Twisted in Chaos (Destructive Devastation #2)

Chapter 25

There are many things I hate in life. One is being left behind. Ironic? Yes. Considering not too long ago, I left my best friend lying in a hospital bed. Helpless.

And it seems he's still holding a solid grudge against me for that.

Wonderful.

It is something he should work on getting over. It's unlike him to hold on to something for so long. Well, besides obsession. It's become insufferable and tedious when he rebels and runs away. Like tonight. Getting Brandon was supposed to be a joint effort.

Maybe he and I need to duke it out once and for all. A grudge match. He got his hit in at Olivia's.

Now, it's my turn to lay the idiot out. Knock some damn sense into him before he gets us killed.

Perhaps my actions are not the real issues, though. I don't have blinders on. I see why he's being a prick and running off to do missions himself.

Not only is he impatient. In his eyes, I'm the reason we lost Journey and Shepp in the first place. My father handed them over to Shadow. Scattering the four of us across the land and ocean.

A black hole opens inside my chest at the thought of my two missing pieces. And what they must be enduring. Torture? Forced fights? The images of Journey alone, covered in someone else's blood, play in my mind on repeat. Tormenting me and upping my desperation to retrieve them and shield them.

I will fucking find them.

I'm not a heavy sleeper by any means, but I've avoided closing my eyes since I met with Elias. Everything that's happened plays behind my eyes, projecting like a horror movie on repeat.

My jaw clenches. Elias White. Another dreadful human being that has rage boiling beneath my flesh. He wants a partnership. No. He wants joint ownership of Briar Cove. In exchange, he'll give me the soldiers I need to assist in the upheaval of the empire my father has built.

It will fall.

Implode.

And I'll be the one with the bomb at the heart of what my father loves most—his empire. He cares for no one. Only himself. Possibly not even my mother. She’s a tool in his arsenal. Someone to parade around for looks. That’s it. Like everyone else. They're for his image. For power.

But for now, Arrow and I need to settle our differences. Our efforts must go toward the enemies after us and those we love most.

"Good to see you again, Trevor. It's been a while. How's my father doing?" I pull up a chair across from him as he glares at me.

Trevor. A member of the family with deep roots. His father has been in the family since he was eighteen. And, in turn, he followed in his father's footsteps. Although poor Trevor didn't make it far. Fucking up left and right. He became a guard. Never anything higher up.

Trevor's swollen lip curls, and he grunts, attempting to free his hands. But if there's one thing I know about Arrow, he likes to bind them. There's no escape for him.

"Oh, you're a regular old Chatty Cathy," Arrow says tauntingly. "Maybe I should give him some incentive to talk?" He wiggles his brows as he digs in his pants.

For a split second, I think he's dragging out his dick—for what? I have no clue. But he proves my tired mind wrong when he produces a large knife that has no business being near his balls.

"You had that in your pants?" I ask, rubbing my aching temple.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, Daddy Jer." That is all he says when he puts the edge of the knife near the man's crotch.

Well, when he's not interested in nearly chopping off his balls, he's interested in chopping off someone else's—his go-to. Right now, we don't have Max and Nova to assist us with questioning.

So, we have to resort to torture techniques.

Our favorite.

The thought of blood has my hair standing on end. Goosebumps prickle across my skin when Arrow leans into Trevor's face, giving him a sadistic grin. The tip of the knife sinks into Trevor's crotch like it's moving through butter. His cries fill the room as Arrow does it, despite the man's pleas for Arrow to stop poking holes in him.

I sit back with Brandon beside me, enjoying the bloody show Arrow puts on.

"We want some insight," Arrow says with an eerie calm that's anything but his normal voice. "We want to know why you were trying to kill Brandon over there."

Serenity and peace seem to sweep in and take his emotions hostage. His light eyes take in the pain he's inflicting, feeding off the shouts and screams of Trevor. It nourishes the darkening demon living in his soul and helps to fight off the agitation.

Arrow revels in the sobs and tears of our captive. Now, he grins when Trevor's head falls forward, and he gasps for breath.

It's his final bow before the curtain falls.

His death is imminent. I feel it in my bones. I sit up straighter. Giving Trevor my undivided attention.

"Okay, I'll tell you. Please, stop."

Ah, the music to my ears.

Arrow's fingers dig into Trevor's hair, forcefully pulling his head back with a grunt. Trevor's unrecognizable face swells more under the scrutiny of our eyes. He's barely breathing, living, and surviving this ordeal. But that's all right. We only need him to loosen his tongue a smidge.

"Go on then," Arrow chirps, shoving the tip of the knife into Trevor's chin. "Tell Arrow all your sins. Then you can repent for them." AKA he can die and drift slowly to Hell, where he'll burn for an eternity.

According to Father Amour, of course.

