25. Chapter 25
Chapter 25
Sylvie
The next morning, I sat at my desk with my hands in my hair as Fennick paced the length of my office. Kilian stood leaning against the wall playing Candy Crush Saga on his phone. Declan and Callum sat in the two visitor chairs. Declan still looked a little tired and walked with a cane and a limp.
Fenn stopped pacing and smacked his hand on my desk, making my coffee cup rattle. “We need to blow up their compound and hunt down the survivors. End of fucking story.”
His suggestion hung awkwardly in the air, and I raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Callum and Declan. Callum grinned and shrugged, and Declan folded his hands over his stomach as if getting comfortable. None of us were surprised by Fenn’s over-the-top reaction.
“Blow it up?” I echoed. “I’m not interested in spending my best years in prison or dodging bullets for the rest of my life.”
Fennick leaned forward. “We can do it without getting caught, and we need to send a loud, showy message. Churchill was right when he said if you have a point to make, use a fucking pile driver.” For all of Fenn’s scary craziness, he had the IQ of a genius and read almost as much as Luna did.
Declan leaned forward. “We could always bankrupt them. Between Kilian and me, we could hack into their bank accounts and investments and take them down that way.”
“It’ll take too long,” Kilian muttered absently as he continued to play his game. “To do it right, we’d need a year and a good IRS audit.”
Declan leaned back and reluctantly nodded. “True.”
Rolling my shoulders, I gazed up at Fenn. “We need to figure out a timely, appropriate response. This can’t go unanswered, but blowing up the compound? It’s almost half a city block. And what about family members or visitors who might be there?”
I needed Kilian to share some of the ideas I knew were rolling around in his head. He was the strategist among us, and he collected and hoarded information like a squirrel on crack gathering nuts in the fall.
“Alright,” I murmured with mock seriousness, trying to goad Kilian into talking. “Let's hypothetically say we blow up the compound. Do you even know where to get the right explosives?”
Fennick grinned. “It’s like you don’t even know me. Of course I know where to get explosives.”
I winced. “You look like Norman Bates from that old Psycho movie when you smile that way. Stop it.”
Kilian straightened off the wall and slipped his phone in his back pocket. Finally. “Blowing up their clubhouse isn’t a strategy, it's a childhood fantasy. It will also draw attention from the local law enforcement and probably the ATF and FBI. We need a plan that’s precise and jarring, so let’s try psychological warfare first, not a category five hurricane.”
Callum nodded. “I’m with him.”
“Precise? Psychological warfare?” Fennick snorted, running a hand through his hair. “They're not going to back off if we’re precise , Kil. They need a sucker punch to the nuts, not a slap on the wrist.”
Callum shook his head. “They’ll reciprocate, and our dispensaries are making money hand over fist. Declan and I are thinking about buying a place at The Ridges, and maybe a membership to The Emporium.”
Declan nudged Callum, and Fenn and Kilian both glanced at me. I raised an eyebrow. “The Ridges is a beautiful community, and maybe I’ll see you at The Emporium. I hear their demonstration nights are something else.”
Declan barked out a laugh, and Fenn growled, “Oh, fuck no.”
Kilian held up a hand. “She’s just kidding.” He turned to me. “Right?”
I shrugged noncommittally at the varying looks of horror and discomfort on my cousins’ faces. It served them right to squirm a little. “Back to the reason we’re here. We need to pick off one or two key players and make an example of them,” I suggested.
Fenn started pacing again. “Making an ‘example’ out of one of those fuckers isn’t going to make them fear us.”
“Sometimes a few well-placed knife cuts are more effective than an entire army,” Kilian replied.
Declan’s phone started buzzing. He let it go, but then Callum’s phone rang. He picked up, and we could hear their CFO, Griffin, on the line. Callum’s face went dark as he listened.
“Put him on speaker,” Declan instructed.
Callum set his phone on my desk. “Griff, what’s going on? You’re on speaker.”
“Our dispensary on Tropicana was hit. A few bikers came in right after it opened this morning. They beat Mitch to a fucking pulp, and one of them cut his Achilles tendon as he tried to crawl away. Then they stomped on the back of his head and left him for dead before they robbed the place.”
