by Monica James
She casually leads me into the main foyer where Jesús is collecting empty champagne glasses from the table. When he sees me, he nods once, gesturing I’m to follow him and Peaches toward a door in the corner of the room.
I thought we’d go via the stairs, but I don’t question it.
When we enter the kitchen, I understand why we’re here. Jesús quickly takes off his vest and offers it to me. Peaches reaches for a silver champagne bucket and two glasses. I take off my tie and jacket, and slip on the vest.
Peaches places a white linen napkin over my arm and hands me the champagne glasses. We look the part, and Jesús grins as he looks down at his gold watch.
“Three, two, and one.” I have no idea what we’re counting down until I hear an array of car alarms sound from outside. A decoy.
“Go, Colmillo. You only have about twenty minutes until his wife returns. Little Miss Perfect can’t let anything ruin her night. She’ll take the guards with her, so he’ll be alone. I will knock when it’s time.”
Tick tock, motherfucker.
Excitement courses through me as I follow Peaches out through another doorway that comes out near the staircase. It’s manned by two assholes. They look at our name tags. I now understand why Peaches is with me.
Security is tight and going alone would rouse suspicions. But Peaches is the embodiment of the girl-next-door type. Me, on the other hand? I rouse a lot of suspicions, hence why Peaches is standing by my side, smiling sweetly.
“We’re here to bring Mr. Solomon his champagne,” she says without a quiver.
One of the men looks at me closely. He is not buying into my new role. Thankfully, the other dude doesn’t want to get into trouble with the big boss and removes the rope so we can walk up the stairs. Peaches leads the way while I tail her victoriously. If only they knew they were the first flaw in the design.
Peaches knows the way and confidently walks toward a door. There are no men standing outside it, which surprises me. She takes a deep breath and knocks. “Mr. Solomon, I have your champagne.”
When there is no response, I crack my neck from side to side, suddenly tense. What if he’s gone?
Peaches knocks again.
The anticipation is unbearable, and just when I think the plan has failed, I hear it. A voice I will soon mute forever.
“Leave it by the door.”
Peaches sighs, appearing just as relieved as I am that Scrooge is inside. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t. Health and safety laws prohibit me from leaving anything in the hallway in case of an evacuation.”
Scrooge curses before I hear footsteps sweep across the carpet. The moment he’s close, Peaches thrusts the bucket into my hands and scampers away. She got me in, and now, it’s up to me to do the rest. Inhaling and exhaling, I lower my chin and wait for the door to open.
There is no way I can prepare for this.
When the door opens, I shake hands with the devil inside me. The deal is done.
“Just leave it on the table,” Scrooge orders, annoyed as his shiny shoes storm off away from me. I can smell the cigarette smoke.
I don’t hesitate. Not this time.
I enter the room, softly closing and locking the door behind me. With my chin still lowered, I quickly scan the room, but it’s unmanned. Jesús was right. The decoy worked. Scrooge is alone. He must really love his wife to send his bodyguards away, but he thinks he’s safe. He doesn’t know the next few breaths will be the last ones he ever takes.
I savor the silence, the silence before the motherfucking storm.
“Are you deaf, boy? I said—”
I don’t allow him to finish because each breath he takes is further insult to my brother’s memory.
Lifting my chin slowly, I meet his eyes, the eyes that have haunted me for fourteen years. He stops mid turn, anger turning to recognition, and then to…fear, fear that feeds my demons for more.
Scrooge stares at me, wide-eyed, his cigarette hanging from his agape mouth. It seems he can’t believe I’m here. Jaws would have assured him things were taken care of, which is why he was careless and sent his guards away.
I had an entire speech planned, but standing here now, all the words escape me because all I want to do is hurt him…and hurt him really, really bad.
It’s the ultimate standoff, watching the other for any signs of weakness. He knows who I am. He has information Kong never had. So now, the question is, what is he planning to do with that knowledge?