"Indulge us, Trevor." I fold my hands in front of me as I move forward, leaning down to stare into the slits of his eyes. "Why were you sent to kill Brandon? More importantly, who sent you?" I raise a brow when he heaves a few breaths, savoring the life he still has left until we snuff it out once and for all.

"Every miserable piece of you and your existence is being wiped out." His bloody teeth gnash together, spitting saliva and blood onto my face.

I don't move. Don't react. If I do, it'll only encourage him to continue. So, I grin, tilting my head when he wheezes to breathe. Sticky red blood slowly drips onto the dance floor. Something that would irritate me if we were open for business—that'll come soon enough—but for now, I want to swim in it. Lap it up and laugh as he slowly dies.

Fuck.

I shake my head, reeling myself in from the darkness that resides in me—begging for more, more, more. Blood. Violence. Everything in between until this town is under our thumbs, and we kill every enemy coming to stand before us.

"Hear that, Jer. Someone's looking to kill us and everyone associated with us."

"Hmm, I did," I hum, standing to my full height and turning to Brandon, who stares on with cold abandon. "I'd suggest getting into contact with the ones loyal to you and us."

"Yes, Sir," he responds, stiffening when he pulls his phone out.

"They're all dead," Trevor laughs, exposing his teeth again. "We made sure that no one survived who'd align with you," he spits as best as he can, cursing our names. “Including your precious allies in the police force.”

Well, then. That puts quite the damper on things, doesn’t it? If we don’t have our alliance with the police chief. Then what do we have?

"Why?" Arrow pouts, digging the tip of the knife in deeper. More blood flows from his wound, making my toes curl at the sight.

Perhaps Arrow wasn't the only one who needed a little escapism through violence to relieve the pressure mounting inside him. I did, too.

I heave a breath, marching forward. I hold out my hand with a pleading in my eyes. Arrow doesn't fight me when he hands over the knife. He huffs with a knowing nod and steps back. His arms fold across his chest as he looks on.

"My turn," I smirk, gently brushing the tip of the knife down his upper arms. If we were in the cage, I'd tear his clothes off and feed him to the lions for his crimes. "I would like some names. For every second you defy me, I will poke a hole in your flesh. Starting with your neck, upper arms, and forearms, then each finger one by one until I've cut every single digit off. If you don't speak, then I'll sew up your wounds and give you a blood transfusion and meds. Then, we'll start the process again until your body can't take it anymore..."

Trevor stiffens beneath my weapon. He pants. Wiggles. Tries to run away from the inevitable, but it's no use. He's my new official pin cushion, and I can't wait to play.

"Who is giving you the orders?"

No answer. I nick his neck. Not enough to bleed, but enough for him to feel the burn for minutes to come as oxygen mixes with his wound.

"Who is giving you the orders to kill our men?"

No answer. So, I repeat the process an inch lower, nicking him but not making him bleed.

"Let me at him, Jer. Let me fuck him up so hard that he'll give us all the answers..." Arrow trails off when a tiny whisper comes from Trevor. "What was that, old boy? Can you repeat it?" Arrow grins, leaning in with his hand by his ear, listening intently as Trevor's lips move again.

"Your father," he hisses and pants again.

"My, my! The boss himself?" Arrow asks, holding a hand to his heart.

I still. Not daring to move a muscle as his confession sits in the air.

“My father, huh?” Word on the street is he's fallen ill.

“Yes,” Trevor wheezes, coughing more blood.

"Oh, goody. Daddy Gabe is all kinds of mad, isn't he?" Arrow leans in, waiting for more answers from Trevor, who barely clings to life.

“More than that,” he grunts.

"So, you're telling me that my own flesh and blood are attempting to eradicate Arrow, Shepp, and me?" I raise a brow when the man wheezes again.

Unfortunately, he seems on death's door—a shame. I need more information from him before I step back out the door and try to reclaim what's mine.

If my father is genuinely setting out to get rid of us, then so be it. We won't go down without a fight.

"Yes," he gasps out, choking on his spit.

"I'm curious," I say, digging the knife into his skin, barely breaking through. He tenses, softly crying out from the pain. I never said I'd stop once he gave me names. "Is he attempting to start a war within the family?"

Trevor chuckles under his dying breath. "There is no attempt about it. The Viotto dynasty is coming to an end. Gabriel is sick, and you're on Death's list. You're done, Viotto." Or so he thinks.

I smile, getting eye level with him. "I'm never done, Trevor. Ever. The Viotto name will live on. Do you think the other members of our family will take kindly to a civil war? Plenty of men have come for our name and kingdoms. But they died the moment their heads got too big."

Trevor scoffs, spitting blood everywhere. "You'll go down, Viotto. You don't see it yet. Your father is going to take you down," he chuckles in a raspy voice.

