Basher
Everything hurt—his nose, his jaw, his back, even his thighs hurt.
He glanced around at the guys sitting in the back of the van with him, glaring.
Yeah, these pussies looked like the type to gang up on him, then kick him in the ribs and legs when he was down on the ground, unable to defend himself.
The only way these homos got a jump on him was that they caught him by surprise.
If he had been paying attention instead of worrying about Cameron and what he was going to do to the man who was currently stalking his guy, he would have heard the van roll up and the sound of these assholes breathing before he even opened the door.
But no, he had been distracted, so they got the jump on him.
Don’t get him wrong. He wasn’t complaining about being distracted. That was a good thing. It meant he had someone in his life he cared about more than himself, someone to worry about and be distracted by.
And hey, if he had to take a few punches to the face and kicks to the ribs for Cameron, he would choose pain and blood every time.
“Once again, I see Caplan Jr. is hiding behind his goons. Will your wannabe boss ever grow a pair and fight me himself?” Basher asked, recognizing a few of the faces around him as the guys from the bar parking lot the night things went to shit and he got his ass thrown into prison.
“Oh, don’t worry, Tony’s waiting for you. He has been for a very long time,” the guy sitting across from him said.
They were all seated on the floor in the back of the van. Basher was the only one with his hands bound, the restraints digging into his wrists with every bump in the road.
Across from him sat a hard-faced man who hadn't taken his eyes off him since they'd left. A hunting knife rested in his hands, the blade glinting as he idly turned it over and over, like he was imagining all the ways he could use it.
“I take it he sent you boys to make sure the coast was clear and that I was safely secured before he met me face-to-face?” Basher taunted.
The man across from him smiled.
“You just wait until we get there.”
Basher nodded slowly. These assholes didn’t scare him. He’d dealt with men like them his entire life.
What had him grinding his teeth was the fact that he’d been taken away from Cameron. The thought of leaving him unprotected sat in his stomach like a lead weight.
Marcus and the others would look after him. They had to.
If anything happened to Cameron while he was gone, there wouldn’t be a corner of the earth these bastards could hide in.
“So, how much longer?” Basher asked, taking note that they had been driving along a dirt road for the past twenty minutes.
The van came to a stop.
The man across from him smiled. “Looks like we’re here.”
Basher let the men yank him from the back of the van and lead him across the dirt toward a large barn that had seen better days.
They were on a ranch—somewhere. The smell of cattle hung heavy in the warm air. Though Basher couldn't see any animals from where they were, ranches like this covered enormous stretches of land.
The structure they were heading toward was an old barn.
Faded dark-green paint clung to the lower walls in chipped, peeling patches, while a deep-red roof loomed overhead, weathered by years of sun and rain.
Several of the windows were cracked or shattered, and some had lost their glass entirely, leaving dark, empty holes that gave the place an abandoned, haunted look.
Whatever this barn was used for, the owners didn’t appear to worry about people getting in.
“Basher! My old friend! How the fuck are you?” Tony Caplan shouted, stepping out of the darkness. He wore a black-and-white pinstriped suit with a matching black tie, and his hair was slicked back like he had stock in hair gel.
Someone needed to remind the guy that he was twenty-eight, not forty-five. Wearing a suit like that, to what might very well be a possible execution, was the kind of thing normally reserved for aging mobsters and men with an unhealthy obsession with old gangster movies.
“Still hiding behind your daddy’s men, are you, T? When are you going to get hair on your balls and actually face me like a man?” Basher asked as two men led him to the center of the barn and began wrapping chains around his wrists.
Tony glared at Basher, clearly pissed by his comment. He dragged his tongue slowly over his lower lip as he watched his men tie him up and secure him to the beam.
“Oh, I’m going to make you scream in pain, you fuckin’ asshole,” Tony snarled, his cheeks flushing with anger and his eyes becoming pin-focused.
Good. He was getting under Tony’s skin. Angry men made for easy targets. They were erratic and quick to act without thinking—all things that helped a man make a mistake.
“Once again, that’s the difference between you and me. I don’t wimp out at the first sign of pain. And it’s usually my name that’s being screamed out, not the other way around.”
Tony’s eyes narrowed.
He adjusted the three rings on his right hand, then brought his fist down quickly across Basher’s face.
Pain exploded through Basher’s face before he even had a moment to prepare himself.
Spitting blood from his mouth, Basher ground his teeth, then glared at Tony.
“Is that it? Even with my arms tied to these beams, you still can’t get in a half-decent punch. No wonder Daddy is always so disappointed in you,” Basher taunted.
Tony let out a cry of rage and lunged at Basher. Facing him, he unleashed a furious barrage of punches, hammering his face, his ribs, and occasionally driving a fist into his stomach whenever he could find an opening.
The man was a frustrated baby pit bull, trying his best to show the tough men around him that he had it in him to lead. That he could cause a man pain while seeking justice for his own shortcomings.
Basher just chuckled.
There was no way he was letting his loser of a man see any sort of weakness in him. No matter how much it hurt, or how much blood burst through his open wounds, he would continue to laugh and taunt and make jokes at the wannabe’s expense.
“Seriously, brother… I get it. Not everyone is tough and able to handle a little one-on-one combat,” Basher said as he watched Tony wipe the blood from his knuckles.
Those fucking rings were tearing into his skin.
“You were scared then, and you’re still scared now. I get it.”
Basher breathed in and out even though his ribs hurt.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I grew up on my own. Had to fight my way through life, so I’m used to fighting and kicking multiple guys’ asses at once.”
Taking another painful breath, he continued to taunt the giant man-child.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure these guys won’t think of you as any less of a man just because you have to get your shots in while I’m chained to a beam.”
That got him.
Tony’s head snapped toward him. He began pacing the floor back and forth, his eyes locked on Basher as he appeared to be contemplating how he was going to dismember his opponent.
Finally, he pointed at Basher.
“Unchain him. I’m going to shut this guy up once and for all.”
Basher smirked. The guy was such a fool.
Just as the men around him approached, a piercing whistle echoed from outside the barn.
“Yoo-hoo! Mr. Angry and Scary Men? Can you please come outside so we can talk?”
Basher recognized the voice. It was Ace.
What was the guy up to?
Tony and his men all looked at each other.
“Leave him chained up. I’ll finish him when I’m done,” Tony ordered, grabbing a gun from one of his men and cocking a bullet into the chamber.
The rest of Tony’s men hurried after him, checking their weapons as they went and making sure their magazines were loaded and ready.
Basher watched the men slowly pull the barn doors open, then step outside like they were checking out a friend who had stopped by for a spot of tea.
Now was his chance to get out of these fucking chains.
But how…?