“You stupid idiot,” he mocks, shaking his head while I envision detaching it from his shoulders. “My guards will be here any second, and when they do, you’ll regret coming here.” He blows a ring of smoke, faking confidence.
He talks big, but too bad for him, I know his secrets.
Tsking, I place the champagne and glasses onto the table. “Wow, what a wonderful story. Too bad it’s a load of shit.”
I take great pleasure in seeing his eye twitch as he butts out his cigarette in the ashtray.
Getting comfortable as I plan on being here for a while, I take off my jacket. Casually strolling forward, I admire him for not backing away. He stands his ground. Stripping away his cockiness is what I will enjoy the most. That, and slitting his fucking throat.
“I know your three monkey boys are downstairs with your wife.” I’ve struck a nerve, so I decide to continue because seeing him squirm gives me life. “Such a pretty thing, she is. I bet your daughters take after their momma. Am I right?”
The color drains from his face.
During his heartfelt, bullshit speech, he mentioned he had kids, but he never revealed their gender. But I know their ages and their names, all because Paul was the best fucking partner in crime. God rest his soul.
“How are the twins? Jenny and Jackie. Such cute names for such cute kids. Can you imagine what someone would pay for such cuteness, such innocence?” I ask calmly. “And your eldest. Wow, you have a little diva on your hands there. I already feel sorry for her future husband.”
“Motherfucker!” he seethes, clenching his fists. “What do you want?”
I laugh in response. Is he really asking me this?
“What I want,” I reply, walking back to the table and unwrapping the champagne bottle, “I can never, ever have because you and your three motherfucking friends took that away from me.” I end the sentence with the popping of the cork.
Pouring us some champagne, I offer him a glass. He eyes it suspiciously but eventually snatches it from my hand.
“Let’s make a toast, shall we?” I raise my glass high in the air.
“What are we toasting?” He is playing along, knowing his family’s life is on the line if he doesn’t.
“To tacos, Gangnam Style, and oh, to your death,” I reply, lifting the glass to my lips.
Panic has set in, and Scrooge is seeking out every option for escape. But there are none. This ends now. Kudos to him for thinking it’s not.
Just as I finish my drink, Scrooge throws his champagne in my face and scampers for the balcony doors. Really? That’s his plan? I’m disappointed.
Wiping a hand down my face, I shake my head at his stupidity. In his panic, he gets tangled in the mesh curtains, and this would be fucking hilarious if not for the fact that I want to end this asshole, like yesterday.
Without thought, I reach for the ice bucket and hurl it across the room. When it connects with the back of Scrooge’s head and a pained oof leaves him as he drops like a sack of shit, I holler, “Touchdown!”
I stalk across the room, yanking him by the back of his collar.
He turns around, attempting to connect with me, but I use the bottom of the champagne bottle to subdue him when I slam it into his temple. He buckles, though he fights, still attempting to flee. But he’s not going anywhere.
“We’re going to have a little chat.” I don’t give him a chance to argue as I shove him into the armchair. He is dazed from all the blows to the head, so he stays seated for now.
“I’ve been lo
oking for you for a very long time,” I reveal, standing in front of his chair. “It was the only thing I lived for. I’m sure Jaws has filled you in, so I won’t bore you with the details. But I killed Hero, I killed Kong, and now, I’m going to kill you.”
I’ve stopped looking for answers to why they did what they did because there are none.
He stops groaning and looks up at me. “You are nothing.” He spits on my shoe. “If you think threatening me with death is going to scare me, you’re wrong. You’re still fucking weak. And your brother is still fucking dead.”
Tipping my face to the ceiling, I inhale slowly, needing a moment.
By baiting me, he’s hoping I’ll kill him quickly. He knows how this is going to end. And the coward that he is thinks if he pisses me off, I’ll finish him off painlessly. Slowly meeting his eyes, I shake my head. He thought wrong.
“Yes, Damian is dead because of you. I wanted answers. I thought that if I understood why you did it, this”—I claw over my heart—“anger would go away. But it hasn’t, and that’s because knowing there isn’t an answer makes things so much worse.”
