Bayou Bishops Box Set: Books 1-12

CHAPTER 8

Seer braced against the shower, not looking forward to the events of the day. He didn’t want to see his father. He didn’t want to join anything with him. Since he’d found him, it felt like death on repeat. He was too chicken shit to let his own son touch him for some bullshit darkness? Wonder what he’d think when he realized all his evil-cock-blocking didn’t work? For all his sacrifice and absence, the dark had not only devoured Samuel, it had lived with him every day and every fucking night. Just what the fuck did Ruckus think he’d even done?

He was glad they were dealing with those demons they’d caught first. He needed some form of justice to happen before sitting across a table from him.

He took in a deep, shuddering breath when the bathroom door opened. He hated what ate up his guts and there was only one power in his world greater. His wife.

“Hey baby, you okay?”

Fuck. He steadied his breaths. “I’m…” The lie fell off his tongue as his air left him. “No,” he finally forced out, shoving away the need to hide and bury himself in the dark. He was a husband now. She needed him. Surely not as much as he needed her.

The shower curtain opened, and Cherie stepped in behind him. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged tight. The feel of her firm breasts against his back sparked his ruthless, ever growing lust for her. He reached around and found her ass, squeezing as his breaths shuddered with other needs only she could answer.

“I got you, baby,” she whispered, kissing his shoulder, her hand stroking over his abs. He pushed it lower and she gripped his cock while he pulled her leg up over his hip, fighting to feel her pussy against him.

“Let me suck you,” she whispered.

He turned and put her back against the shower and lifted her leg again. “I just want to fuck you,” he said, stroking his cock along her slick opening while looking into her eyes.

“Do it,” she panted, pricking his shoulders with her nails and pushing the shit inside him further away. He latched on to the power she gave him and shoved his cock in with a growl then dove on her mouth to catch his favorite cry. The one she gave him when he plunged to the bottom of her in one move. He lifted her on him when he was as deep as he could go, opening wide when her mouth pressed into his. Their tongues danced as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Fuck me, fuck me so good,” she begged around her climbing moans.

He bucked his hips, growling in her mouth with every thrust.

“Don’t stop!”

He pulled her hips away from the wall and hammered her faster. “Not fucking stopping,” he swore, watching her tits jerk from the assault. Every jolting shriek shattered the darkness and he didn’t stop, he drove harder and faster till the sounds of ecstasy obliterated this new enemy. His absent, present father.

****

Indiscernible mumbling went on behind Ruckus while they waited for the Auditor’s to arrive for the trial. He got a front row seat since he was the Parleur, which he learned meant the one who’d captured the criminals. Bishop would be the interpreter for him since he had no idea about their court customs which were unique to say the least.

“When the Grand Oratrice asks who the Parleur is for the Sinners, she’ll be referring to Meeny and Miney,” Bishop muttered quietly next to him. “At that point you’ll raise your hand and say you are. Then they’ll ask for the details of their crime and you’ll give those as accurately and thoroughly as you can.” He nodded at the two men tied to the chair before them with black sacks over their head. “Since Mo has perished—who we learned was a Roullette—that leaves these. I doubt we’ll get much out of them now that 8-Bit has confirmed their markings belong to the The Diablos De La Guerra and Cartel. If they’re seeking to get that kind of leverage on us, that may mean they know our plans with the arms. That being the case, we’ll need a plan B. But first, we need to get as much out of these two as we can.”

Ruckus nodded while wondering why he telling him that.

Ruckus watched twelve figures in white robes enter the room from the left, all wearing matching colored owl masks. They sat at a long table just like The Twelve’s behind him who were also dressed identical, only in black. Their outfits reminded him of a gang of gunslinging outlaws with leather floor-length dusters and wide brimmed hats.

The atmosphere felt curiously ritualistic, minus the suffocating evil he’d grown accustomed to. Ironically, he’d become aware of its presence only when it no longer existed in the air he breathed.

“Who is the Parleur for these Sinners?”

Ruckus raised his hand at the expected question. “I am.”

Bishop walked over and removed the Sinners hoods without care.

“Proceed,” The Grand Oratrice directed.

