Javier: Ride With Me

Chapter 1

Torch River …

Javier used tongs to dip the finished blade in the vat of water to quench it, put it next to the others and nodded, pleased, as he surveyed his work. When completed, the knives would be badass groomsmen gifts. He was months ahead of the groom’s deadline. It was only eleven o’clock, but fabricating was done for the day, as he had started just after the sunrise. The August heat already rivaled the miserably uncomfortable Midwest humidity. He turned off the propane to the forge, deposited his goggles, apron, and gloves on a scarred wood table and headed for the outdoor shower, anticipating the cold water sluicing over his body.

He enjoyed his work. Found it cathartic. However, hammering and drawing out the tempered metal for hours was taxing, and his clothes were drenched. He counted on the shower to revive him. It always did. After picking up his lunch at the diner, he was headed to the business that he and the siblings of his heart founded decades earlier—River Rats Brewing.

The name evolved from the disparaging term river rats they had been called all their lives. The group decided to proudly embrace it, and when the craft brewery became successful, the slur no longer held a sting.

River Ratswas a nod to their beginnings and shared experiences as foster kids who grew up in the Narrows alongside the wide, winding Torch River—from which the town took its name. The same river that served to divide the affluent and poor.

River Ratshonored survival and acknowledged what had shaped them into driven, gritty, and street-smart adults. They might not had been born of the same blood, but they would bleed for each other.

Brewing beer had grown from a hobby in Sammi’s garage to a serious business enterprise. After exhausting the space of two buildings, they invested in a state-of-the-art facility that had future expansion abilities. It was a wise move.

Business was booming. The brewery had expanded several times. A new distributor agreement with a nationwide wholesaler had been inked late last year and was predicted to substantially increase their market share. In anticipation, they scaled up the facility again and hired more employees.

Of course, some residents in the affluent Cliffs area across the river had taken notice. There was an uptick in inquiries and inspections. Having grown up in the economically depressed area of Torch River, Javier, and his brothers and sisters, were wise to tactics of the rich, particularly those of the Hayes and Maitlin families. The highly profitable brewing operation was a target for acquisition, at any cost. So was the land.

It wasn’t going to fucking happen.

Before moving the brewery into its first official building, they had hired attorneys, incorporated, and then systematically and quietly purchased all available land in the Narrows and put it in a trust. Some of the prominent people dwelling in the Cliffs had to be gnashing their teeth over the inability to acquire what was now coveted land.

What would the Cliffies do if they discovered the seed money had come from one of their own?

Javier smirked, pulled the moisture-laden bandana from his head, and shrugged off the sweaty tee, then turned on the shower and pushed off the steel-toed leather boots—the last of his protective gear.

He used the shower in the shop’s bathroom roughly half of the year. However, when the weather was warm, he preferred rinsing off outside. It was pure freedom. Just him and nature, the water directly piped from the Torch. The outdoor shower was unnecessary, but he never regretted adding it.

He shimmied the roomy pants off. They pooled at his feet. He kicked them aside, into the weeds. Commando, he stepped in under the strong spray and groaned loudly. Once cooled-off, he soaped, rinsed, and turned off the faucet.

Behind him, someone loudly cleared their throat. He ignored them—until it registered that the person sounded like a woman.

Not Sammi. She was busy opening up the Wake even though the bar didn’t open until five tonight.

Not Rose either. The lunch rush at Daphne’s Diner was just starting and she would be up to her elbows with customers until roughly two o’clock.

Cabrera’s was his property. His domain. He squeezed out his hair and ran his palms over his beard, which was desperately in need a of a trim, and squinted over his shoulder. Curiosity piqued, he pivoted, giving zero fucks about his nakedness.

Wearing platform sandals, a gauzy flowing navy skirt, and a sleeveless flowered blouse, the statuesque redhead took her time looking him over. A smile tugged at her lips and her brows arched above the mirrored sunglasses. Her dewy skin had a slight flush. Was she hot or hot? He decided she was the latter, given her slow, bold perusal.

With effort, his eyes left her and traveled over the restored classic muscle car parked behind her. A beauty. A red convertible with a white interior. “Yours?” He hadn’t heard it. The force of the water hitting the corrugated metal made a decent amount of noise.

