Tyson

Drawing out their torment, Marco and I stand back, chatting, admiring our tomahawks as we sharpen them. The distinctive smell of urine filters through the small space we have them chained up in, compelling us to stay on our cruel course. We’ve been enjoying their tears as we prolong their discomfort and trepidation, it’s been entertaining if nothing else. They’re aware of the fact that today is their last day, but the anticipation of when we’ll attack has them paranoid about what we will do before they inhale their last bit of oxygen.

No matter how they legitimize their actions, it won’t spare their lives, they’re dead men regardless of their rationalizations. The simple fact is, they’re stains on society, and have no worthwhile or credible excuses for harming one of ours. Not only did they cross a line with the DreamCatchers, but also the Alvarez organization, and those are two affiliations you don’t want to piss off. Let alone both of them consecutively, that’s foolish and self-destructive.

We’re unforgiving, our credibility proves we aren’t angels of mercy, we’re more like fallen angels who mete out death and destruction. No, we are the reapers' sidekicks, a group of men who’ll triumphantly reap your soul, so Mr. Grim can take the day off. My one-handed hatchet is my scythe to wield, it may take more than one fluent swipe to behead my opponent, but it still gets the job done, only a little dirtier.

Mid-sentence, we hear the resounding screech of the warehouse door opening, then slamming shut, followed by a myriad of featherlight footsteps heading our way. Marco and I quit talking, listening, and quickly assess that it’s only one perpetrator entering our den of reckoning.

As if we’ve worked together for years rather than days, we take up defensive positions, ready to safeguard our territory and guests. Not because we care if father and son are caught in any crossfires, but because we want the honor of their kill.

Marco steps behind the closed door, and I duck into a shadowed corner where I won’t be seen by our trespasser until it’s too late for them to react. This way, I’ll be able to observe them and analyze my next move before taking this person out. We don’t take kindly to those who break into our buildings and make themselves at home, they should at least buy me a dinner or two before coming into my territory without receiving an invite, that’s underhanded—only our archenemy would be so bold and ambitious. In this case, only two possibilities of whom it could be come to mind… the government, or the Crumley brothers, neither of which would send in only one soldier to take us out, no matter how proficiently trained they are. They aren’t that daring or gutsy, they’d come in with guns a-blazing.

“Gentlemen, I’m coming in!” When I recognize Luca Alvarez’s voice floating from the other side of the door, my head hangs, and my shoulders slump.

What is it with this man and his uncanny timing? I swear he gets a thrill from raining on my parade, always having to have the last word, and invading my festivities.

As the door slides open, Marco and I come out of our hiding spots, and expose ourselves. Luca’s eyes connect with mine, and his pearlescent smile of mirth nearly blinds me. The fucker. He’s goading me as usual, only this time, we’re not on the phone—he can’t disconnect the line.

Crossing my arms across my chest, I hitch one foot over the other, then slouch against the wall. “What are you doing here?” I ask. My timbre is callous, but my stance is lazy and slack, as if his unexpected arrival doesn’t affect me in the least.

“Today, I’m playing the part of a messenger,” Luca answers, not showing an outward sign as being outraged for being delegated this trivial task. An assignment such as this typically goes to the lowest man on the totem pole, and way below Luca’s pay grade. Luca and Pops are the ones who dole out orders, not take them.

“Pops send you?” I probe, my brows raised into my hairline, loving the fact that Luca’s been dethroned, and today, he’s no better than an errand boy. “Isn’t this chore too menial and beneath your station, Luca? Have you fallen from grace?” I barely manage to avoid snickering at the thought he’s now on a grunt’s level.

“Actually, I volunteered for this,” Luca replies, waving his hand around the room. “It’s been too long since my hands have gotten dirty. It’s a shame I’ve stayed as clean as I have, and unlucrative, my talents have been wasted sitting behind a desk. I’ve been bored outta my mind. I plan on rectifying that today.”

“That’s not happening,” I refute, kicking off the wall with the foot I just uncrossed, and wielding my tomahawk in choppy maneuvers before expertly releasing it where it propels through the air, it whisks past my antagonizer’s shoulder, and embeds into the drywall to Luca’s right. “I was promised this would be my kill.”

“Impressive.” He shrugs, not a trace of fear shown. “You’ve got good aim.” Once again, he catches me off guard. It’s time to reverse the tides and send the contemptuous waves back at him.

