by N Gray
Nightcrawler
N Gray
Copyright © 2020 by N Gray
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All rights reserved
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No part of this ebook may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without express written permission from the publisher. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
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Nightcrawler is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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First Edition 2020
Edited by Brian Paone
Published in South Africa by Cutman Press
Cover by Cutman Designs
Contents
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4 years earlier
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Present day
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Now read the series
From the author
Also by
Additional content - 1st chapters
1st Chapter - Monster Features
23. Ravenous Part 1
1st Chapter - Deadly Pattern
24. Deadly Pattern
1st Chapter - Ulysses Exposed
25. Ulysses Exposed
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Details can be found at the end of the book.
Revenge is a tough pill to swallow.
Are you willing to sink to those dark depths of despair?
Rather move on, it’s easier on your soul.
- N Gray -
4 years earlier
Chapter One
I thumbed off the radio and opened my window halfway to eavesdrop on Nails’s and Poison’s conversation. Poison was the President of the Savages Motorcycle Club in Chicago and Nails his second in command. They stood one house from where I had parked my car. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hear a word, as they spoke in low, hushed tones, and I was too far away. While they spoke, I scrutinized their appearance; their weathered leather jackets had seen better days, but the patch in the middle of their backs was still in pristine condition. The aged helmets in their hands had various painted evil graphics, and I doubted it protected their heads much. But they were bad and one of the more dangerous clubs around, and I didn’t care much if they fell off their bikes. They were a law unto their own, and I knew some cops were in their pocket, while the others looked the other way. From what I knew, they were into weapons and drugs and possibly used women as currency. But that’s not why I was watching them.
In the rearview mirror, I saw Mikey approach and sat straighter in the seat. He realized the two bikers were on his path and kept glancing at them as he hurriedly crossed to the other side of the road instead. With a steady pace, he passed the corner shop, eyes averted and shoulders slumped.
“What are you doing, Mikey?” I mumbled to myself. He gave the bikers a wide berth, making it painfully obvious he was avoiding them.
Nails noticed Mikey and yelled at him to come to them.
Mikey ignored Nails and entered the next open shop.
Poison squeezed Nails’s shoulder, nodding in affirmation, then turned to go in the opposite direction, passing my vehicle.
Nails pocketed items I couldn’t discern and ran across the street.
Once Poison had passed and was too busy thumbing his phone to notice me, I climbed out my car. “Shit,” I said when I saw Nails enter the same shop as Mikey. I slammed shut my car door and, not bothering to lock it, followed them.
Once I reached the shop, I pretended to be interested in the items in the window display. When I was positive Nails was nowhere near the front of the store, I entered and greeted the man behind the counter then approached the far-right aisle. I browsed the shelves and stared at labels but read none of them. In the far left-hand corner, I heard Nails, his voice raised and menacing, then it went quiet. I stopped at the end of the aisle and slowly peered through the items on the shelf to my left, edging closer until I could see them without being seen myself.
Nails had his meaty paw around Mikey’s neck, whose face was screaming in silent agony. “You hear me, boy?” Nails yelled, releasing Mikey.
His loud words made me flinch.
Nails pushed Mikey against the wall and opened the fridge door to grab beers then headed toward the exit.
I bunched my hands into fists, pushing down vengeful thoughts; I would make him hurt later. Tears slid down Mikey’s cheeks, which he quickly wiped away and scanned the shop for any witnesses to his moment of weakness.
“Don’t you say a fucking thing, or you’re next!” Nails screamed at the cowering person behind the counter while carrying a six-pack of beer under one arm and grabbing items off the counter and stuffing them in his pockets. “You’re donating this to me, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir. It’s yours, whatever you want. Take.” The man stared at the floor, not looking the biker in the eyes.
I thought it was smart for the man to just let the asshole be, unless the cashier had a gun behind the counter, which I doubted. This was a safe neighborhood.
“Thanks, dickhead,” Nails said before leaving the shop. He turned around and yelled, “If you don’t start selling what I give you, I will fuck you up then go after your grandmother and that little sister of yours. You hear me, boy?”
“Yes, Nails,” Mikey said, his voice quivering.
I could only imagine what Mikey was picturing, how that disgusting man would hurt them. It would’ve been so easy for me to get rid of him right here and now. But I wanted to do painful things to Nails and wanted the moment to last, to witness the horror in his eyes as I took my time with him. It would bring me tremendous joy to wipe that smug look off his face—permanently.
