty work for a moment, Irish slips the knuckles back into his pocket. He crouches again, looks the man in his fluttering eyes and he says, “Listen to me good. I hardly know Gabriela Michaels. She’s pretty much a stranger to me. So, what the fuck do you think her brother and best friend have in store for you?”
Irish scoffs, shaking his head as he stands back straight. “I sure hope you talk. It’d be a damn shame to torture you all goddamn night just to end up killing you.”
Rock fires up a blowtorch, and the distinct sound sends the man into an all-out panic. The smell of urine quickly fills the room. Shouting over his cries, Shane says, “And we’ll take all night if we need it, motherfucker.”
“How long do we have?” I ask, seated on the futon with my hands in Xander’s lap.
“Five, maybe six hours,” he says. “Rock, Shane and Irish are figuring that out right now. They think it’s best to hit just before dawn.”
“And you’re going with them?”
“Yeah, Paige. I have to,” he says, putting a hand to my cheek. “But everything will be okay, babe. This Javi guy doesn’t have as many men there as Shane thought he would. Shane pulled up the layout of the old mill online. He thinks it’ll be an easy hit.”
“And how do you know, Xander? How do you know the guy just wasn’t setting you up?” I ask, my hands trembling in his.
“Paige, this guy would’ve given us his mother’s head on a platter. Trust me. He was telling the truth. Besides, he’s still in Jimmy’s basement if anything goes down.” He cracks a smile and I just roll my eyes, pulling my hands back.
“I’m glad you think this is funny, Xander. I’m scared shitless over here worried I’m going to lose the only thing I’ve got left and you’re making jokes.”
“Babe,” he says, pulling my hands back into his. “What can I do to make you feel better about this?”
“Let me go in with you,” I say, and he pulls back, shaking his head.
“No way, Paige. Not a chance.”
“And why not?” I ask.
“Ummm, I’m not going to let anything happen to you, first off.”
“Oh, but something happening to you is okay?”
“That’s different,” he says, though he doesn’t look convinced of it.
“Please enlighten me, Xander. How so?” I ask, and he doesn’t say anything at first. “Come on, mister. I’m waiting.”
“It just is, babe.”
I scoff, returning my hands to my lap while shaking my head. “It’s not. Not one bit. I’m a great shot. You know that. And don’t say I’ve never done something like this before, because neither have you. I’m going, Xander, and that’s that.” I cross my arms, looking away from him stubbornly.
“Paige, come on,” he says, setting his hands to my lap and leaning in. “Please, stay back.”
I look at him again, compassion in my eyes, but with a stern tone I say, “No, Xander. I just can’t. The only way I’ll feel better about you going is if I go too.”
He rubs the back of his neck with a stiff hand, his gaze roaming the room. “Please, Paige. If something happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”
“And if something happened to you, baby,” I say, putting my hands to his cheeks and pulling him in, “I’d never forgive myself either. So, if we go down…” I kiss him, his warm lips pressed against mine, and then I pull away with a smile. “…we go down together.”
“I hate you,” he whispers, his eyes dropping and acceptance creeping on his face.
“No, you don’t,” I say in a playful tone. “Not one little bit.”
I drop my head until his eyes are forced to meet mine. They’re filled with sadness and it melts my heart to see him so concerned.
“I love you, Xander.”
“I love you, Paige,” he says, his voice cracking. I pull him in and kiss him again, our lips uniting and tongues gently tangling. I uncross my legs and straddle his lap, kissing him harder as my ass meets his bulge. I drop my hands to his thick carved shoulders, his naked chest flexing at my touch and he slides his own hands down to my ass, giving me a good squeeze. He pulls his lips from mine and drops his mouth to my neck, taking skin between teeth. I gasp, digging my fingernails into his shoulders as he lifts me up and tosses me down onto the futon. He lifts my tank up and over my head, admiring the way my tits fall out of the shirt before his lips crash against my body, moving from my breasts down to my stomach and back up. His tongue glides up my neck to my earlobe and he takes it between his teeth. I moan and wiggle beneath him as pleasure tears through me, my nipples hardening and a heat taking hold.
“I’m going to own you,” he whispers, releasing a slow hot breath.
“You fucking better,” I breathe out, my heart pounding against his solid ample chest.
