37. Chapter 37
Chapter 37
Drakos
I strode into Fennick Spade’s office just off the Strip a week after my wedding. Sylvie officially moved into my loft, and we’d been copulating like rabbits ever since. My insides clenched, and my cock hardened just thinking about her sucking me off that morning as she knelt on the kitchen floor, staring up at me with those slumberous dark brown eyes. Then I’d hoisted her onto the counter, stripped her and spread her thighs, then enthusiastically returned the favor.
We planned to go on a honeymoon next month, but I needed to take care of a few irritating loose ends first.
The House of Spades’ official headquarters was located in a modern glass and steel high-rise just off the Strip. The high-end finishes, plush wool carpet, and upscale modern office furniture whispered prosperity and wealth.
The older, well-dressed assistant ushered me into Fennick’s office, and I couldn’t help but compare her to Misty, our ex-stripper receptionist. When Fenn glanced up and saw me, he put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his leather chair.
“What an unpleasant surprise. I didn't expect to see you so soon after the nuptials.”
“Neither did I,” I replied, sitting in one of the high-backed chairs in front of his desk without invitation. “But here we are.”
“Please, have a seat. Make yourself at home, I’m not busy at all.”
Grinning, I settled back. “Before I get to the main reason I’m here, what do you know about Sylvie’s high school boyfriend? His first name was Lander.”
Fenn raised an eyebrow and slowly smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “He’s doing time in California. He didn’t need much help to ruin his own life.”
“Good. Jeffery Whitlock is the main reason I’m here.” The name hung in the air like a foul smell. “Prison isn’t keeping him contained. The fucker needs to die.”
Fennick brought his hands down. “This day should be declared a national holiday because you and I actually agree on something. What’re you proposing?”
“Sending someone into the prison who can kill the psycho and make it look like an accident. Something like a heart attack or an allergic reaction.”
He picked up a gold filigreed pen and started tapping it carelessly on his desktop. Movement at Fenn’s door caught my eye, and I turned to see Kilian. “What’re you two planning, and how is Sylvie doing?”
Fenn waved his hand. “She’s fine, and we’re brainstorming about how to kill her dad.”
Kilian sighed, then walked in and sat in the other office chair. “I need a vacation.”
Fennick smirked. “You’ve never taken a vacation in your life. I don’t think you’d know what to do with yourself.” He turned to me. “We don’t need to send someone in. We already have enough contacts in the Nevada State Prison. Let’s utilize the existing talent and shop local, so to speak.”
“I’m not sure the term ‘shopping local’ includes hitmen.”
“Sure it does. Have you told her what you’re planning?”
I shook my head. “That’s why I’m here. She’ll be safer once he’s dead, but I don’t know how she’ll feel about her husband killing her father.”
Kilian tilted his head. “I don’t think we can predict how she’s going to react, but it needs to be done.”
“Do either of you have any ideas?”
Kilian pulled his phone out and opened a game app. I glanced over and noticed he was playing Call of Duty. “We can’t make it look like a gruesome accident since Sylvie took Terrance out that way. It might be too suspicious if the drug syndicate ever put the pieces together,” he murmured.
“I fucking knew it . When I asked her, she gave me that wide-eyed, innocent look as if she was insulted,” I exclaimed.
Fenn grinned. “Yeah, she’s good, isn’t she?”
“It’s one of the many things I love about her, God help me,” I admitted.
Fennick raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you’re not a fancy fuckboy after all. We could make it look like a suicide. Besides overdoses, it’s the next leading cause of deaths in prison.”
I shook my head. “Not an overdose. I want him to fucking suffer before he dies.” Jeffery Whitlock had caused Sylvie years of heartache and pain, and he’d sent a vicious motorcycle gang after her so he could collect on a fucking life insurance policy. The bastard didn’t deserve an easy death.
Fennick leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with the same shrewd calculation I saw in Sylvie sometimes. “Maybe before we help him decide to check out on his own, we dish out a little Karma. We've got a few guys on the inside who can make him suffer for the right price.”
“I’ve already taken care of the ‘suffering’ part,’” Kilian muttered absently. Fenn and I stared at him, but he glanced up and shrugged. “What? Sylvie had a point about Carver. We need to make a statement.”
“How did you make him suffer?” I asked carefully.
“It’s been leaked to the drug syndicate that Whitlock has turned informant.”
Fenn stared at him. “Is that true?”
“No. I set him up.”
I stared at Kilian. “How?”
He shrugged and went back to looking at his phone. “I recorded his voice and manufactured evidence using AI.”
I stared at Kilian, realizing I’d underestimated his cunning and ruthlessness because next to Fenn, he appeared to be the calm, stable cousin. “What did they do to him?”