For some reason, I'm not convinced. Sure, my father was adamant about locking me in the mansion, so I'd marry Chloe Satin in unholy bliss. But this is not his style. Sending out soldiers to kill anyone associated with us?

I guess I could see it.

But if Gabriel wants to take me down, he'd do it himself. Not send others to collect me. Not only that, my father would want to drive home how far we had fucked up. He'd capture us, lock us in the basement, and show the family what happens to disobedient little boys.

So, if he's attempting to kill us, he's out of his damn mind. Or someone else is in control.

"Come on, Jer. Let me at him. Let me cut his dick off, and then we can see what else he knows," Arrow says in a deep voice, moving to undo Trevor's pants.

I have no doubt in my mind that he'll actually do it. If we were with the lions, he'd feed the appendage to them, displaying his power. But we're not. It will only result in Trevor dying quickly without giving us any more names.

"I don't know anything else," he gasps out when Arrow moves the knife down Trevor's abdomen, heading straight for his open zipper. "I'm just following orders!" His shouts bounce off the walls, echoing around us.

I tilt my head. Well, that worked faster than I thought it would. Threaten a man's manhood, and you threaten everything. I suppose that's why Arrow has always seemed so fond of cutting off men's jewels.

"Do you believe him, Jer?" Arrow says, narrowing his eyes on the man tied to the chair with blood dripping from almost every inch of him.

"I'm not quite sure," I hum, rubbing my chin. "Maybe we should entice him to continue speaking..." I trail off when Arrow grins more, working the knife closer and closer to his dick.

"I don't!" he shouts like a pussy.

How pathetic that a man from the family, trained and initiated as one of us, would spill secrets like they were nothing. We're told to die with the words on our tongues, not reveal anything. Besides, he knows death is imminent, anyway. There's no way we'd keep him breathing for longer than necessary.

"I don't know anything else! Only what our team was asked to do!"

"How were you handed these orders?" If my father gives out orders, it's direct. He either assembles his soldiers at the tower, hands out instructions, and then sets them free. Or he delivers them through private messages with his signature and the go word—a secret word meant to signify it's him. Everyone in the family knows it by heart.

"By the man himself." He glowers at me, watching as I pace in front of him, attempting to piece the puzzle together.

"Where does Gabriel have you meet for these types of meetings now? Since the tower is down."

And he would never bring someone to the mansion. It was once a place for business; he brought everyone there to enjoy some gin, and then they'd discuss a truce or whatever else they intended to speak about. But after a bomb went off and his life was put in danger, he no longer wanted to give people a blueprint of where he slept or how to get there. Hence, the tower being built. A fortress, really.

Trevor rolls his lips together with a pained expression, tightening his features.

"Make him speak," I say aloud, stopping in front of Trevor. "Make him tell me every filthy secret regarding the family stored in his walnut brain." I raise a brow to Arrow, who beams at me.

"That's one way to get back into my good graces, Daddy Jer," he chuckles, moving the knife lower until Trevor screams out in pain.

I don't even bother correcting the name he calls me anymore. I'm used to it. But I'd never tell him that. So, I give him this win.

"Speak or forever hold your secrets, dickbag. Gimme them all. Tell me where you have these meetings. And let's get extra, super-duper specific with them." Arrow's eyes darken the more he digs the tip of the knife into Trevor—blood spills. Arrow's demon celebrates beneath his flesh, dancing as more blood covers his fingers and splatters his face.

"Slow down," I instruct Arrow with a sharp eye.

"You are a party pooper sometimes," he hisses, pulling the knife back and heaving a breath.

"I am. But if you keep carving him up like a turkey, he won't be able to speak or breathe any longer. I want where the meetings are being held, Trevor."

Wheezes fill the air, nearly sounding like gargles. My heart falls when Trevor gives out one last gurgle in his throat—the death gurgle—and slumps in his chair.

"Fuck," I shout, grabbing a chair and throwing it across the empty dance floor. My breaths pick up as I stare at the wall, imagining all the information we could have gotten from him but didn't. It's not Arrow's fault entirely. He did what he had to do to get him here and get him talking.

"Well, what a waste. I didn't even get to stab him fully." Arrow's faint pout floats through the thick air, almost as if I stand in water, losing myself to the madness growing inside me.

"He has a phone." A thud happens as Brandon speaks.

"A phone?" I say, pivoting on my heel.

My gaze meets Brandon's furrowed brows, and he nods softly. "Yeah, it's fingerprint access, too."

"Oh! I can sever his finger," Arrow says with too much glee as he gets to work and cuts Trevor's thumb off.

"How do you know it's the thumb?" Brandon asks with confusion, not blanching when Arrow proudly holds up the finger.

"Oh, good point," he says, nodding, tossing the thumb into Brandon's hand.

I smirk when Brandon swallows hard, staring down at the severed finger. A slight green tint takes him over until he huffs a breath, putting the thumb to the screen.