“It is. I’m looking for a man that goes by Gray Wolf. I was told I could find him here or later at” —she looked at the screen on her phone— “a bar called the Wake if I miss him. Do you know him?”

The mention of the long-retired alias, inspired by his premature graying hair some thirty years earlier and his tendency to lead others, deflated his cock and had him reaching for the towel on the hook. “Who’s looking?”

“Memphis Creed.”

He had known a Creed long ago. A brother. A loyal friend. A man of honor, until he demonstrated that he wasn’t. Coming up empty, Javier shook his head. “I don’t know a Memphis Creed.” He moved to walk past her—toward the clean dry clothes in his office.

She stepped in front of him, bravely cutting off the path. “Fair enough. You’d have no reason to. But you knew Ransom Creed?”

The damp hair on the back of his neck rose. Why the insistence? “I did. Haven’t had any contact with him in ages.”

“I know. He told me.” She slipped off the sunglasses. Exquisite hazel eyes studied him with a level gaze. “Just not the why.”

Javier’s chin snapped up. What the fuck?

“He’s dead. I’m Ransom’s daughter. Memphis. I have the credentials to back up my claim. Pops indicated you might want to see them.”

Credentials … Was she some kind of a fucking lawyer? What do I say? Nice to meet you? Your father was banished from Torch River when he fucked all of us over? His life was threatened if he ever came within a state? No.

“Get the fuck off my property.” He snarled, storming past her.

Their skin brushed, sparking like nothing he had ever experienced. Spontaneous combustion. He had heard of it, but the pulsing anger and unease surging in his system allowed him to compartmentalize it. There was no way he was going to burn with her. Javier entered his shop, slammed the door, shot the bolts, and dropped onto the metal chair at his desk, the damp towel knotted around his waist.

* * *

Thirty Years Earlier …

He and his foster siblings demanded justice. Their friends agreed to support them, after all everyone in the Narrows had been affected.

Their quarry had been night fishing by himself—like he did every Wednesday evening. His time with the fish. The loud classical music blasting over the water and the glow sticks attached to his pants made him easy to locate.

Masks, gloves, and black beanies and clothing obscured their identities as they cut their engines, drifted up from behind in their dinghy and jon boats, and rafted to the anchored vessel. Silent, they boarded the larger craft quickly. After blindfolding, binding, and gagging him, the man was lobbed into one of their boats. The rod, live bait, and underwater night-light were left undisturbed, but the boat’s anchor was pulled. They untied from his boat, which the current took rapidly downstream and out of view.

Their destination was in the same general direction: Refuge Island, close to the Fork. Javier piloted the boat with their tied-up quarry, taking a surreptitious route since they were certain the man knew the river like they all did—like the back of their hands. Other boats with the club members came up alongside or followed.

At the island, they took his new boat shoes and flung them into the river. His ankles were unbound, the blindfold untied, and he was forced to run. They chased him for sport, until he dropped from exhaustion. Game over, they dragged him to the middle of the landmass. Most stood back from the clearing, where the trees and understory created a boundary of sorts. Their flashlights blinded the prominent resident of the Cliffs as he was stripped naked, freed of the gag, and then spread eagle between two trees, a thick strong rope tying his wrists and ankles to the boughs. Wearing a half-face black dragon mask and black lipstick, Sammi stepped up and kicked his clothes, except for the soiled underwear, into a prepared sandy pit and covered it.

“You fuckers! This is not funny!” He pronounced loudly and arrogantly, drawing chuckles from the participants. “Fuck you!” He spat, his eyes glittering with hate. “You’ll pay for this. We will hunt you down. I will ruin you. You’ll be sorry you ever did this.”

“That so?” Javier drawled; his voice muffled though the skull mask.

Stone crossed his arms and simply shook his head. The blonde Rapunzel wig swishing back and forth was at odds with the jester mask covering his face.

The man’s voice rose, strident despite the quivers. “You don’t fucking scare me, you human shit. You’re river scum. Do you know who I am?”

“We do, but you can confirm your identity if you want.”

“Fuck you. Fuck every single one of you to hell. Take me back to my boat. Immediately.”