“You can see for yourself if you want. A correctional officer sent me the surveillance video.” Kilian was way ahead of us, I realized.
Fennick stood. “Fuck yes, we want to see it.”
Kilian led us to his office. It was clean and minimally furnished, without any personal items or decorations. On the back wall, a long table held several monitors, laptops, and smaller electronic devices. Trackers and other gadgets were neatly lined up in a glass cabinet. The place looked like it belonged to some CIA operative and reminded me of Ivan’s space but without the clutter.
Kilian turned on a monitor and called up the recording. Fenn and I stood behind him, watching what appeared to be a feed from the prison shower area. He sped up the video, and we saw Jeffery Whitlock and another man walk in, strip, and start to shower. Whitlock was a shorter man with the same coloring as Sylvie and a lean build. But his face had that hard, weathered look of a long-term drug user. When Sylvie’s father started rinsing off and closed his eyes, the other man turned and abruptly left.
Less than a minute later, three men with towels draped over their heads walked into view and grabbed Jeffery by the back of his neck. Then they attacked. Two of them held Jeffery up while the third punched him in the head and stomach. The beating seemed perfunctory, like they just wanted to incapacitate him quickly. But the attack took a dark turn when they pushed Jeffery to the floor on his back, spread his legs, and one of them reached in and methodically twisted his scrotum.
Whitlock writhed in pain. He tried to fight off his attackers but didn’t have the strength. After twisting his scrotum, one man bent down and bit Jeffery’s penis, pulling it away from his body. Sylvie’s father threw his head back in complete and utter agony. There was no sound, but we didn’t need to hear. We could see it in his body.
“Ho-ly shit,” Fenn murmured as the men finally stepped back and left Jeffery crying and gagging hysterically, his crotch a bloody mess. The man who bit Jeffery spit blood and something else out of his mouth as they exited the showers. “That looks like an avulsion tear. Either that or they ripped his fucking scrotum off.”
When the men were gone, Jeffery rolled over and threw up on the tile floor. Kilian pointed at his testicles now that we had a better angle. “It’s close, but see right there? His scrotum is hanging on by his spermatic cord.”
Grim satisfaction filled me. “When did it happen?” I asked.
Kilian shut off the video. “Two days ago.”
“Can you get me in for a visit?”
Fenn straightened. “I’m going too.”
Kilian nodded. “I’ll set it up. Think of it as my wedding present to you and Sylvie.”
For the life of me, I couldn’t tell if he was joking, then decided it didn’t matter. Kilian might not have a sense of humor or care much about social nuances, but he’d just become my favorite Spade cousin.
The following day, Fenn and I strode into the correctional facility, which loomed behind a hundred yards of tall, electrified chain-link fencing and razor wire that surrounded a barren landscape. The reception center processed us after thoroughly scanning our clothing and patting us down, then sent us through a body scanner. We passed through two enormous metal doors that locked ominously behind us before arriving at the infirmary.
Sylvie’s father lay on a hospital bed, handcuffed to the railing. “Who are you?” he asked groggily, his voice hoarse. His face was swollen, and he had two black eyes and a split lip.
“My name is Drakos Creed. I’m your new son-in-law.” I gave him an ugly smile, and Jeffery flinched and tried to cover his battered crotch, but the cuffs rattled on the bed railing. He glanced over at Fennick, and his face paled even more.
Fenn grinned. “We heard you had a little mishap in the shower, so we wanted to come give our moral support. To your attackers.”
Jeffery turned to the guard standing by his door. “Roberts, I didn’t approve these visitors. Get them the fuck out.” His voice sounded shaky and weak, but his tone made me think he was used to giving orders.
Roberts unfolded his arms and stepped forward, barely sparing us a glance. He reached back and pulled out his baton, then gave Jeffery’s lap a few hard taps. Whitlock let out a low moan, his teeth clenched in pain, and his cuffs clanked as he hissed in a breath. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Roberts gave the injured man a blank, cold stare. “Watch your tone, prisoner .” Then he stepped back and crossed his arms. It seemed Whitlock wasn’t well-liked around here, and he’d lost his power.
Fennick stared down at him. “You came after Sylvie, you stupid motherfucker. Are you surprised we went after your balls?” Jeffery’s face paled even more.
I leaned forward and murmured in his ear. “Enjoy jerking off while you can. The next time they go after your tiny cock, they’ll take the whole thing. And then they plan to start on your fingers and toes.”
Impotent fury and hatred burned in his bloodshot eyes. Fenn patted his shoulder, and Jeffery jumped. “You have a choice here, Whitlock. You can check yourself out, or we’ll dismember you, piece by piece. I prefer the long, drawn-out, painful method. We’ve even started taking bets—this is Vegas after all—to see how many parts they hack off before you get beaten to death or kill yourself.” He straightened and squeezed Jeffery’s thigh.