Ruckus stood and laid out the crime in as much detail as he could, soon realizing there might not be enough to convict them. Not with the kind of punishment he knew every man in there wanted them to get. He sat back down when done and the middle owl lady stood.

“Do the Sinners wish to cleanse their souls?”

“You have the option to confess your hidden crimes, demons,” Bishop said before them.

They both looked and muttered things in another language before the one on the right spit in his direction. His evil twin did the same.

“Gag ‘em,” Bishop muttered with a flick of his finger in the air, bringing two men also dressed in black from the right side of the room. They pulled restraints from their pockets and silenced the sinner’s rage with a practiced yet brutal ease before returning to their place along the wall.

“Let the Seer come and see our Sinners,” the Grand Oratrice announced.

The term Sinners was new for Ruckus along with everything else going on. He watched his son walk up to the two men, the sight of him bringing a bitter longing as he placed his hand on the first sinner’s head. The man thrashed bringing Bishop to hold him still while their Seer held the crown of the man’s skull. His eyes slowly closed, and Ruckus studied his face while wondering what seeing the sinner entailed. To know everything about his son, especially how his gifts worked returned, along with a terror of what that might do to his light. But as scared shitless as he was to release the stranglehold on his own darkness, the idea of getting to finally touch his son brought a need as brutal as his Gracie one.

His son’s hand finally lifted with the opening of his eyes. “This one’s soul is blackened but may yet be redeemable by fire.”

Fire was a very familiar term to Ruckus, but he wasn’t sure if it was the same kind with these people.

Bishop moved to the head of the second man and his son repeated the process which took half the time. Pure darkness filled his son’s face as he stared at the Sinner before him. “This one belongs in the farthest depths of Hades.”

The twelve women’s foreign whispers filled the room before the Grand Oratrice stood. “Bring in The Twelve’s Dice and let judgement commence.”

His son turned away from the men and went to a small table halfway between the Sinners and the Auditors. He pulled two black pouches from his coat pocket and set them down then walked off. Bishop came next and opened one pouch, dumping the contents in his right hand. He then lowered to the floor next to the table and dropped a single, odd, shaped dice. It rolled along the richly stained wood planks as the leader of The Twelve stood and looked at it. “The Executioner for the first Sinner is Bullets.” He lowered again and picked the dice up, tossing it on the floor and again looked. “The Executioner for the second Sinner is Nitro.”

The murmurs from The Twelve behind him were eager and envious as the Grand Oratrice announced, “Let the Executioner’s come forth and roll the Judgement Dice.”

Bullets was up first. Strolling to the table, he picked up the second pouch and emptied the contents in his palm. There wasn’t anything particularly ominous about the looks of this man, but Ruckus understood the kind of threat he carried. You didn’t know what he might do or what he was even capable of, but you did know with a foreboding certainty that your life was somehow in his hands.

Bullets took a knee and dropped two odd-shaped dice onto the floor. “The Means is a one. The Method’s a four.”

The twelve women all stood and slowly turned their backs to them as Bullets walked to the far wall and opened a door. Ruckus spied a supply of firearms as he pulled out two with long, silver barrels. He muttered to a man nearby who nodded and heading off. Bullets returned to the two Sinners and stopped at one. He cocked the first gun. “The Means is two 4-10 Governors. The Method is twelve holes.” He glanced back at the Auditors and spoke something in their swamp tongue that brought all fingers up to plug ears.

Ruckus turned to a gravelly rolling noise on the right, seeing a thick plate of steel on wheels being brought over. When it stopped behind the men on trial, Ruckus fully realized what was about to happen. Once the man put the mini-wall in place, he departed in haste as Bullets aimed the barrel of the gun at a now thrashing, screaming Sinner. “One,” he muttered, just before a deafening blast blew apart his shin. “Two,” he said, doing the same to the other shin. “Three,” he continued, making a crater out of his knee. “Four,” he said, bringing the same fate to the other. “Five,” he counted, taking off his entire shoulder. “Six,” he said louder, sending the other shoulder splattering into the steel wall. He raised the second gun now with an even, “Seven.” The man’s lifeless body jolted with the giant hole in his stomach. “Eight,” brought a crater to his chest. “Nine,” he droned, raising the barrel to his face and blowing it entirely off. “Ten.” This time he stepped closer and aimed the barrel at the crown of his head, exploding it like a melon. “Eleven.” He shot another in his stomach. “Twelve,” he muttered serenely, aiming at his crotch. The final blast detached his torso and splintered the chair under him. Ruckus watched his upper body slowly topple to the floor next to his other half still tied to the chair.