Scrooge waits for me to continue.
“But I think this monster was always inside me, waiting to break free. You killed the wrong brother,” I utter. “You killed the one who would have forgiven you. Because me? I don’t forgive. And no matter how I kill you, your suffering will never be enough.
“Which is why I want you to know that once I end you, I am going to go downstairs, find your pretty little wife, and defile her in the most delicious of ways.”
Scrooge’s chest begins to rise and fall quickly as he clenches his fists on top of his thighs.
“And she’s going to like it. She’s going to beg me for more.”
“Don’t underestimate my wife,” he snarls, blood trickling down his cheek from the wound at his temple.
Nodding, I place my hands into my pants pockets. “And don’t underestimate the love of a mother because when I’m done with her, I’m going to drive to your house and end your fucking bloodline.”
He pales, a gasp escaping him. “They’re just kids. How could you?”
“Funny, that’s exactly what Kong said to me before I stabbed him. Too bad your moral compasses weren’t in check the night you killed my brother. He was just a kid too. So was I. But that didn’t seem to make a difference.”
Fear overshadows Scrooge. “I have money. Lots of it. You can have it all.”
Curling my lip in disgust, I ask, “What the fuck am I supposed to do with money? Live a normal life? Make someone an honest woman, marry her, and have two point five kids? Is that what I’m supposed to do?”
“I don’t care what you do. Just leave me and my family alone!” he cries. “Here, take my watch. It’s worth ten thousand dollars.” He quickly unfastens his Rolex and tosses it to me. It lands on the floor at my feet, and that’s where it’ll stay.
Laughing, I shake my head, incredulous of the nerve of this jerk-off. “You’re just not getting it, Benjamin. There is only one thing you can offer me… and that’s your fucking head. Kneel.”
Scrooge blinks quickly, unsure if he heard me correctly. But he did. When I stand unbending, he slowly gets to his knees in front of me.
“Seeing as you’ve had a lapse in memory, maybe we should reenact the night to help you remember?”
“You already got your vengeance!” he screams, spittle flying free. “You killed Kong and Hero. What more do you want?”
“I really wish you’d stop asking me such stupid questions,” I goad. “Do you remember what you said to Damian when he was covered in blood and piss?”
The motherfucker actually appears to contemplate the question as though he’s forgotten something so monumental like killing someone.
“Let me remind you.” Gripping his hair, I yank his head back at a painful angle. “I always wanted to be quarterback. But they said I was too small. Not so small now, am I, asshole?” I repeat exactly what Scrooge said to Damian. I have memorized every single word.
“You said that to him after you stole his ring. The ring you wear like a fucking trophy.”
“You want it back?” he exclaims, attempting to yank it off his finger. “Here, take it.”
It won’t budge, and that’s probably because he’s worn it since he stole it from my brother.
I cluck my tongue. “It looks like it’s stuck. Here, let me help.” And by help, I mean with my switchblade.
When I withdraw the blade from my pocket, Scrooge freezes and realizes it’s now or never. With a surge of adrenaline, he leaps to his feet and attempts to tackle me, but these assholes have forgotten I’m no longer a helpless kid.
In my other pocket, I packed some brass knuckles. A gun is too easy for this motherfucker. I intend to inflict as much pain as I can. Looping my fingers through the holes, I wait for him to come at me and give him a small shred of hope that he has a fighting chance.
I soon take that hope away when I swing out and connect with his face. The squelched sound it makes has me hollering in happiness. Scrooge is anything but happy as he sways on his feet, looking for something to hold onto before he falls.
I don’t give him a reprieve, however.
I charge forward and hit him again and again, the brass knuckles causing enough damage for his blood to spray across the room and carpet. He collapses to his knees, struggling to breathe. I kick him in the back, and he falls on his stomach, desperate to flee…just how Damian was. And just how he did to Damian, I place my boot into the small of his back, yank his arm backward, and break his fucking wrist with a crack.