“Jesus fuuck,” Declan breathed out. Fenn started pacing again.
“Was Terrance LeBaron with them?” I asked. We’d sent photos of LeBaron and Carver, along with a few other MC members, to our employees after what’d happened at the mortuary.
“They wore masks. I looked at the security camera feed and didn’t see LeBaron, but that younger asshole, Carver, was one of them. I recognized his hideous swastika neck tattoo. He’s the one who cut Mitch and stomped on him.”
My stomach soured, and nausea crawled up my throat. I knew Mitch. He had impressive dreadlocks, was vegan, and adored his two sweet little kids. Fenn was right about one thing. We needed to send a fucking message .
Declan stood. “We’ll be there in fifteen. I’ll also send someone to keep an eye on Mitch at the hospital.”
“Okay. I’ll email the video over. I’m warning you now, it’s hard to watch. I need to go, the police have a few more questions.”
When Callum hung up, Fenn turned to us. “Do you still want to take the subtle route?” Declan and Callum shook their heads.
“No,” Kilian conceded. “We need to hit back, but I still don’t want to start a war.”
Drakos had quoted something to me the morning after the mortuary had been hit. “The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting,” I murmured.
Fenn shook his head. “You’re quoting Sun Tzu? Really?”
I shrugged sheepishly. “He makes an excellent point.”
Kilian turned to me. “Is Carver the one who attacked you at the mortuary a while back?”
“Yes. He’s a vile bastard.” I glanced at Fenn and chewed on my thumbnail. “I have an idea. But it’s… unconventional And brutal.”
Fenn nodded. “Brutal is good. What’s your idea?”
“Have you heard about an ancient Persian method of torture called scaphism?”
Kilian shook his head. “No. What is it?”
Fenn wrinkled his nose and studied me. “I have. Where are you going to get two boats?”
“Two boats? What are you talking about?” Kilian asked.
Declan shook his head. “Spit it out, we need to go.”
I didn’t take offense. Most of their long-time employees were considered family, and I knew he felt responsible—just like I had. “The ancient Persians used it to slowly torture people by putting them between two boats or hollowed-out logs and force-feeding them milk and honey every day. They’d also rub it into their skin to attract insects. Between that and the explosive diarrhea, flies and maggots would burrow into their bodies and eat their rotting flesh. I heard one man lasted seventeen days, but usually, it took about a week for them to die or go insane. We can send him back to their clubhouse rotting and half-alive.” They stared at me as they digested my plan.
Kilian slowly nodded. “That would work. We could video it for maximum effect.”
Callum grimaced and gagged a little. “That would definitely send a message.”
Declan studied me carefully. “We take Carver, I get to help, and we still look at ruining them financially.”
Fenn gazed at me admiringly. “You have a twisted, fucked up mind, Syl. You do the Spade family name proud. Let’s do it.”
I vacillated back and forth about telling Drakos, but in the end, I chickened out. Two days later, Declan and Fenn brought Carver to the mortuary. In the early morning, as I lay fast asleep curled into Drakos's side, my phone vibrated several times on the nightstand. I peeled myself away and grabbed it, pushing hair out of my face and trying to focus my eyes enough to read the screen. When I saw Declan’s text, suddenly I was wide awake, sick anticipation pumping through me.
“Who’s texting you at four in the morning?” Drakos grumbled sleepily.
“They have a body for me. Go back to sleep.” That was technically true. I kissed his shoulder, rolled out of bed, and got ready in seven minutes flat.
My conscience twinged at my deceit, and I wondered what Drakos would think of me if he found out. But the MC needed a hard wake-up call before things escalated to the point of no return, and I’d enjoy making an example out of that evil little fuck.
I needed Fenn to grab a few things so I shot him a text.
Sylvie: Stop at Starbucks and get four trenta-size ice caramel blond lattes, with whole milk and four shots of cane sugar each
Fenn: WTF is trenta, and are you trying to give yourself diabetes?
I rolled my eyes.
Sylvie: Just ask for the largest size, and get four. With whip cream
Half an hour later, Declan and Fenn pulled into the back parking lot of the Palm Desert Oasis cemetery. We used the area to store landscaping and maintenance equipment, the grave-digging backhoe, and a large, walk-in storage container.