Bullets walked back to the wall and returned the guns to the closet then grabbed a black towel from within and wiped his face.

The remaining Sinner thrashed and screamed under his gag as Bullets headed back to his seat and Nitro came forward and retrieved the Judgement Dice. This man was a head taller than Bullets. His calm demeanor implied he was a man with zero fears and nothing to lose. He shook the dice in his right hand then rolled and stood, angling his head at the result. “The Means is three and The Method is eight.”

He walked to the same wall and opened another door. Ruckus realized the wall had many, only detectible by the cracks dividing them. Nitro returned with something small in his hand. “Hold his head,” he ordered, getting Bishop’s immediate assistance.

Head tilted back, Nitro worked the gag off and shoved something metal looking in his mouth. He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a knife then used it to shove at the object he’d inserted bringing gagging and choking sounds in the quiet room as he thrashed. Nitro calmly returned his knife to his pocket while staring at the man’s face. He then pulled a flat rectangle from his other pocket and slowly walked in reverse.

Bishop took quick strides toward Ruckus and grabbed his arm, leading him several feet away. Ruckus turned in time to see the second sinner’s head explode right off his fucking shoulders.

“Twelve,” Nitro muttered, as the robed women turned back around and sat at the table again.

The Grand Oratrice struck the gavel. “This concludes our hearing. If there is no further business, The Twelve are dismissed.”

“No further business at this time, Grand Oratrice,” Bishop answered.

Ruckus watched in silent shock as the ladies raised their masks to the top of their heads and erupted in that other language with an air of indifference while two men in rubber butcher attire entered the arena of splattered body parts with trash bags and buckets. While the clean-up commenced The Twelve mumbled and laughed behind him discussing the graphic details of the event while reminiscing of gory judgments gone by and gorier judgments to come soon.

The chuckles and chatter continued as Ruckus followed Bishop out of Swamp Carnage Court to the next item on their to-do list. All Ruckus could think about in that second was that five of these lunatics wanted to court Gracie. They were out of their twisted fucking minds if they thought he’d ever give her over to a single one of them.

****

Ruckus spent fifteen minutes in indirect prayer to his son’s God. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe He existed, he’d just never been on His side. And though he’d declared a cease fire, he knew it didn’t earn him direct business dealings. But hopefully he could stand behind one that was worthy to stand before him. Because with all the looming disasters and the psycho bastards interested in Gracie, divine assistance was required. He was beginning to think even with hell hiding in his bones, she’d be safer with him than one of them. These normal looking people had insanity simmering on their back burners and at any point, it would overflow all over.

Could they be crazy and yet decent people? He’d never considered such a combination could exist and yet his son was right among them and he…

The idea that the darkness had gotten his son returned. What if they’d found another way to him? Fuck, this was bad. His aversion to touching him now flipped to needing to right away.

“How’d you like court?”

Ruckus angled his head at the one called Spar, finding his grin on him. He returned his eyes to the table before him. “On oddly serene event.”

The man’s laugh was as big as he was. “Oddly serene,” he mused, nodding. “I like that.”

Not surprising.

“It’s been months since I got that roll,” he muttered. “Last time we had a Judgment like that, I got to break every bone in the man’s body. I took my time. Did all two hundred and thirteen in about an hour.”

Ruckus looked at him, studying his grin.

“I can still hear his screams. I just wished he’d had more bones.”

“I remember that one,” Traps said fondly. “Good times.”

“What were his crimes?” Ruckus wondered, needing something to put up against their lust for violence.

“Child trafficking.”

