Devil's Savior

CHAPTER 19

For the last couple of days, I’ve spent my days at the clubhouse. Not only have I been helping to get the females we helped situated, but I’ve been making plans with the inner circle about how we’re going to deal with the rest of the RRMC. They’re going to be scrambling for leadership.

Again.

But then what happens?

We can ignore them for a little while, but it’s possible that they’ll come back again. The whole fucking club are kind of like cockroaches in that regard.

We’ll need to be prepared and this time we’ll stop anything before it gets going. We can’t risk any more women being caught in their trap. The guilt is already weighing down my brothers as it is.

After being so focused on the club and what it needs from me, one of the only things I’ve looked forward to is going home to Sioux.

She’s my solace and I hate how I’ve been bringing home the darkness from what we’re dealing with as a club. It’s hard, sometimes, to focus on my woman, when I know that there is still more work to do.

The only other good thing I’ve experienced over the last few days is that I’ve mended Tara’s feelings after my reaction to her asking about being an angel. I want to help her, and I really do think that she would be ignoring what needs to heal if she became an angel. The only good thing about it is that we could continue to help her out and keep an eye on her.

My brothers seem concerned about me. When we met up in the shed this morning for the second session with our guest, they were eyeing me with wariness and curiosity. It put me instantly on edge.

I barked, “What?”

Prodigal and Scythe shared a look, one that had me grinding my teeth together. I didn’t like it at all.

Prodigal was the one who stepped forward while we stood in the shed on the floor above where we kept our extra special guests. The underground nature of our torture cells helped to keep it hidden and gave us a layer of protection that we didn’t need all that often. But when we did, it was key.

“We’ve noticed that you’ve gotten close to Tara,” Prodigal had questions in his eyes, but he wasn’t accusing me of anything. Not really.

“Yeah? And?” I felt defiance and defensiveness rush through me. “She needs our help and that’s all I’m doing,” I insisted.

“It looks like more, brother,” Scythe was the one who piped up next and I cut my eyes toward him.

“It’s not more. I want to help her. I get what it’s like to feel lost after losing your parents and she’s more comfortable with me because I’m the one who carried her out of that room,” I snarl.

Prodigal held up his hands and assured me, “I know you want to help her. But I think she wants more.”

“She asked me about being an angel,” Lucifer added, and I spun around to look at him.

“You said no, right?”

He scoffed, “Of course. We don’t allow drug addicts to be angels and right now, since she’s refusing treatment of any kind, I’m still considering her an addict. She won’t even go to the clinic to get tested. Everyone else was eager to do it,” he adds on.

I stood there, stunned, and unsure of what to say. “Look,” I tried to reason with them, torn between my loyalty to the club and the hope I had that Tara could get her life back on track, “I’m sure she’s just scared. Give her a little time and I’m sure she’ll come around.” The looks on my brother’s faces told me that they weren’t quite so sure. I sighed, “I’ll talk to her.”

“I think that’s a mistake,” Prodigal’s voice was firm, but I wasn’t going to let him deter me from what I knew as right.

“I’ll talk to her,” I growled.

He gave me a look like I was the biggest idiot he’d ever met, but I knew I needed to at least try. If I didn’t, could I look at myself in the mirror with a clear conscience? Could I look at Sioux?

I wanted to be a man she could be proud of. Helping someone who needed me was part of that. I needed to be more than muscle for the club. Because she deserved so much more than that.

When we walked through the door that led downstairs, silence descended on me and my brothers. It wasn’t because what was about to happen deserved our reverence. No, we tended to be quiet when we went down to meet our guests because there is a certain type of terror within the unknown of quiet.

Scythe had already gotten a lot of information out of Hustle during the first session we had with him. Our second visit wasn’t about information. It was about pain.

Even though all my club brothers couldn’t be present, most of them were. And all the men who stormed that shithole were surrounding me, fury rolling off them like mist beckoning a demon of reckoning and retribution.

Hustle looked like shit as he sat chained to a folding chair with his head lolling forward toward his chin. The evidence of the interrogation with Scythe was evident from the blood weeping from wounds and the bruises that littered his naked body.

People who abuse those and are a blight on humanity don’t deserve clothing. And all the better to inflict pain when skin is exposed.

We had full control over the room. We could turn the temperature up or down to prolong their pain and torture. It was psychological warfare just as much as it was physical.

You never knew what was going to get one person to break, but we liked having options.

Knowing today was the day I was in charge of Hustle’s stay with us, I stomped toward him. I kept my steps slow, wanting to torture him a little and keep him guessing about when the next one would land. As I got closer, he started to tremble and I could see he was trying to open his eyes, but they were swollen shut.

