Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
NOAH
One week later and I’m laying on the bed with Chase, looking at furniture on my laptop, to put in our new home.
I don’t care as long as Chase is there, but I’m humoring him, which is what I have learned partners do, to keep them happy.
Chase is chatting away talking about sofas, when my phone vibrates on the nightstand.
I reach for it and see Marcus’ name on the screen and something inside of me awakens.
"Yes."
"Noah." His voice is low, careful. "We have a situation at the clubhouse and we thought you might want to be involved."
"What kind of situation?"
"A drug dealer who has been operating in our territory, cutting into Kozlov distribution. We caught him tonight and he's... secured. Here at the clubhouse."
I'm already dying to get over there. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything and this time it will be different, as I can take my time and do as I please, without worrying about being caught or planning disposal.
"I'll be there in forty minutes."
"Good."
I end the call and turn to Chase.
"The clubhouse?" he asks quietly.
"Yes. Get dressed."
"When will you be back?"
"You're coming with me."
He goes still. "To the clubhouse? Is that a good idea?"
"Yes."
"Noah…"
"I'm not leaving you here alone. Get dressed. Now."
He studies my face for a moment, then nods. "Okay."
We dress in silence. Chase pulls on dark jeans and a black sweater and I wear the same, it’s practical and nothing that will show blood.
The drive to the clubhouse is quiet. Chase sits beside me, his hand resting on my thigh, looking for reassurance. This is an unknown for him and I’m keen to see how he reacts, that’s if he decides he can handle it.
"What are we walking into?" he asks.
"A problem that needs handling."
"What kind of problem?"
"The kind I’m good at."
His pupils dilate slightly. "You're going to kill someone."
"Probably."
"And you want me to watch?”
"I want you with me. It’s up to you if you watch."
“How can you be so relaxed? I’m fucking terrified and not sure I can do this.”
“You’ve done it before with the carjacking. It’s just a bit of blood, Chase. Nothing will hurt you, people die anyway, it’s just that this guy won’t have a choice on when that happens.”
He shakes his head at me and then continues to look out of the windows, quiet for the rest of the drive.
The clubhouse is busy tonight, several motorcycles are parked outside, and I can see lights on in the back rooms. Marcus meets us at the door. His eyes flick to Chase, then back to me.
“Come with me." Marcus leads us through the main room where several Saints members watch us pass. Their expressions are hard and impatient.
"We caught him dealing in our territory three hours ago, he’s been undercutting Kozlov prices and has been at it for months. He says he doesn't know the supplier, and we've tried to be persuasive, but he's not talking," Marcus says.
We reach a door at the back of the clubhouse and Marcus opens it, and the smell of sweat, blood, and piss hits me immediately.
The room is mid-size, a room with no windows and a concrete floor with a drain in the center. The man is tied to a chair, I would say he is in his mid-forties, with a bloodied face and one eye swollen shut. His breathing is labored.
Blade stands nearby, and I notice his knuckles are cut and bruised. Another club member I don't recognize leans against the wall with his arms crossed.
"He’s all yours, but if you could get some answers, that would be great. Dima and Lev are aware and said they are on their way over," Marcus says.
I circle the man slowly, studying him. Chase stands near the wall, watching everything with an intensity that surprises me. To be honest I thought he would wait outside.
The man's good eye tracks me, trying to anticipate my next move.
"What do you think, you up for it?” Marcus asks me and I nod, my focus purely on the guy in the chair.
"What's your name?" I ask quietly.
"Fuck you."
I don't react, instead I play with my food and continue studying him, looking at the way his hands are tied, the angle of his shoulders, the visible injuries already inflicted.
"Who's your supplier?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
I pull out my new knife that I bought to replace the one I discarded in Venice, and his one good eye widens. His breathing becomes labored.
"You've been stealing from the Kozlov organization," I say casually.
"I didn’t."
"Don't lie." I press the blade against his cheek, not cutting just yet.
"Who's your supplier?"
"Some guy in Queens. I don't know his name."
"You're lying."