Instant fire lit inside Ruckus’s gut at those words. They would forever be the evil that drove him from the darkness. Once he’d had his son, every bad omen he’d suffered in regards to hurting children had become crystal clear. It was evil. And he’d been an indirect part of it. There had been no fighting it for him, there was only running and hiding and protecting.

“It’s what we live for,” Shank said on his left.

“What is?” he wondered, looking at the smile on his face too. He realized they all wore the same kind. The happy smile with bloodlust in their eyes. The most prevalent symptom of their insanity.

“Slowly killing the wicked who dare to harm the innocent,” Shank muttered.

Ruckus studied the boil in his gaze, realizing they were doing the very thing he’d never thought to dream of doing. He’d wanted to protect his son, that was all he knew. There was no protecting those already in the fire or those that would surely end up there since they never rested from their wickedness.

Ruckus returned his gaze to the table as old shadows and lies swirled. Bishop entered the room, looking like a man moving in fifty directions at once. “Three things we need to decide,” he said, getting everybody’s attention. “One, who’ll take the mute boy. Two, who’s getting my brand-new son I never wanted, and three, Raphael. Who, when, where, how.” He raked his hand through his hair and took a heavy seat. “8-Bit, can you start off with intel.”

“Still no move on the cameras at the compound.”

“Still?” Bishop said, pissed. “Where the fuck are they?”

“Maybe they know they’re being watched,” 8-Bit suggested. “It’s been seven days. We can send trackers.”

“My team’s definitely ready,” Spook said. “Mist and his top five will find them.”

Bishop leaned back with a sigh, resting his head against the chair with his eyes closed. “What a fucking week,” he muttered. “Get them ready to track these devils. We need to find them. Meanwhile, Seer, Ruckus, Maggie and Lesion need to have a meeting of the minds.” He pulled his head forward, his gaze moving between Ruckus and Seer. “We need to find that perfect lure for the head of the snake.”

“The ones we judged today will have tails,” Nitro muttered. “We need to make sure our moles are all accounted for, and that bullshit doesn’t happen again.”

“Lil Beaux Peep is coming this afternoon for a thorough interrogation. Anybody else hear anything about anything?” Bishop asked, looking around.

Hurricane said, “I put eyes on every corner in my hatch.”

“Same,” Shank and Spar said, followed by the rest of them.

“I dropped word in our land ears,” Bishop said. “They’ll be keeping a look-out for any odd connections. And if they send more Diablos, they’ll meet the same fate. Anybody asks…” Bishop gave a shrug. “Je na sais pas.” He regarded Ruckus with raised brows. “Means we know nothing. They want to send their devils into the swamp without telling us, we dispose of them the same. Qui?”

Ruckus nodded in full agreement with that.

“What about this kid?” Bishop said. “That whole fucking son I inherited from that sonofabitch in that club I can’t remember.”

Everybody broke out in laughter as he nodded unamused. “You?” he suggested at Bullets getting a vigorous headshake. “Come on, you can teach him how to catch grenades.”

“With his teeth,” Bullets laughed. “That’ll teach you to spare the rod, boss,” he chided with a lopsided grin that made him look more boy than man.

The extra son issue was put on a back burner after being tossed around the table several times.

Bishop leaned into the corner of his chair, sliding a finger along his chin. “What about the mute?”

Everybody got quiet, making Ruckus wonder who that was. But the less questions he asked, the less part he had in anything.

“The Guardian said he signs.” Bishop looked around. “Who knows sign language.”

“I’d like to take the mute,” Lesion said. “Tully wants to help him. As does Madam Hag.”

Bishop raised his brows at him. “Really,” he said.

“Really.”

“Any other takers?” Bishop asked, glancing around the table.

Negative mumbles and headshakes ensued, before Traps remembered, “I think Patches has been talking about wanting a family.”

“Come off it Captain Tangles,” Patches said.

“Yeah, the boy doesn’t need ear rape added to his injuries,” Bacon said.

“I think somebody who knows everything about what he’s suffered should take him,” Nitro muttered.

Ruckus looked and found his accusing eyes on him.

“And who the hell would that be?” Hurricane wondered.

Nitro shrugged. “Well, I mean the father of darkness himself sits at our table.”