That gave me a sense of sick satisfaction, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.

Hustle sneered, trying to find the last of his bravado, “I don’t have anything else to say. You might as well kill me.”

I could have punched him. I could have sliced him with my knife. Hell, I could have taken a bat to his knees.

But I didn’t do any of those things.

With a swift movement, I backhanded him. His head snapped around to the side and blood started to trickle over his lip and chin.

“What the fuck,” he moaned.

“Little bitches get slapped,” my voice was ice cold and monotone.

Hustle tilted his head back as he forced one eye open. The way he cackled was fucking chilling. “Oh, Apostle. I was wondering when you would want a turn with me.”

None of us were surprised that he knew who we were, not after the session Scythe had with him. It was clear that he was given a lot of information about us, but it was all provided. You didn’t need to talk to Hustle for more than five minutes to know that he wasn’t smart enough to get the information any other than through spoon feeding.

“The boss told me about you,” he sneered.

Even though I knew he was goading me, I felt my heart start to pound in my chest as adrenaline rushed through my veins. He was going to get exactly what he wanted from me.

I knew it.

My brothers surrounding me knew it.

Because we all knew that I had one trigger, one thing that would set me over the edge and no one would be able to hold me responsible.

You could feel the tension rising around us and it became crystal clear that Hustle was about to flip my fucking switch.

“Apostle, it was your woman that Anarchy shot, wasn’t it?” His voice was filled with darkness, but it was like hearing a little boy trying to be menacing with the violence that swirled around me to do my bidding. “Tell me, did she make it? I don’t remember.”

With a snap of my fingers, something was tossed in my direction. I caught the machete with ease, having Scythe toss me the same weapon more than once. Not only is it effective, but it’s menacing as fuck.

If it’s used to fell jungles, do you really want it coming near your skin?

Yeah, I think not.

I took a step toward Hustle, and he stilled, freezing within the confines of real fear. It should have made me feel better, but it did not.

The idea of anyone speaking about my woman, of talking about her life like a game, was making me see red. With every breath I had to remind myself that she was fine, that she was safe.

But was she? The doubt creeped in.

“She’s fine, brother,” Prodigal stepped up to me and murmured the words low enough for only me to hear. “I just messaged the Prospect to make sure. He has eyes on her. She’s good.”

I nodded once and then took another slow, measured step toward Hustle. With only the added reach of the blade, I ran the tip from his knee to the top of his thigh. The coward tried to recoil, but he had nowhere to go.

How could he when he was attached to a chair and at our mercy. As if we would risk one of our guests getting loose. Fucking never.

When I did the same to his other leg, I put more pressure behind the drag of the machete tip along his skin. Red bloomed in the wake of the movement, his blood bubbling up from the wound I was more than happy to inflict.

That is when he started to blubber. He pleaded for his life. He begged.

I supposed he didn’t like the burning feeling of his skin being opened.

Somehow, I couldn’t find it in me to care.

“Did you want to ask about my woman again?” Since it was a genuine offer, I kept my voice pleasant, but there was an edge of steel and danger that couldn’t be denied.

He shook his head, his lips quivering and his eyes glassy. I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls in a chilling echo.

“I’ve barely even gotten started,” I taunted him. “And already you’re about to cry and hand over your left nut for me to stop the pain.”

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” he insisted.

I made a tsking sound. “Seems you’ve forgotten about the last session you endured.” I glanced over at Scythe and shared a sinister smile with my brother. “He does do good work. I guess it’s possible you don’t really remember your screams spilling all your secrets and then some,” I mused.

He groaned and then fought against the bindings holding him in place. It was completely futile, which only fueled the laughter from myself and my brothers. The sound grew, holding court and beating his spirit into submission.

The next time I touched my machete to his skin, it was against the thin and sensitive skin of his shriveled and flaccid dick. That really brought out his fear.

But I didn’t give a single fuck.

As his screams echoed off the walls of the last room he would ever know, I plunged my machete between his legs and speared his dick and balls with sheer agony.

Blood started pooling around him almost immediately as his screams became raspy, painfilled moans. I could only laugh harder, the sound becoming a demon’s harmony to join the cadence and melody of my brothers.

When he passed out, Prodigal didn’t even hesitate to step forward with a bucket of ice water. Hustle started to sputter as he woke, his screams reaching the heavens with renewed vigor.

Slowly, the laughter stopped. As the last of us stopped cackling, the silence stretched around us. It grew with every beat of our hearts and every pump of blood as it left Hustle’s body.

That was a wound that wasn’t going to stop bleeding unless we got involved. When I looked at Lucifer, there was pride in his eyes. To my silent question, he shook his head once.