Jeffery turned to me. “You think you’ve won. You think you’re going to be happy and make fucking babies together. But the Stracks are still out there, and the drug syndicate is still watching,” A few angry tears rolled down Jeffery’s face as he bent forward. “She’s a selfish, greedy little cunt , just like her mother. Good luck with her. I give it a month.”
I smirked and soaked up the sight. “See, that’s the difference between us. I don’t need or want her money. If you weren’t such a rotten cankerous monster, I’d almost feel sorry for you, dying alone in prison with no friends or family who give a fuck about you. Only enemies. Enjoy your last few days.”
We left him there and strode out of the infirmary, the smell of piss and disinfectant permeating the room. I couldn’t wait to get back into the fresh desert air.
The next stop on my list that week was the OutKast compound. The sun shone bright, and the afternoon temperature was a balmy seventy degrees. Diego, Ivan, and I walked inside the gate and looked around curiously. The depressing, run-down compound reminded me of a post-apocalyptic movie set.
Several cars were on blocks, and stacks of surplus metal parts sat against the fence. The clubhouse sign was faded and dull. I didn’t understand it, especially since they should’ve been flush with cash from running drugs and a few of their other illegal activities.
The Grolier brothers stood waiting in the parking lot. Billy spat out a wad of chewing tobacco as we walked toward them, and I gazed down at the brownish-black glob and then up at Billy. “If you get any of that on me, I’ll rip your lips off and feed them to you,” I informed him.
Axel glanced at Billy impatiently. “He won’t do it again. Diego said you wanted to discuss the feud between the House of Spades and OutKast.”
“I’m not here to discuss it. I’m here to tell you if it doesn’t end today, The Firm will help Fennick Spade burn your compound to the ground instead of trying to talk him out of it.” Glancing around, I let my lips curl. “Although from the look of things, we might be doing you a favor.”
Billy glared at me. “You’re full of shit since we all know you wouldn’t get your hands dirty.”
Diego smirked and shook his head. “Drakos is one of the best mechanics I know. He also restores old cars and bikes, asshole. Who do you think did the work on that Dyna your man stole last summer?”
Billy’s eyes narrowed as if the last few pieces of a puzzle had finally clicked in his head.
Axel rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, Terrance LeBaron is dead. I’ll pass the word that if anyone goes after the House of Spades again, they’re out. We need to do some house cleaning anyway, and this is a good excuse to get rid of some trash.”
“Did you have LeBaron killed?” I asked, fishing to see if they knew it’d been Sylvie.
Billy huffed out a breath. “You know we didn’t. It was either those fuckin’ Spades or you.” He spit chew at my feet again. It was probably more out of habit that time, but a few drops of spittle landed on my shoe, and two specks of the dark brown liquid hit my pant leg. Axel stared coldly at Billy.
Without overthinking it, I moved in and punched Billy in the throat. He stumbled back, wheezing, then leaned over and gasped for air. A yell came from the clubhouse, and two bikers started running our way. Axel sighed and looked up at the sky in exasperation, but Ivan grinned and loosened his arms as if he were getting ready to fight.
Diego turned to face the two bikers, but Axel held up a hand. “We’ve got it under control,” he called. “Billy deserved it, and since Drakos didn’t cause any lasting damage, I’m lettin’ it slide.” They stopped and glanced between Axel and his brother. It appeared OutKast might be getting a new president soon.
I leaned down and murmured in Billy’s ear. “My suit probably cost more than your whole shitty-ass wardrobe combined. I’m done putting up with your incompetence. Either get your club in order and reign them in, or step aside so your brother can do it.”
He sucked in a breath, then slowly straightened and glared at me. “You’re a fuckin’ animal. You could have crushed my windpipe.”
I gave him a hard pat on the back. “If I wanted to crush your windpipe, I would have. One more thing. From now on, if any of your members get within a city block of my wife , I will beat you half to death with my bare knuckles, then turn you over to the Spade cousins to finish off. Do you understand?”
He stared into my eyes, and I could tell the second he understood it wasn’t an idle threat. “It wasn’t me who went after the Spades.” He rubbed his throat.
Diego gave him a disgusted look. “You’re the fucking prez . If your members go after someone, you’re responsible. Your club is a pathetic mess.”
Gazing around at the yard again, I turned to Axel. “What the fuck is going on around here? Your clubhouse is a dump, and your yard looks like doomsday preppers live here.”
I just wanted to be done with this day so I could go home, banter with my beautiful, take-no-shit, crazy wife, tease her into a lather, and then sink into her addicting, wet heat.
As we turned to leave, Diego glanced back and shook his head. “This club needs a goddamn intervention.”