I hung back in the shop until Mikey had composed himself and exited. I slapped a bill on the counter to pay for the items Nails had borrowed.
The frightened shopkeeper burst into tears. “Thank you, mister, thank you. What is your name?”
“Green. Just call me Mr. Green.” Not having the stomach to console him, I left the shop and followed Mikey.
On my left, Nails crossed the road, climbed onto his bike and drove off, revving it as he went along. To my right, Mikey was already a block away. I followed him for four more blocks, then, when he entered his house on the corner, I hung back and waited. When a car turned the corner and parked in the house's driveway Mikey had entered, I ducked between the two houses, hiding my body behind the wall and a bush.
Cheryl climbed out, carrying groceries, and used her foot to close her car door. “Mikey, are you home yet, dear?”
“I’m here.” Mikey ran down the stairs, helped his grandmother unload the groceries and carried bags inside for her.
Once they were inside, I l
eft my hiding spot and returned to my car.
Chapter Two
I lifted the hammer above my head and swung down with all my strength. It connected with his ankle, crushing every bone as the hammer tore through it and into the cement block tied to his leg.
Nails screamed, but the tape covering his mouth silenced the sounds. His face blanched before turning a nice plum shade. Then he passed out.
I’d crushed his ankle while he was sober. I wanted him to feel every single thing I did to him.
I had bought Nails a drink at the sports bar earlier, spiked it so he would have to leave early then waited for him to get home. While he spewed his guts into the toilet, I had entered his home to set up. I had quietly moved his office chair into the living area, set my bag on the floor and opened it. Inside, I had my tools—a roll of duct tape, a rope, a hunting knife, a small saw, pliers, and my gun—in case I lost patience.
“Hello? Anybody out there?” Nails called before vomiting again.
My lucky sneakers were soft against the wooden floor. I rounded a corner and entered his bedroom where I found him in his en suite bathroom. The door was wide open with his back to me and his hairy ass in the air while his face was in the toilet bowl.
I chuckled at the sight. This would be fun.
“Hey, asshole!” I yelled.
Nails jackknifed into a standing position then hunched forward as the stomach cramps hit again. The eyedrops I had dripped into his drink would do that to him all night long.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked with a moan of murderous intent then doubled over and clutched his stomach. “I know you. You were the one who bought me the drink.” Realization reflected in his eyes. “You did this?” He knew he was a target and I the arrow.
“I’m here to teach you a lesson, douchebag.”
“Yeah …?” he slurred.
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t do nothing to you.” The lines between his eyes deepened.
When I reached the doorjamb of his bathroom, he lunged for me, but I sidestepped. He tripped over his feet and fell.
I lifted my elbow and brought it down with such force that when it connected with his spine, his head rocked backward, which hopefully gave him whiplash and an ache I knew would hurt throughout his body.
With the momentum of his fall and my strike, he hit the ground with such violence that when his head slammed into the tiles, it knocked him unconscious, and he moaned in his state.
Even though I lifted weights, he was three hundred pounds of dead-fat weight and impossible for me to pick up. I could never carry the lard ass for that long, so I dragged him by his feet, not worrying where his head connected with corners or walls.
With a heave, I got his ass in his office chair and taped his arms and chest to it. I tightly wrapped tape around his mouth a dozen times, cutting into his cheeks. With my car now parked in his garage, I retrieved items from the trunk now that I had the time to do what I’d planned. I placed the small cement block near his right foot and taped them together. The only limb that was free was his left leg.
After twenty minutes, his eyes flittered open, and he saw me. He pulled on his restrains to try free himself.
That’s when I swung my hammer into his ankle. He needed to be awake for his punishment. He needed to feel every-goddamn-thing.
I gripped his pinky finger with the pliers and squeezed the soft flesh until the bone stopped me.
Nails tried to pull away.
“Don’t move,” I said and squeezed.
Nails cried out in agony and pulled away. “Please stop. I can give you money. Anything you want, I can get it.”
“Stop squirming.” I snapped the little bone in two.
Nails shrilled in pain. His eyes rolled into the back of his head.
Every time he passed out, I stopped and waited for him to wake up to continue on the next limb.
Two hours later, I washed my gloved hands in his bathroom basin, removed the first layer and pocketed them for disposal later. I noticed a tear in the thumb and index finger, so they were of no use to me even though I had another pair underneath.