I grinned like the cat that ate the canary. My prey was in view, and I was closing in.

I didn’t get the chance for revenge with Anarchy because that right when to Prodigal first. I understood it, but it left me feeling dissatisfied for a long time. Anarchy is the one who shot my woman, and I couldn’t take his life.

Hustle’s screams became whimpers and then quieted to nothing. Only then did I start to circle his helpless form. “You fucked up, Hustle,” his name on my lips was filled with disdain. “You should have never become Martinez’s lap dog.”

He jolted in his seat, and I could see surprise in his eyes, even though they were drooping from pain and blood loss. I shook my head at him, the disgust and disappointment clear to see.

“You didn’t think we knew who you were really working for?” I admonished him, the sarcasm dripping from my words and forming oily puddles that would keep him tethered to his shame and stupidity, “Come on now. You should have known better.”

“What are you going to do to me?”

I smirked. “I’m going to send you to the devil. He’ll know what to do with you and give you a punishment to last until your soul begs for forgiveness.” I leaned toward him, sliding my machete in jerky patters along his torso. “It’ll never come.”

With all the strength I could gather because I knew it was going to take all the force I had, I stopped the tip of my machete over where his heart was slowing in his chest. And then I plunged it deep.

The amount of force and the difficulty of getting through his sternum rattled my bones and left my arms feeling weak. But it was fucking worth it.

Hustle’s mouth formed a circle, surprise bleeding from his wide eyes. Then, before he could rattle out a final breath, he was gone.

Silence descended again. In that moment of silence, we were lost in our own worlds. I’m sure some of us prayed for our own souls or those of our brothers. I’m sure some of us asked for our enemies to find the same fate. I’m sure some of us begged for justice and light to find those who needed it the most.

Not me though.

I didn’t do any of those things.

In that moment of pure silence when one of this earth’s evils was banished, I conjured the image of my woman’s face in my mind. She smiled at me, gave me her blessing while also bathing me in her love.

I lived within that moment of silence.

And then I opened my eyes and breathed collectively with my brothers around me.

We shared glances, but words weren’t necessary.

The clatter of my machete against the concrete floor was the only sound, a gong of finality that brought the close to another page in our quest to protect those we love and the city that shields us. I didn’t look back as I walked out of the basement of the shed. I didn’t need to.

I knew Lucifer would have someone clean up after me which allowed me to head straight for the room I still had in the clubhouse and get cleaned up. I needed to get my head on straight if I was going to be of any use to anyone.

“Apostle,” Tara’s voice pulls me back to the present. It’s only then that I realize her hand is on my arm.

The smile on my face is forced as I shake my head. “Sorry,” the word sounds disingenuous even to me. Probably because it is.

Tara’s voice contorts in annoyance before smoothing out into something she probably thinks is sexy. It isn’t and, honestly, she looks constipated. But I probably shouldn’t say that to her.

Even though I’ve spent some time with Tara over the last few days in the hopes that I can help her, I’m not blind to how she usually just says what she thinks I want to hear. She thinks I’m stupid, but I’m aware of what she’s doing. I just don’t see the need to call her out on it. Yet.

As long as she agrees to get the help that she needs, the lies she tells me don’t matter.

“Are you going to agree to counseling? Rehab? What? You need to do something.” Her jaw clenches and I know she’s going to try and dig in her heels which causes me to change my approach. I make my voice soft and pleading, “You went through something traumatic. We want to help you, but we can’t if you aren’t willing to get help.”

“You want to help me?” Her voice is sickly sweet as she bats her eyelashes up at me.

“Of course,” the words feel like glass in my mouth, but they aren’t exactly a lie.

They aren’t exactly true either.

The kinship I felt when I first heard about her past has been fading rapidly the more time I’ve spent around Tara. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve another chance to live a good life.

She is.

What she does with that is up to her.

“You know, Apostle,” she purrs, “you’ve been so tense the last few days. I could help you with that.” Tara’s eyes sparkle, but the lifelessness I saw the night we rescued her still lives in the depths of them. “Then I could give you my answer about what I want to do.”

She squeezes my arm, which I didn’t even realize she was still touching, as I realize that the light background noise in the common room has ceased entirely.

A wave of sadness and betrayal washes over me, and my head snaps toward the double doors of the clubhouse. Sioux stands there, a Valkyrie about to lead me to the underworld because the pain and distrust in her blue eyes is sure to kill me.

I jump up and start to close the distance between us, but all she does to stop me in my tracks is hold up a single hand.

My chest cracks open and I’m not sure it will ever be mended.