He drives his hips into me and I can feel his thickness nearly bursting from his jeans. I tug at them until he gets the point, slipping a hand down to unbutton them as he trails kisses down my stomach. As he pulls his jeans down, he bites the waistband of my Soffes and pulls back, looking me in the eye with a hot, demanding gaze. He releases my shorts and stands, shedding his jeans, his eyes never leaving mine, and then he leans back down into me, kissing me. Making me forget all about where we are, from where we’ve come, and what’s ahead. Taking away all my fears, my pain, my despair. His lips, and so much more, fill my body with a complete satisfaction you only really get when two people are making love, not just fucking. This is the real deal. This is everything.
His lips connect with my neck again, his hands moving to my Soffes and tugging them off, along with my panties, and tossing them to the floor. Kissing a pathway to my desperate sex, his hands move to my wrists, his fingers wrapping around them, and he holds them against the futon. I squirm against his grip, my eyes closing and head thrashing back as his tongue meets my wet clit. His breath is hot, his tongue soft and touching me in just the right spot… in just the right way. I whimper, the movement of his tongue sending surges of intense pleasure up and down my limbs. I fight harder against his hands and they grip me firmer to the futon as he circles kisses around my bud and blows his hot breath against it. I tremble, aching for him to be inside me.
To take me like it’s the last time we’ll ever get.
He lets go of one of my hands and brings his own hand down to his beautiful cock. He slips it out, not even bothering to take his briefs off. He taps it lightly against my entrance, my body twists and turns. At once I need him to fill me completely. I grab one of his wrists, pulling at him.
“Put your cock in me,” I whisper. “I need you”
“Fuck, baby,” he gasps, slipping the tip in.
“More, I need more,” I beg.
He thrusts in further, throwing his head back, and then he’s completely seated, my body melts in pure satisfaction. A tingling sensation sweeps across my body as he glides in and out slowly, working up speed as my breathing picks up. He grabs my wrists, bringing my hands to his stomach and I dig my fingernails in… digging them deeper the faster he goes. He winces and then moans when I break skin. He thrusts faster, as if trying to punish me. And I want him to. I need making love to become fucking, sweet pleasure to embrace pain. I want him to fuck me like it’s the end of the world.
“Fuck!” I gasp as I feel myself tingling. The electric build-up in the pit of my stomach that surges into an all-out, body-writhing, mind-numbing orgasm. As I peak, he keeps crashing into me, harder and faster, violently taking what is his. He owns me, body and soul. His hands circle my throat and I beg for it… for all of it.
He
falls into me, chest to chest, and grasps my cheek as he continues to take me. Slipping the other hand behind my head, he grabs a fistful of hair and his lips connect with mine hungrily. He takes ragged breaths as his whole body tenses, every chiseled muscle in a hard flex against my body. He drops his head into my neck letting out a deep moan. Buried inside me still, he lies motionless, panting.
“Holy shit, babe,” he says against my neck. “That was fucking amazing.”
I turn my head, kissing his sweaty forehead and taking him in for a moment before pulling away.
“We’re going to be okay,” I say, trying to convince myself more than anything else.
And desperately hoping that we will be.
There’s an eerie silence taking up the van as we position ourselves just outside the old logging mill, forty-five minutes north of Trinity in the middle of nowhere. Irish slows the vehicle to a stop and Shane slides the door open, letting the dim light shine through. It’s a half hour before sunrise and there’s a touch of light and dew on all the vegetation surrounding us. There’s a line of trees that separates us from the logging mill and makes it impossible to see through. Shane, Rock and I hop out of the van to get a closer look when headlights catch our attention far down the same road from which we came.
We hightail it back into the van and shut the door just as the vehicle stops behind us, headlights still shining bright. We cock our weapons, ready for the worst, and peer out the back window of the van.
“What the fuck,” Shane mutters, lifting his head for a better view. The headlights eventually cut out, as does the engine, and the driver’s side door opens.
“Should I take off?” Irish asks.
“Just hold off for a second,” Shane says. “There can’t be more of them than there are us. I fucking guarantee that.”
A boot hits the ground from the truck behind us and I tense up, waiting for the other doors to open, but they don’t. Instead, the driver’s side door closes and who else but Jimmy comes walking toward the van, a rifle in his hands.