Ruckus studied the burning hate in the man’s gaze, wondering what exactly brought it.

“What the fuck is going on?” Bishop demanded, tiredly. “Nitro, you got something to say, say it.”

The man regarded Bishop. “Just find it ironic that he’d have issue trusting us with Gracie, when he’s the one with the questionable past and present.”

Bishop sat forward. “Mind the fact that the man you speak of is the father of our brother.”

“He’s been hiding in our swamp for thirty-nine years,” Nitro went on. “Doesn’t show his face, doesn’t bother to contact his son once. Returns and can’t be bothered to embrace our brother, because he’s still hiding from the darkness,” he said, waggling both hands in the air.

Ruckus looked and found his son staring blankly at the table, his jaw moving slowly side to side.

“You don’t trust him,” Bishop said, nodding. “I get that. We all feel the same, no offense but that’s just how things work here,” he said right at Ruckus.

“No offense taken.”

“There will never be enough intel we can dig up to assure a man with his kind of past is fully trustworthy. This is why we take precautions in that regard.”

“Seer needs to touch him and see,” Nitro insisted.

“And before we leave this room, we’ll decide on the exact time and place for that,” Bishop reminded.

Nitro swung his pissed gaze to Ruckus. “I intend to court Gracie. Somebody needs to pick up the pieces of her shattered heart.”

“What are you talking about?” Bishop demanded.

“You got a fucking big mouth,” Spook muttered next to Nitro. “I tell you something for the specific purpose of solving a problem and this is what you do? Wag your fucking dick in it?”

“Okay,” Bishop said standing and putting both palms on the table. “What the fuck happened to Gracie?” His pissed gaze aimed right at Ruckus. “Did you put your dick in it? I know you’re not from here but we have a code and she’s my wife’s fucking Aunt, I’m obligated to protect her.”

“I didn’t stick anything in anything,” he said pointedly back to him.

“Are you fucking sure?” Bishop asked.

“I am fucking sure.”

“Over here we don’t use women for the sake of pleasure,” Nitro said, every word cutting.

Ruckus met his gaze. “And neither do I.”

“I’m sure a man like you is used to getting as many girls as he wants,” Nitro went on. “Just snatch them off the street, right?”

“I’m sure I was fifteen years old when I did the things I did.”

“Here in the swamps, at fifteen, you’re a man,” Nitro challenged.

“And where I came from, at fifteen you’re a vessel to be used and sacrificed. I’m sure your intel would know that my coven doesn’t entertain any form of pleasure, only every form of pain. I did what I was groomed to do from birth because the devil was God and God was the devil, that was my truth. No, I didn’t question it,” he said. “I believed everything I was told at that age. But one thing I did question was the innocence we took. Even to my brainwashed mind, guilt burned my darkened soul. And when I had my son, when I had that blinding light,” he said, pointing at Samuel across the table, “it all became clear. I did the only thing a fifteen-year-old could. I stole him away and I ran. I hid him from the darkness, I hid him from me, because I’m filled with darkness!” he thundered to the stubborn men at the table. “My father was the devil, and my mother was wickedness. I was their spawn,” he swore, resisting the dark hunger stirring in his muscles. “I don’t know how or why I was given my son. I named him Divinus Lux. God’s divine light. He was a glitch in the universe,” he swore to all of them. “I always imagined God in his heavenly haste accidentally dropping one of his miracles and it landed in my lap.” He met the bright gaze of his son and the agony in the blue depths shook his breaths. “I took that miracle,” he said to him. “I took you. I never saw you as mine or belonging to me. I knew that couldn’t be right. You were an accidental gift that was mine to protect until the glitch got fixed. I had to make sure you had a life far from the darkness. But the first time I held you, your light,” he strained, his muscles quaking from the memory. “It obliterated the darkness. And I could see,” he whispered. “I saw…heaven in your eyes and tiny face. And you…stared at me as if you knew me. And somehow you did, and I knew you. For six days, you were mine. And in those six days you recreated me. I would live a million lifetimes,” he growled around the pain. “In utter isolation for the miracle that you are.”