"That wasn't it," he says, discarding the thumb on the ground, shivering after touching it.

"Don't worry. I got them all!" Arrow says with pride, holding nine severed fingers.

"Perfect," I mutter, watching with glossy eyes as they get to work, checking to see which finger unlocks his phone. Finally, after several attempts, they discover his right-hand pinky finger was the golden ticket.

"I can look through this if you want me to," Brandon says, sitting beside me.

I rub my temple. "If he has AntiEyes like all of us were equipped to have, then we won't be able to find anything. We'll need someone to hack into it and gather all the necessary information."

"Who the hell can hack AntiEyes?" Arrow asks, tossing the severed fingers around like he's juggling them. "It's impossible." He hums to himself as he dances around Trevor's body with victory. At least this murder will sate him until we can further plan to get Journey and Shepp back.

I sigh, rubbing my forehead as the day's events sit heavily on my chest. "I'm sure I know a few people."

In fact, I know I do. I just know they will not be too damn excited to see our faces again. Especially Carter. He's liable to chew my face off than ever step foot into the Mafia business again. But it's vital we get this information off Trevor's phone.

"A text just came through," Brandon says, swiping to view it. His brows furrow. "Whoever is sending the message wants an update on the mission." His dark eyes find mine, and I shrug.

"If it's my father, he'll expect exact words." Brandon nods, handing me the phone so I can view the message.

Boss

Need updates! Did you eliminate the traitors?

I raise a brow, saying the message out loud to Arrow. He purses his lips when he catches what I caught.

Boss

Are all you idiots dead?

"It's not him," I say, keeping the phone lit because the text messages will disappear forever when it darkens. It's how AntiEyes works and why we all have it installed on our devices.

"You're positive?" Brandon asks, leaning over to look at the messages again.

"Indeed," I say, staring at the messages again.

Trevor

All targets have been eliminated. 466.

"You signed with the code," Brandon states, staring at me.

"I'm interested to see if the person on the other end will think to add it in. If it's my father, he wouldn't have forgotten." I've gotten plenty of lectures on how I should be more responsible and remember to end my messages to him with those numbers. AntiEyes might be impenetrable, but the government thinks it can access everything.

Not only is the wording funny from the other end, but the lack of numbers has my suspicions growing. I need someone to crack the AntiEyes and hack into phone locations. And there's only one person I know who does that besides Carter.

Boss

Meet me in 20 so we can discuss your successes.

Trevor

It's only me. The others didn't make it. 466.

"So not Daddy Gabe," Arrow chuckles.

"Is it even someone from the family?" I wonder aloud, staring at the screen as messages disappear, their time limit running out.

"Everyone who deals with him directly knows his ways and codes," Brandon says, furrowing his brows. "Even if orders come from the other bosses. The numbers are always there." He gives a firm nod just as another text pops up.

Boss

Here are the coordinates. Be there.

"If it smells like a trap and looks like a trap..." Arrow trails off, stepping away from me. "It's definitely a trap!" he says, pointing the cut-off finger toward me.

"Would you stop pointing that thing everywhere?" I grumble, staring at the message. "Write this down?" I ask Brandon, who is already typing the coordinates into his phone with a nod.

"Looks like it's down by the docks..." he trails off, shaking his head. "It's in Blue Spider Gang territory."

"Blue Spider, huh?" I ask, blowing out a breath. "This just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"You think Elias is up to something?" Arrow asks, tilting his head. "I could take care of him, you know? I'm sure his little compound isn't too hard to break into. Cut some lights and then add in my rocket launcher! I can take them all out without blinking." He grins at that, rocking on his heels.

"Your excitement is disturbing," I quip, smirking when his eyes dart to me.

"You owe me," he says, crossing his arms.

"I do," I admit. "But we can't go into this situation…"

"Half-cocked, I know. That's why I'm fully cocked. With lots of weapons at my disposal," he sasses back, pointing the stupid finger at me again.

"First things first. We need to discard Trevor here."

"We should take him to the meeting spot," Arrow says with a grin, an obvious plan forming in his mind. "They say twenty minutes. How long would it take us to get there from here?"

Brandon's fingers fly over his screen. "Ten minutes."

"If we leave now, we can get there before anyone else shows up. Then we can glimpse whoever is behind this." I nod.

"Then, let's get a move on," Arrow says, throwing the bloodied body over his shoulder. "We've got work to do. Oh, Daddy Jer! Go upstairs and grab my rocket launcher."

"Didn't it die at the tower?" I grumble, standing tall when he sends me a scathing look.

"Who said I only had one?" His grin sends shivers down my spine.

"Do I want to know how many you've acquired?"

"Don't ask stupid questions, Jer. You'll only get stupid answers."

Well, then. That means Arrow has more rocket launchers than he knows what to do with. Wonderful.