But the fact that this fucker was obtuse to having a sharp object fly by his body, indicates he may come as a close second of being as unhinged as I am. It’s the first time I’ve felt even a smidgeon of respect for Pops’ brother. “Oh, you’ll get the final blow,” Luca avows. “I wouldn’t dare to overstep and deny you that right. After all, this is your party, Tyson. I’m a visitor, and perhaps, an active contestant in the soiree.”

“Soiree.” Marco snorts. “This isn’t a gala, Luca. There are no dance cards here.”

“We’ll be dancing,” I rebut. “But not like they do in a ballroom. Can you do more than the waltz or foxtrot, Luca? Because this isn’t going to be fast paced. It’s going to be at a tempo of my choosing.”

“What? Are we going to jitterbug instead?” Marco teases, an amusing smile crossing his face, earning himself a scolding frown.

“Don’t worry, Tyson, I’m an excellent student and a quick learner. I’ll pick up your rhythm without any issues,” Luca swears, the challenging dare I’ve just laid before him welcomed by him with open arms.

“Before y’all start two-stepping or doing the tango, I need Luca to tell me this message he's supposed to deliver,” Marco injects, interrupting our mocking banter.

“Things with the Crumley brothers have taken a swift turn for the worst. We’re expecting them to initiate their hostility any day now, and advance, coming after us as we expected them to when we started laying the groundwork. All of our resources will be tied up, and we’ll be focused only on the fight.”

“What does that mean, Luca?” I ask, wanting him to clarify and be more specific.

“It means that Marco is needed at home base and you, Hemmingway, and the babies need to bunker down with the rest of the DreamCatchers. This,” he says, directing us to the Admiral and Miller, “needs to be resolved and disposed of immediately.”

“Break immediately down for me,” I press, thinking over how I can make this as painful and horrendous in the limited amount of time he’s going to give me.

“Two hours, tops,” Luca conveys, the time restraint is going to be tricky.

“Including disposal?” I continue, cracking my knuckles.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he regretfully replies. “You can’t draw it out, which is disheartening because they deserve nothing less, but you do have enough time to inflict an abundant amount of pain.”

Shaking my head once I run through scenarios, I conclude that I’ll need to let them step in and assist, which is fucked up. The only silver-lining I can find in this is that at least they’ll be gone, and unable to continue accruing women to violate and impregnate.

Which has me asking the question that’s been lingering in my head since I read Marco’s message. “Has anyone hit the Aarons’ compound and removed the women and children?” When the Admiral hears this, his head lifts, his eyes widen, and his ears perk. If they’ve been released, it may be the best form of revenge we can serve. A lifetime of manipulative and underhanded work abolished in a matter of weeks. If they hadn’t taken Hemmi, they might have gotten away with keeping their demented society a secret, and who knows how many more lives would’ve been ruined by the two.

“I get the Admiral, y’all can take Miller. He’s the lesser of the two evils,” I demand.

“He’s yours, Tyson.” Luca snickers, a little too giddily for my liking, resembling Pops, and too close for my comfort.

Never having worked side-by-side with Luca since he and Pops reconnected, I can’t help but wonder if he’s just as ruthless and coldhearted as his older brother is during times of war. The apple may not fall too far from the tree after all. I’m not sure how I feel about this turn of events, I’m not supposed to like him, I’m supposed to beat him at his own game.

Asshole.

“Wanna tag team these scumbags?” Luca asks, directing the inquisition toward Marco.

“Sure.” Marco shrugs. “Are you wanting to be the torturer or the executioner?”

“They’re both so fun it’s hard to choose.” Luca tilts his head to the side, rubs his fingers over his jaw, and squinting as he contemplates the options. “I can’t pick, they’re both tasty morsels, which do you prefer, Marco?”

Rolling my eyes while they debate who’s going to do what, I jog to where my weapon is still lodged into the wall and yank it out. “It’s time to put you to use, old friend.” I caress the edge of the steel blade, making sure it’s still razor sharp after losing my temper and throwing it. There’s some remnants of sheetrock plastered to the chisel’s curve, but I’m not wiping it down, they won’t be around long enough to worry about acquiring any infections. Their countdown has been wound down to mere minutes, instead of days, or hours.