I towered over Nails as his limp body fell to one side. His chest rose and fell, but his breathing was short and shallow. His bottom lip had split, his eyes were swelling, and I had broken each of his fingers. The only still-perfect limb was his left leg. He would need that one to walk on—if he could still move. He was alive and felt every single limb throb with pain.
“Wake up, asshole.” I sliced through the tape that bound his wrists to the chair and kicked his left foot. Even though it was tempting to kick the right torn one, I wasn’t that cruel. I smirked at the thought.
Nails jerked in the chair, cowering behind his broken hands.
“Stand up.”
He was very amenable. Through gritted teeth and pain etched on his face, he slowly moved forward on the chair. Using his elbows, he leaned into the armrests and pushed himself forward, scooting his ass to the edge of the seat. With every ounce of energy he had left, he stood. He momentarily lost balance and grabbed the armrest to steady himself. He stood, albeit swaying, his swollen hooded eyes glaring at me.
My smile stretched across my face, like the cat who ate the bird. “Perfect. Now walk to my car.” My words were clipped and dripped with hostility.
Nails knew better than to disobey me—again. Leaning on his left leg, he slowly hopped toward the kitchen island where he rested, leaning against the counter, until he had enough energy or didn’t feel any pain. With his elbows on the island countertop, he lifted his hands to stare at the crooked bones I had broken in each finger. They were purple from the bruising and swollen. He didn’t try to move them.
After a few moments of sucking in air and puffing out his chest, he hopped to the garage door. Once he was inside the garage, I opened the trunk of my car.
“I’m not getting into that,” he mumbled; his words were hard to hear through his split lip, but I understood him.
“Do you want your left ankle smashed like the right?”
He eyed his right ankle, shook his head and mumbled, “No.” His right foot dangled by his Achilles tendon.
I’d smashed his ankle bone into a million pieces, which sliced through his muscles and skin that surrounded the bone. No orthopedic surgeon could ever correct it; it would have to be amputated. I’d strapped his foot to his leg with duct tape while he was passed out—I was feeling generous.
“Good. Then climb in.” My hand held open the trunk, my fingers tapping lightly on the sides.
He leaned against the car, sucked in a deep breath and fell inside. He cried and swore as his shoulder and hip landed inside first, taking most of the impact that should’ve been for his broken fingers and ankle.
“We’re going for a little ride, so I need you to keep quiet or the next person I play with is your sister. Do you understand me?”
He nodded. “Yes.” His eyes widened, flashing more white.
“Good. If you behave yourself, I’ll give you a little treat.” I grinned menacingly as I shut the trunk.
Chapter Three
The gravel crunched beneath the tires as I drove the winding road, turned left and parked under a large tree. My car would not be visible from the road we had just travelled on, so the chances of us being seen were slim—unless they took the same slip road. The full moon blessed me with enough light to see, so it wasn’t necessary to use my flashlight.
I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat and climbed out the car. The evening air was refreshing as it cooled my warm, damp skin. This place used to be full of life once upon a time, but, when two couples had been murdered during a picnic, people stopped coming here. From what I could tell, I was the only one who frequented the area near Wolf Road Woods.
I opened the trunk, and the smell of urine assaulted my nose. “What the fuck, man? You piss yourself already?” I grabbed Nails by his shirt and pulled him up.
His crooked fingers held onto my wrists; I felt bone
s grind against the other as he cried out in pain.
“Good. I hope that hurts, asshole.” I pushed him down again, and his head hit the side of the car with a loud thud. “Get out. We have things to do. And, if you want to live, I suggest you hurry. I can’t hang around here all night.”
I stood back as Nails lifted one leg then the other and swung them over the outer edge of the trunk and pushed himself onto his elbows. With one heave, he fell out the car and landed on his good leg but still cried out in pain. “You still haven’t told me why you’re doing this?” He winced. “I don’t even know who you are, man. What the hell?” he said in a growl through gritted teeth and a split lip. When I didn’t entertain his question, he continued. “If my boys find out what you’re doing to me, they will hunt you down and kill you.” He spat the last two words as if they were bitter to say.
“They can hunt all they want, Nails, but they won’t find me. Come. If you want your treat, you have to hurry.” I lifted my wrist and pointed to my watch. “Just in time.” I smirked, slung my bag over my shoulder, turned on my heel and walked away from him.
Nails bellowed in agony but followed. He only had one good leg—hopped on it for a few steps—then, when he reached a tree, he leaned against it for a few seconds, resting before hopping to the next tree.