Luca

Satan and his Little Goat Minions

 

Whap!

I spit at his feet and laugh. “Did you just slap me?”

“I’m going to do so much more than slap,” Death growls. “We’re just getting started.”

My head throbs as my mind attempts to piece together the recent transpiration of events. I was cruising along—fucking married to the hottest, most hilarious girl on the planet—and then BAM! The rest is a blur. I vaguely remember being dragged out of the vehicle, screaming through my haze for Francis and my dog, and then being hogtied. Something warm hit my system and I was out.

I’m not sure how much time has passed, but I’m now Death’s punching bag. Except he doesn’t punch. He slaps like a fucking woman. I bite my tongue. If it were just me, I’d taunt the hell out of him. But he has everyone I love and care about.

“Where’s my sister and niece? Where’s Francis?” I demand.

Whap!

Fuck, his stupid slaps hurt.

“They’re away from you. You’re toxic, Luca. Tainting everything you touch. And you touched her, hmm? You touched Francis? You’ll pay dearly for this,” he threatens.

Whap!

Van Damme stands nearby, his arms crossed over his beefy chest. I should have known that guy was Death’s man.

“Let Lindsay and Cala go,” I plead. “You got Francis. You have me. Just uphold your end of the bargain.” At least if they’re safe, I can focus on Frannie.

He steps into view, scowling. “They’re not going anywhere.”

Whap!

“Would you stop with the fucking slapping?” I roar, fighting against my restraints.

Death laughs. Van Damme remains on guard by the open doorway. It’s large. Like a barn. That accounts for the smell of hay and goat shit.

“Why do you care that I love Francis?” I bark out, rage burning through me.

This sets him off because he throws a punch. My head snaps to the side and my jaw explodes with pain.

“What do you need her for? Some human trafficking bullshit?” I spit out blood and grin at him. “Is this a bad time to tell you I took her virginity?”

The next punch knocks me out completely.

It’s pitch-dark in the barn. Something makes a sound and rubs up against my leg. I need to piss, but it was pretty fucking awkward the last time when Van Damme touched my dick because apparently manhandling another dude’s junk is preferable to freeing him for four fucking seconds.

Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a.

“Juniper? Is that you?”

The animal rubs against my leg again. Then, it hops into my lap and I groan in pain when one of its hooves mashes my balls.

“Fuck, Juniper, watch it!”

Juniper—at least that’s what I’m calling it—starts licking my face. There’s no escaping this goat’s obsessive need to clean my face as it sits in my lap. It nibbles on my jaw and I yell at it again. The damn thing isn’t worried. Simply chills in my lap like it isn’t fucking heavier than hell. When the goat takes another nibble at me and my legs go numb from its weight, I decide this is some form of hell. I died in that car crash. Heaven took their angel—my girl—and I got booted to hell. I’m sure my Bing man is around here somewhere. All dogs do not go to heaven. Not Chandler. Not after what he did to Toto. That’s unforgivable.

Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a.

“Yeah, you’re handsome too,” I tell Juniper dryly.

The goat hops off my lap and trots away, crying out like it’s excited. A few seconds later, a dark figure looms in the open doorway.

“Van Damme? Is that you? Did you come to play with my winkie again?”

The figure takes a menacing step forward. Then, a few shadowed figures of goats circle his legs. Yep, looking right at Satan and his little goat minions.

Mr. Bing, I need backup!

“You. Motherfucker.” Death’s voice is a low growl.

“Good evening to you too, kind sir,” I throw back at him. “Since Van Damme’s missing in action, how about you come hold my dick. Yeah, the same one that made that angel not so innocent anymore.”

Since Frannie is his weakness, I use it against him.

Even if it gets my ass kicked in the process.

Death storms my way and kicks me hard in the chest. The chair I’m tied to falls back, slamming to the barn floor. My head bounces off the ground, dizzying me. I blink away the stars. He grabs my throat and rights me back in my seat, but doesn’t let go.

“I ought to choke the fucking life out of you!” he roars, squeezing me. “You disgusting predator!”

Predator?

That’s rich coming from this guy.

I’m about to tell him as much too—once I can suck in a tiny breath of air—but then his phone rings. And since I want him to stop fucking choking me, I politely wait for him to take his call. He grunts, releasing me, and then yanks his phone from his pocket.

“What?” he growls.

He’s silent for a beat as someone yaps on the other line.

“No deal, Rossi. No fucking deal.”

What’s going on with these guys? I perk up, praying for superhero hearing to catch the other end of the conversation.

“You don’t get any of what’s mine,” Death snarls. “I know what you’re up to. If I give you the piece of shit, you’ll use it against me to get to her. Get it through your stupid skull. She’s mine now and you’ll never hurt her.”

Frannie.

Why is everyone fighting over Frannie?

I mean, I’d go to hell and back—clearly—for that girl because she’s mine and I love her, but these motherfuckers need to back off.

“You can try, Rossi. Try and storm my fucking city. See what happens. We don’t allow trash to sweep through LA. No, we fucking burn it,” Death roars, hanging up.

“Your friends are awesome,” I deadpan.

“You really fucked up messing with Arlo Rossi,” Death says like I already don’t know this.

“No shit?”

Whap!

God, I forgot about how hard he slaps.

“Rossi is a bad man,” Death says.

“You don’t say…”

Whap!

“As bad as they come…”

“I might have to argue on this one,” I say with a smirk that earns me another slap.

“He wants to kill Frannie and I’m not about to let that happen.”

Finally something we can agree on.

“You could free me and I could help,” I offer.

“Fuck you,” he barks out.

And because I obviously need a nap, I laugh. “Nah, that’s what I have Frannie for.”

His fist slams into my face, making everything blissfully black again.

“Luca,” a sweet voice whispers. “Oh God.”

I blink open my eyes and peer into the familiar ones of my sister. “Linz,” I croak out, unable to say her full name.

“Shhh,” she croons. “That bastard. I’m going to kill him. Hold still. I’m going to free you.”

She squats behind me and starts to work on the knotted rope. When Death storms into the barn, my heart thuds in my chest.

“Lindsay, go to your room,” Death snarls. “Right now.”

“No!” she cries out. “You’re a monster for hurting my brother!”

Bravely, my sister ignores him, but he’s bigger and meaner. He stalks our way and he yanks her up. She screams when he tosses her over his shoulder.

“Let her go,” I wheeze. “Just let her fucking go!”

She shrieks and calls out Frannie’s name. Death pops her ass hard, making her shush.

“Paul,” he barks out. “Take him to the warehouse in the city. I don’t want him here with the girls any longer. They’ll just pester the shit out of me and keep doing more of this.” He smacks her ass hard again.

They leave and my heart rate quickens. He better not fucking hurt her. I’m struggling against my restraints when Van Damme—or Paul—approaches. He walks around behind me to unhook me from the chair. I’m still bound but no longer tied to the chair. I don’t waste a second, making a run for it.

Problem is, I’m tired.

Beat up.

Bruised and sore as hell.

I make it all of ten feet before I stumble and fall hard on my chest. Knowing the fucker is coming, I roll onto my back and kick him right in the nuts. He howls and then does some crazy fucking ninja shit before bringing his elbow down on my head.

Blackness.