Fenn drove his multipurpose minivan with Carver passed out in the back. They’d duct-taped his wrists and legs together, and he had bruises all over his face and a bloody, swollen nose.
Kilian and I had prepared the space earlier. We loaded a simple wood casket into the mortuary hearse and set it up on a sturdy metal worktable inside the container. He also got handcuffs, chains, and a funnel with tubing. Kilian drove into the lot as we stared down at the bastard.
“Where’d you get him?” I asked as Kilian got out and walked toward us.
Declan shrugged and slung an arm around my shoulders, kissing the top of my head. He was still limping, but seemed in good spirits otherwise.
I didn’t see the twins as often as I used to. Their business had grown into a small empire, keeping them both busy. Marijuana had become a major industry and tourist attraction in Vegas, with Sin City boasting the largest dispensary in the world at over a hundred thousand square feet. Planet 13 was a fantasy Wonka Land for marijuana enthusiasts.
Declan looked down at Carver and nudged his thigh. “The pissant fucker made it back to his apartment around three this morning still shitfaced. When he got off his motorcycle and turned to take a wiz, I stunned him. It was almost too easy.”
“How long do we have until he wakes up?”
“Maybe ten minutes. I’ve been stunning him regularly whenever he starts stirring.”
I raised an eyebrow. “The smell of urine makes sense now, and it looks like you did more than stun him.”
Declan shrugged. “He may have landed on my fist a few times since Kilian told us we couldn’t castrate him or light him on fire.”
Fenn walked over and looked inside the container. We’d removed some old equipment to make room, and cut four holes in the sides of the casket big enough for his hands and feet to fit through. They hefted Carver, grunting and bumping the sides a few times before laying him inside the wooden box.
“Can you take his clothes off?” I asked.
Fenn pulled out a knife hilt, flicked his wrist, and a sharp, wicked switchblade popped open. Declan grinned and pulled out a utility knife, then pried the blade open.
I rolled my eyes. “Are you two comparing knives or dicks?”
Fenn snorted and reached in to cut through the duct tape. Then, he wrestled Carver’s MC cut and shirt off while Kilian worked on his boots and started cutting off his pants.
Declan grimaced. “Along with the urine, he smells like vomit and dirty socks. And he’s fucking commando.”
I could smell Carver’s unwashed body from where I stood. “At least you didn’t have to touch his dirty underwear,” I offered.
He wrinkled his nose. “No, just his bare ass.”
Carver moaned and started waking up as I grabbed the cuffs and chains. “We need to pull his hands and feet through the holes in the casket, then put the cuffs and chains on,” I instructed. “We’ll link the cuffs with the chains underneath the casket so it can be opened occasionally but he’s still restrained.”
Declan gave me a puzzled look, but Fenn understood what I wanted. In no time, a naked Carver lay cuffed with chains attached to his restraints running under the casket.
Kilian set up a tripod and digital video recorder in the corner and turned it on. “I’ll edit us out before sending over the video to OutKast.”
I nodded. “Fenn, do you have the lattes?”
Declan held up his hand. “I’ll get ‘em.” He came back carrying a drink holder with four enormous light caramel-colored, ultra-sugary, decadent drinks.
One of them was half empty, and I raised an eyebrow. Declan pointed to Fenn.
He shrugged. “They looked good. But Jesus, it was too rich and sweet. My stomach hurts.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s the whole point.” Grabbing the half-empty drink, I poured it over Carver’s face. “Wake up, asshole.”
He gasped and sputtered awake, blinking his eyelids to keep the sweet, milky liquid out of his eyes. The chains rattled when he tried to move his arms. “What… what the fuck ?” He licked his lips, and the taste of sugary caramel seemed to confuse him.
When he realized his hands and feet were restrained, he came awake in a rush and started yelling and struggling. I watched to make sure the chains held as Kilian leaned in and flicked him hard on the forehead.
“If you want to know what’s happening, be quiet and listen. I have things to do today.” That seemed to do the trick.
I peered down at him. “Hello, Carver.”