“Sir …” Sammi said in a deceptive little girl voice, all sugary and sweet. “You have a few problems here.” She raised her hand and held up a black-gloved finger. “One, you’re in no position to negotiate. You’re buck-ass naked and tied spread-eagle.” A second finger joined the first. “Two, we don’t take orders from filth the likes of you.” She extended another digit. “Three, your boat has departed for rougher waters.”

“You bitch.” He hissed and tried to lunge at her, but the ropes held. “You fucking little river rat bitch!” He yelled at the top of his lungs and pulled again at the restraints.

“You can caterwaul all you want. No one’s around except us.” Javier said, sounding bored, and emitted a long, loud sigh. “We’ll wait.”

The man resorted to screaming like a banshee, but no one would hear him from the island situated in the middle of the broad river bordered by uninhabited land.

Ransom approached wearing a reaper mask. “That’s enough. My friend is more patient than me.” His knife blade flashed in the beams of light.

The man immediately stopped screaming and his eyes went wild. Spittle flew as he resorted to pleading, to no avail.

Not wanting to hear more, Javier picked up the fear-stained tighty-whities with a stick and stuffed them into the man’s mouth, careful not to touch the runny shit even though he had gloves on. He joined the others and watched the rest play out in silence.

Punishment was overdue. The man had beaten and raped one of their own and left her for dead. Two more had vanished. He was the predator, identified by his victim.

Their quarry shrieked as the clamps were applied and crushed his testicles, then sobbed.

“He’s choking.” Stone growled so deeply that he didn’t sound like himself. The intent wasn’t to kill the fucker, but to give him a permanent reminder of his crime.

Ransom pulled a corner of the underwear, dislodging it as the man gagged in earnest. He jumped aside as vomit spewed, much of it landing on the man’s feet. “You’re a lucky fucker. This was the humane choice.” The mask gave him an otherworldly voice.

Retching sounded in different areas of the darkness. Javier winced and blinked at the sweat running into his eyes, swallowing repeatedly, forcing the burning bile down.

“Make another sound, motherfucker, and the undies go back in your mouth. You’ll choke on your own puke and shit.”

The man croaked, the word laced with pain, and barely recognizable. “Okay.”

“Fuck, you smell.” Ransom tossed the underwear into the understory.

The man’s eyes fluttered and closed. His head dropped and the pale body became limp. Urine and feces covered his thighs.

Javier’s knees began to buckle as the realization hit him: it was done. He protectively cupped his own balls with a broad hand and stood taller, focusing on holding the flashlight steady. It was an effort to not react.

“Shit. Is he?” Sammi called in a low pitch, disguising her voice.

Ransom checked his pulse, slapped at the slack face, then knelt. “Nope. Just passed out.”

“We’re done here. Let’s load him up.” Javier waved his flashlight around in a wrap-it-up movement.

“Not done yet.” Ransom snarled.

“Yes, you are.”

Ransom’s hand dipped into the front pocket of his jeans, then moved like lightning over the man’s torso. He rose and wiped the blade on the man’s face, smearing it with blood. “Now I am.”

Javier passed his beam over the man. Large bloody capital letters were gouged into the flaccid belly above dense pubic hair. RAPIST. “You fuck! Why?”

It had been discussed since it was bought it up and voted against—decidedly, except for Ransom, who was gifted with a knife. He enjoyed hunting, was an expert at dressing his kills, and working livestock at a farm north of Torch River.

“Just in case he tries to make his nutsack look normal once everything shrivels to nothing. He has money. This is harder to address.” He sneered, angling his chin at the handiwork.

“You violated the agreement.”

Ransom stepped in, almost nose-to-nose with Javier. “Why does it matter?” He argued under his breath. “He’s already mutilated. What’s six letters?”

“We live by a code. And we had an understanding. You fucking broke it and obliterated our trust.”

“Fuck you, Cabrera.”

* * *

The group piloted back to a bank upstream and loaded their prey onto the flatbed of a beat-up truck “borrowed” from a junkyard for the occasion. The license plate was unreadable due to the amount of mud on it.

All of them were quiet. Ransom drove the back roads until they were in the Cliffs section of Torch River, escorted by others on the lookout for trouble, communicating by walkie-talkies if necessary. Sammi and Rose, who wore a black wig, a witch hat, and a full green witch mask complete with warts, remained in the truck’s bed, and kept a vigil over the naked disfigured man lying on old tarps. Riding shotgun with Ransom, Javier was responsible for listening to the scanner and also watching for police.