"I'm not…"
I make a shallow cut across his cheek and he screams. The sound is so satisfying, sending a wave of tranquility over my body. I track the blood that drips down his skin, before dripping onto his clothing.
"Try again,” I say as I lift my knife to the other side of his face.
"Fine! Just don’t cut me again, his name is Tommy Ricci. He operates out of Astoria."
"Better." I wipe the blade on his shirt. "How long have you been working for him?"
"Six months. Maybe seven."
"And he knew you were operating in Kozlov territory?"
"Yes and he said it was fine. Said the Kozlovs wouldn't notice."
I almost smile at that. "He was wrong."
The man's breathing is ragged now, anxiety setting in. "Look, I'll stop. I'll disappear. You'll never see me again."
"That's true."
Then he says it as his good eye finds Chase against the wall. "Wait, I know you. I've seen you before at that bar, Starlight. You were with…" His gaze swings back to me. "You're his boyfriend?"
The room goes silent and I feel it, the shift inside me. The cold rage that has no bottom.
"What did you say?"
He realizes his mistake immediately. "Nothing. I didn't mean…"
"You saw him. At Starlight?"
"I just…I was at the bar one night. I saw you two together, that's all."
"And what did you think when you saw him?"
"Nothing. I didn't think anything."
"You're lying." I press the blade against his throat, drawing a thin line of blood. "What did you think?"
"I thought he was good-looking, okay? That's all. I thought he was attractive."
The anger floods through me with such heat I’m surprised I haven’t burst into flames.
"You looked at him."
"No…"
"You thought about him, fantasized about him."
"I didn't say that."
"You imagined what he'd look like on his knees."
"What? No!"
I pull the knife away and turn to Marcus. "I need a baseball bat."
Marcus doesn't hesitate and he nods to Blade, who disappears and returns thirty seconds later with an aluminum bat. I take it, feeling the weight. Perfect balance. Good heft.
"You looked at what's mine," I say quietly, turning back to the prisoner. "That was your mistake." I swing the bat into his knee and the crack is audible as the bone shatters, nearly drowned out by his scream.
I swing again. Other knee. Another crack.
"Please, God, please,"
"God isn't here," I tell him. "Just me."
I move to his hands next as the bat comes down on his fingers and I don't stop, as I continue to break his elbows, his shoulders and finally his ribs. Each swing is done with intention to cause maximum pain.
Behind me, I'm aware of the room. Marcus and Blade have gone still, the other club member looks pale. Chase is watching, I can feel his gaze on me, intense and unwavering.
The man is screaming continuously now, the sound echoing off the concrete walls. I set the bat down and pick up my knife again.
"You thought about him," I say quietly, pressing the blade against his good eye. "You don't deserve eyes."
"Noah." I recognize that voice. Dima. The Kozlov’s finally showed up. "That's enough."
I pause, the knife still hovering above the man's eye socket. Trust Dima to arrive at the best part and ruin the fun.
"He looked at Chase," I say without turning around. "He thought about him and imagined him."
"I understand. But we need information from him first."
"He already told me everything. His supplier is Tommy Ricci in Astoria."
"Then finish it."
I consider this, suddenly bored with the situation now that Dima has ruined the vibe. So I pull the knife away from his eye and drive it into his throat instead.
The man gurgles, blood spraying. I hold the knife there, watching his eyes go dim, until he stops moving, then I pull it out, wiping it clean on his shirt, and turn around.
Dima, Carlos, and Lev are standing in the doorway, their expressions carefully neutral. Marcus and the other club members look shaken, and I’m not sure why considering what they do for a living.
Chase is still against the wall, his face flushed, his breathing quick. His pupils are fully dilated and honed in on me.
I pull out my phone and begin photographing the body. Multiple angles of his face, hands, the destroyed knees, the throat wound. Organic art in its most natural state.
No one speaks, and when I'm finished, I pocket my phone and look at Dima. "He's dead."
"So I see." Dima steps into the room, studying the body. His gaze moves to the bat, then to my hands covered in blood. "Went a little crazy there."
"He disrespected me."
Dima’s gaze moves to Chase, then back to me and I sense he understands. Carlos moves closer, his expression thoughtful. "You enjoyed that."