The man’s eyelids went wide, then narrowed into mean little slits. “You fucking bitch , you torched my bike! I told LeBaron we need to shove a crowbar up your ass until you bleed like a fuckin’ stuck pig, use your holes to cum and piss in, then slice you up good before we slit your goddamned throat.”
“Sounds like a good time. Come and get me, big guy.” I gazed down at him with a bored look. He bucked against the restraints again, but they held firm. Good.
Clenching his teeth, he sneered at me. “I told Eightball we should’a cut up that whiny little girl we fucked, and sent her to you in pieces instead of lettin’ her live.”
My insides seized in rage and horror, but I slowly brought my hand to my face as if checking my cuticles. I didn’t want Carver to see how his words affected me. “So you raped Camilla too?” I asked softly. My cousins went still at my words.
“Yeah, you worthless bitch, I did. Tightest little ass I ever had.”
I studied him impassively. “Do you think it’s smart to admit to child rape while you’re lying naked in a coffin enjoying our hospitality?” He was technically in a casket, not a coffin, but I doubted he’d care about the difference.
Carver started rocking back and forth and spewing filth at me. “When my brothers find me, we’re gonna come back here, kill your fucking family and your employees, and torch all your businesses to the ground. Then I’ll give you to our prospects to play with for a few days before we shove that crowbar up your well-used ass.”
Fenn turned to me, his face blank but his eyes glowing with rage. “New plan. He’s not leaving this box alive.”
“Agreed,” Declan murmured, and Kilian nodded.
Fenn already knew my answer. I felt heart-sick at the thought of sweet Camilla getting gang raped by these evil, putrid pieces of shit. And that’s exactly what Carver would be when we were done with him.
Leaning in, I held up a caramel latte and smiled. It must have been a scary smile because he suddenly stopped screaming threats at me. “Would you like to know what we have planned for you?”
He eyed the drink in my hand, probably wondering if we planned to ‘Starbucks’ him to death. I didn’t give him time to answer. “I’m going to give you this drink—and several more like it—over the next week or two. Fenn says they’re delicious.” I glanced up and motioned to my cousins. Between them, they quickly had Carver’s head immobilized, and Fenn shoved the tubing down his throat.
Carver gagged and tried to whip his head around, but they held him tight. When the tubing slid down his esophagus, I ripped off a long piece of duct tape and attached the funnel to the end of the tube. Slowly, I poured the first latte into the funnel and down his gullet. His throat worked, and he tried to thrash his head to dislodge the lube, but Kilian placed a large foam cutout around Carver’s head to keep him immobile. I fed him one more, then we poured the remaining drink over his body.
To speed up the process, Declan had purchased a bag of steer manure at the local garden center, and we lined the inside of the casket with it. The manure smelled like ammonia and rotten eggs, and I couldn’t imagine using it in a vegetable garden, but Ezra swore it grew the best-tasting tomatoes.
Before we closed the lid, I looked down at Carver. “This is going to be a long process, but your body will slowly putrefy, then rot. Flies and maggots will burrow in every one of your orifices, and you’ll become worm food from the outside in. While this is happening to you over the next week or so, we’ll be taking videos and photos of the process. We plan to send them to your ‘brothers’ so they can see you decomposing and putrefying while you’re still alive to experience it. See you in Hell, you evil fucking child rapist.” I slowly shut the casket as I stared into his wild eyes.
Over the next week, we rotated who went to the storage container to open the casket lid, pour whatever ultra-sweet, milky latte we’d purchased over Carver’s body, and funnel the rest of the sugary drink down his throat. By the third day, the flies and stink were so bad, we had to wear odor-reducing masks to even enter the container.
Carver lasted eight days, and Declan vomited outside the container on the last day. By then, Carver had defecated multiple times, and the smell was overwhelming. The flies, wasps, and maggots were even worse.
Kilian edited a time-lapse montage video of Carver’s demise before the prick finally succumbed, and by the eighth day, we were all ready for it to be over. Kilian started the video of Carver bragging about gang-raping Camilla, editing our faces and voices out.
As I stared down into his wriggling, dead, bloated face through my mask, I wondered if he’d actually died of asphyxiation at that point. It was too bad we couldn’t send OutKast a sample of the God-awful smell.