Marco walks up to me, angling his head toward our guests. I follow his gesture and grunt when I notice Luca’s suit jacket has been taken off and his tie is dangling down the sides of his shirt, still bridled around his neck. “If you don’t get too distracted, you should watch his moves. That tie isn’t only for show, he uses it as a weapon.”

“No shit?” I ask.

“No shit,” he replies.

“Never worn a necktie, they irritate me and make me feel claustrophobic, so I wouldn't think to use one to hurt someone,” I admit, warily examining the thin, long neckwear, wondering how exactly he’ll utilize it.

“Shocked the hell outta me the first time I saw him do it. It’s something you’ll never forget,” he alleges, before leaving me, and joining Luca.

The legs on the chair I grabbed scrape across the floor as I drag it over, situating it in front of Frankfuck. “You’ve been a bad boy, Admiral,” I announce, sitting on the chair and crossing my ankles, settling back into a tranquil pose. “Should’ve done your research, Frank. Didn’t they teach you anything when they gave you your high-ranking position? Wasn’t there some sort of school you went to? If so, you weren’t a very good student, were you?”

He babbles behind his gag. I deal with it for a bit, it’s amusing, but with me being on a time crunch, eventually, I hold up my hand to stop his tirade. He narrows his beady eyes at me, and leers.

“You have no authority here, Frank,” I remind him. “Sucks to be on the other side of things, huh? You’re not so big and bad now, I’m running the show and am the man in charge, you can’t strong-arm or manhandle me.” Leaning forward, I tactfully drop my hatchet to the ground, where the booming sound of it hitting the cement floor echoes, making him flinch.

Then, to add a dramatic flair, I place my elbows on my knees, and lie my head in my palms, canting it from one side to the other in deliberation.

“I have so many ideas of how to deal with you drifting through my mind. I’m perplexed on which one to start with. I may have to incorporate them all, they're all terrific seeing as I’m really good at my job. Won’t it be fun to keep you second-guessing what my next move will be? We can make it a game. What do ya say, Frankfuck? Ready to play yet? I hope you are, because this one-sided dialogue has me bored, and I loathe that. Especially, when I have someone I hate as much as I do you, hanging in front of me.” Standing, I leap until we’re nearly nose-to-nose, scowling at him until he twitches, then I smile.

One of my mottos is to make sure you keep those around you uncertain about if you're friendly and swayed, or not… which I can't be, but they don’t need to know that right out of the gate. A smile here, a wink there, then a few glares tossed in to make you look demented goes a long way toward the opposition making senseless mistakes, and acting rashly. When they don’t have control over their impulses, they’re easier to read, and it takes away their defenses. No amount of strategizing prepares you for losing your restraint and acting recklessly. That’s my cue to strike, which I do, without hesitation.

From past experiences, I’ve come to understand that split knuckles don’t heal quickly, so I started pocketing a set of brass ones in my jeans. They've become my staple since I’m always finding myself embroiled in a tussle—which aren’t always my fault or instigation, sometimes I’m dragged into them in order to protect one of my brothers, which is no skin off my neck since it nullifies my beast’s need for blood. As a warm up, I bounce on my feet, use a crisscross pattern with my arms, moving them back-and-forth, and shift my neck around in circles to loosen my ligaments and muscles.

“Feel that buzz in the air, Frank?” I cackle when he looks around, as if he could see the vibe with his human eyes. While he’s sidetracked, my dominant hand jabs upward, catching him below the jawline. When his eyes roll, a sense of somberness comes over me. “Oh, come on! You can’t pass out after one punch, that’s a pussy move, man.”

Tossing my brass knuckles to the ground in a fit of animosity, I stomp to the pail in the corner, and jerk it off the floor. Water’s not its content, that’d be too easy of a way to awaken, and I’m not in the mood to make things cushy for Admiral Frankfuck. With a sadistic smirk, I toss the liquid inside of the bucket, and watch with intrigue as his skin boils and bubbles.

“Hydrochloric Acid? Good choice,” Luca praises. “Do we have any more stored around here?”

“We do,” I say with an added nod.

“That’s good, isn’t it, Miller?” Luca inquires before revealing, “Tyson, did you know that this piece of shit was going to make Hemmingway the first wife in his harem?”

This has me giving Luca my undivided attention. I’m not flabbergasted or speechless, but this lifts the haze of a memory I’d put to the back of my mind. My fists clench, and my teeth grind, anger radiates from my every pore.

I’m over this shit. One hundred motherfucking percent, done.