"Yes."
"I mean you really enjoyed that, you looked like you were living your best life."
"Is that wrong?"
Lev speaks for the first time. "That's dangerous and a liability. You have no control."
"No," Carlos says. "That's useful. Noah doesn't need motivation or justification, he just needs a target. That’s rare."
Marcus clears his throat. "I've never seen anything like that."
"Then you understand what happens to anyone who looks at Chase. Who thinks about him. Who exists in the same space as him and dares to have an opinion."
The room is silent as Dima studies me for a long moment. Then he nods. "Clean this up and dispose of the body. And send someone to Astoria to deal with Tommy Ricci."
"Already on it," Marcus says, his voice slightly unsteady.
Dima looks back at me. "You did well tonight, but next time, try to keep them alive long enough for proper interrogation."
"He gave me information."
"After you'd already started torturing him," Carlos says.
"He mentioned Chase, that was his death sentence, and remember I don’t work for you or take orders. You’re lucky I even asked questions."
Carlos almost smiles. "Fair enough."
Dima’s gaze moves to Chase. "You watched all of that, Chase?"
Chase's voice is steady. "Yes."
"And? Dizzy? Feeling sick or are you good?"
“I’m good. I understand why it was necessary."
‘Fucking hell, we have another crazy one,” Lev mutters before they all leave. Marcus and the others begin cleaning up the body as I move over to Chase. His face is flushed, his breathing quick and there's a visible bulge in his pants.
"You're turned on," I observe.
"Don’t highlight it to anyone, but yes I am."
"By watching me torture him?"
"No, it was watching you do this because of me. I’m so fucking vain, please don’t look at me."
I grab his jaw, forcing him to meet my eyes, enjoying the embarrassment he is feeling from being so honest. "Mine."
"You know I’m yours. Can we go now before I die of shame?" I smile at his discomfort, before releasing him and turning to Marcus. "We're leaving."
"See you both around."
I take Chase's hand and lead him out of the clubhouse. In the car, neither of us speaks, but the tension is electric. By the time we reach the hotel, Chase starts to talk.
“Noah, why were you taking photos of that man? Was it for evidence?” Chase asks as we stand in the elevator. I look over to my side at him and take out my phone, finding the album called “Beauty of Art” and pass it to him.
“Holy shit, there are hundreds of pictures here, Noah. You took all of these? Why?” he says, his voice wary like he is unsure if he wants the answers.
“Because I see the beauty in it. Look at them, Chase, look how perfect they are now that the soul has gone and all of the lies have been taken away.”
He looks down and scrolls before swallowing hard and passing the phone back to me.
“I don’t understand why you would see anything beautiful about that, Noah. It’s awful.”
The elevator stops at our floor, and I pull him out by the hand, toward our penthouse.
“You don’t have to see it. It only matters that I do.”
As we go inside the penthouse, Chase doesn’t move from the doorway as we come inside, his eyes are wide with no doubt more fucking questions.
“There are hundreds there, Noah. Hundreds. How many have you killed? How many have you hurt since we’ve been together?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
I stand in front of him and gently run my hand through his hair and he leans into the touch, closing his eyes.
“It’s not a big deal, Chase. You already know what I do.”
“Not to this scale I didn’t, it makes it more….I don’t know…crazy.”
“Thats only because you are stepping out of the denial, baby. Embrace the beauty like I do.”
“This is fucked up, Noah. So these pictures, are they like tokens to you?”
“No, nothing like that. I just like the way they look after, makes me feel like I’ve had a part in making what people think is bad, a work of art.”
“This is a lot in one day.”
“You’ve just watched me kill someone, and a few photos have upset you?”
“That sentence is never one I thought I would ever hear.”
He leans back against the entrance door, and I pull him close.
“Let me take your mind off it, baby. Remember how turned on you were at the clubhouse?”
“I’d rather not.”
“You have no choice. I plan to fuck you all night, baby, rock you to sleep with my cock buried inside of you.”
I feel his dick harden against me as I press him into the door, licking and sucking on his neck. Now he knows everything, but the big question is what will he do with that knowledge?