Luck was with them. There was a multi-vehicle accident on Founders Bridge. Police, fire, and EMTs were responding. Ransom cut the engine and coasted the downhill slope to a silent stop just before the doors.

Javier went around to the back of the truck. “Ease him out.” He held the man up by an armpit and growled in his ear, the warning stark. “Do not move. Keep your fucking eyes closed and stay quiet. Not a peep. Got it?” To Sammi, now in the driver’s position on the bench seat, and Rose, sitting on the passenger side, he said, “Next step.”

Sammi fired the ignition and backed the truck up.

The quaking man compressed his lips into a tight line, trying to contain the whimpering, and nodded. His hands and feet were untied. The blindfold was last. Their quarry shook so much that he could barely stand. Tears coursed down his face and blood ran down his belly, groin, and legs.

Ransom and Javier dragged him in a two-person arm carry, depositing him on the concrete just shy of the ER doors and pressing the call button several times. The skies rumbled overhead as they sprinted off. They disposed of the masks in a nearby restaurant dumpster, raced on to the woods on the edge of town, and followed a short cut to where Ransom’s Hog was parked. The sky opened up, but they adhered to the speed limit toward the Narrows and were soaked to the skin before crossing the river by way of the low bridge. As planned, the others followed similar steps.

The women rode Sammi’s bike back after dropping off the rusty truck at the junkyard seven miles south of the Narrows, its windows rolled down. The stormy weather stalling over the area for the next few days ensured anything missed in the cab and the truck’s bed would be washed away.

The night hadn’t ended well. Once everyone showed up at the Wake, beers were opened.

Often unable to regulate his emotions, Ransom was a wild card. Sometimes his actions escalated a situation or flew in the face of common sense. Tonight was one of those times. He had broken thecode, carving up their quarry and speaking a brother’s name aloud, possibly painting a target on Javier’s back. It had to be addressed. Now.

Uncomfortably wet, Javier and Stone stood with their backs to the long bar and faced their family and friends. “Hey.” Javier shouted over the voices.

Stone pounded his fist on the counter behind them. The room hushed.

“Thanks. This impromptu meeting of the river rats is to discuss how tonight went down.” Javier nodded to Ransom. “Come on up here, brother.”

Ransom pushed off the far wall and made his way through the standing groups and full tables, positioning himself between Javier and Stone. His eyes glittered defiantly as he panned over the room. He took a long swig of his beer. Sammi held a weeping Rose in the circle of her arm.

Uneasy about the necessary step he had to take, Javier cleared his throat. “Ransom, brother of my heart—” He cleared his throat again and continued in a gruff voice. “I love you, man. But your careless actions have potentially put all of us living in the Narrows at risk, especially you. You broke the code and the agreement. You went against the desires of every person in this room, and then some. You carved a man, almost gutting him. You identified me.”

Ransom gave Javier a stare that held unspoken words and emotions, then resumed looking at everyone in the room.

“What do you have to say?” Stone prodded.

“The fucking son of a bitch had it coming.” He stated loudly, his voice bitter and cracking. “He hurt someone I love.”

“He hurt someone we all love. The castration sent a message. It was enough,” Sammi said softly, her voice raw with emotion. “The rest wasn’t necessary, brother. Or agreed to.” She wiped a tear. “You know the punishment that is to be imposed for your acts.”

“Yes. I stand by what I did. I would do it again. I’m sorry for saying your name in anger, Jav, but that’s it. I hope the fucker rots in hell.”

Someone called from the far end of the room. “We need to take a vote.”

“Those in favor?” Stone observed the hands that shot up. “Against?

Not one hand raised. The vote was unanimous. The Narrows’ decree stood.

Ransom’s jaw pulsed. His Adam’s apple was evident when he swallowed. He looked down at his feet, back up at his family and friends, then inhaled a deep breath and nodded, accepting his fate.

One didn’t risk family or community. His favorite knife—the one he used to cut the man and one of several Javier had forged—was taken to be melted down.

Ransom was exiled from Torch River under threat of death if he ever returned.