He watched his son’s head lower and shake for many seconds. He finally looked up at him, tears streaming down his face. “You fool,” he whispered around shuddered breaths. “I never needed to be hidden from your darkness. It was you that needed to be hidden from my light. I was sent there for you. That’s what the darkness hid. For thirty-nine years. But that reign ends tonight.”

Ruckus stared at his son while his lungs held his breaths in a stranglehold.

The doors of the Basilique opened with a loud, “Hear ye, hear ye, all you arrogant, entitled somma-bitches.”

Gracie. Drunk. She spotted Ruckus and storm-staggered her way to him, fury on her black streaked face. “You!” she accused with a jab of her finger next to him. “You think you get to tell me what I can and can’t have? Who I can and can’t have?”

He shook his head. “No,” he said, her strangled words mixing in with the agony from his son’s confession.

“Damn fuckin’ right,” she said, shoving his shoulder. “And you don’t get to make me need you,” she seethed with stuttered breaths. “You don’t get to make me feel and then take it! Make me feel like a winner then take it all away and make me feel like a fuckin’ loser,” she screamed at him.

He stood, her pain demanding he protect her only to realize he was the threat.

“You’re not a loser,” Nitro assured. “He’s the fucking loser.”

She turned her anguished face to him, letting out a sob as she nodded at him then turned her brown, pained gaze on him. “He’s the loser,” she whispered, wiping her face. “But I lost.” She looked around the table, poking her chest. “I lost.”

Her eyes rolled as she turned and pointed at them. “You’re all fucking losers, come to think of it.” She stumbled a few steps, looking around. “Except…you,” she pointed at Bishop, her finger moving to the right. “And you,” she said at Spook. “And…” she squinted at the rest of them, pointing. “You. You’re…the snake man that saved sweet Tully.” She nodded and headed for the door then swung back around, her frame swaying. “Rest of you can fuck off. I don’t need a man. Never fuckin’ did,” she sang lightly. “Fuck you, and you, and you, and you,” she said, pointing at each of them. Her anger fell suddenly, and she zig-zagged her way back to the table, wrapping her arms around his son from behind. “Not you,” she cried. “I’m sorry your dad… sucks so bad. I didn’t have a great dad either.”

She straightened and swung her pointer finger at them. She stopped at Nitro and made her way to him, bringing a burning acid to Ruckus’ stomach. Nitro turned his chair, facing her when she arrived with finger up. “You one of them that wants to date me?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, his smooth voice cutting through Ruckus.

She fell forward and kissed him and the second he put his hands on her face, all the buried darkness and rage inside him broke free. Two of The Twelve dove for him as he became airborne with his fist aimed for Nitro’s head.

Ruckus hit the floor with a yell that tore his throat while fighting through limbs to reach that dead fuck.

“Hold him!” somebody yelled as he punched and kicked, breaking free. His freedom was short-lived as he was strong-armed to his feet in time to see Nitro launch for him.

“No!”

His son’s voice split the air as he jumped on Nitro. The giant reached behind him and slammed him to the table as Gracie’s screams hit him next, igniting more rage. He roared and broke free, leaping on the table before diving through the air with his fist cocked. He connected to the side of Nitro’s head before they both hit the floor with a loud boom. Ruckus wrestled him for a lock that would allow him to end him while Gracie begged them to stop.

“Get her out!” somebody yelled. “Get her fucking out.”

There was nothing to stop the storm inside and Ruckus let it tear through him. Let it rage in every muscle and howl through his lungs like a wild, broken animal. And then the voice of his son carried over the mayhem. “Don’t hurt Mon Pierre!” he roared desperately over and over.

Three gunshots fired off as his son’s hand found him amidst the chaos. Ruckus focused all his rage on reaching him. “Divinus!” he called out.

“Mon Pierre! Don’t hurt Mon Pierre!”

Ruckus finally broke free of his restraints and got to his son. “Divinus,” he gasped, latching on to him with both arms.

“Don’t hurt Mon Pierre!” his son raged with all his might, wrapping his arms tight around Ruckus. “Don’t hurt my father!” he begged.

Everything in Ruckus shattered as he understood the term Pierre. And that his son wanted to protect him.