He howls, but I can’t have him raising any alarms, so I reach for a plastic apple from the Art Deco piece on the coffee table and shove it into his mouth so deeply, he gags.
Oink, oink, little piggy.
The green diamond catches the light, and a sudden sadness overtakes my rage. Damian was so proud of this ring and to know this vile cunt wore it longer than my brother has me ready to throw down.
Dropping to a squat, I grab his finger and slice through muscle, tissue, and bone until it hangs by a tendon. I yank on it, excitement coursing through me as it snaps free.
Peering down at the finger in my palm, I smile. Damian’s ring will finally be on the right finger. I place it in my pocket for safekeeping. “You’ve worn my brother’s ring as a trophy, haven’t you, you sick fuck? No wonder you and Jaws are best friends.”
Scrooge is anything but smiling as his muffled cries from around the apple hint at his pain. Looking at the clock on the mantel, I see that I’m running out of time.
Yanking back his head by his hair, I press the tip of the blade into the side of his throat, watching his frantic pulse pound wildly against his bloody skin. “Still think I want your money?” I snicker into his ear, removing the apple.
“I’m so-sorry,” he splutters, face bloody and bruised. “I will tell you where Jaws is. I will take you to him.”
“It’s too late for sorry. I know where he is, asshole. If this is your ace in the hole, you lose.”
Scrooge thrashes about wildly, the last shred of adrenaline animating him. But he’s lost. He lost the moment he killed Damian. “Then what do you want? What do you want!” he screams, bloody spittle dribbling from his mouth.
These rich pricks, they think money is the answer to all their problems, and that’s their downfall because they don’t understand how something could mean more to me than green. And that’s love, an emotion I never thought I was capable of feeling ever again.
But I was wrong.
It’s because of my love for Damian, for…Tiger, that I’m here, and no matter what, I protect what I love. “I want you to erase the past fourteen years of my life. I want for my family to be back together. I want to be fucking normal! That’s what I want,” I declare, pressing the blade into his skin hard enough to draw blood.
“But seeing as you can’t give me any of that, I will just have to settle with slitting your throat.�
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He extends his arms out, surrendering, begging I show him mercy. “Please don’t do this. I will get Jaws to bring the kid here. He is going to kill him. You need me.”
I need him like a hole in the head, but the fact he knows about Jordy and what Jaws intends to do to him has me hesitating for a split second, which is my bad.
Scrooge takes the opportunity to bring his elbow back and gets in a lucky shot, connecting with my stomach. He scrambles forward, a trail of blood following him as it spurts from where his finger used to be.
I give him a false sense of freedom. I want him to think that maybe, just maybe, he has a chance to break free. He crawls toward his jacket on the back of a chair and reaches into the pocket. Only when he has his cell in his hand, do I strike.
Stalking forward, I grip him by the collar and yank him up. He thrashes wildly, fighting for his life, but he’s been living on borrowed time. I punch him in the face, the brass knuckles splitting open his lip.
I continue punching him until he sags forward, limp, but I hold him up, needing to punish him over and over again. When a gurgling noise spills from him, I toss him into the chair. He is still breathing—only just.
His face is a bloody mess. I can see muscle and bone. The sight doesn’t give me the satisfaction I thought it would, and that’s because my vengeance won’t bring back my brother. It’ll just chip away whatever humanity I have left.
But this motherfucker needs to pay for what he did. There is no way I can let him live. But him looking so pathetic, so helpless, has a heavy weight settling on my chest. But I push it aside. This was a long time coming.
“You can’t do it,” he wheezes, peering at me through one eye. “You’re still weak. And so was your brother.”
He’s trying to talk big, but he knows this will only end one way.
“Even as a kid, my brother was more of a man than you are.” Reaching for my blade, I walk over to him. “I want your last breath to be taken with the knowledge that I’m going to take away your family…just as you did mine.”
Scrooge attempts to escape, but he’s trapped. “Fuck you.” He spits on me, showing no remorse for what he did. “You don’t have the balls. Jaws will kill you all.”