53. You Want a Little Atmosphere, Kid?
You Want a Little Atmosphere, Kid?
Arlo
T he door to the basement creaks open and I smile at the sinister sound as I start my descent into the darkness, literally and metaphorically.
My dad is behind me, and he shuts the door as my boots grind on the dust and debris littering the concrete floor, and I pull the cord to illuminate the single, hanging lightbulb.
This is the first time Horse and I have come face to face in years, and he grins, bloody and toothless, as he lifts his head at my arrival.
‘Today’s the day, huh?’ He sounds weak, tired. I’m not surprised. When my dad said he’d keep him alive for me, he meant he would do just enough to keep him ticking: sips of water, a couple of crackers a day. When I called my dad yesterday and asked him to make sure Horse was well-fed and hydrated, he laughed, knowing I wanted two things: I wanted him to last long enough for me to enjoy myself, and I wanted him to bleed.
‘Today is the day. Well, maybe.’ I smile, knowing it’s menacing, as my hatred for the man in front of me shines brightly. ‘We might run over into tomorrow, the next day, the next week.’
I sound bored as I peruse the table of instruments my dad had laid out for me, and Horse laughs.
‘You’ve been gone a long time, Arlo. You sure you still have that in you?’
I have to respect the pair on the guy, but then again, when you’re faced with certain death, you’ve got nothing to lose.
I move a chair, positioning it in front of him and sitting, comfortable in the fact that I am in no rush here.
‘You got a girl, Horse? An old lady? Someone sweet you keep around?’
I see the flare of his nostrils and the rage in his widening eyes.
‘ Oh! ’ I grin, ‘What do you say, Dad, should we bring her in here, see how much I still have it in me? We could call it practice.’ I would never hurt her, whoever she is, nor would my dad—that’s not the kind of men we are. She’ll be brought into the club, and one of the other members will talk her into his bed and his property patch before long. Horse knows that, but right now, pain, fear, and fury run through him, and he fights against his restraints.
‘Don’t you fuckin’ lay a finger on her,’ he snarls, blood and spit spraying with his words, and I lean forward, grinning, looking right into his eyes.
‘What do you think, in your current predicament, that you could do to stop me?’ My voice is so calm, so steady, and tears fill his eyes.
‘Arlo, please.’ He begs, and if I were a better man, I might feel some pity, but I’m not, and I don’t. ‘I know you have to do this, put me down, but not her, please, please, not her.’
Inhaling deeply, I stand, reaching out and twisting to crack my back, then bending my neck from side to side.
‘Maybe I’ll just fuck her. Ask her if the rumors are true or if I’m bigger.’
The bile that rises up at even the pretense of fucking someone other than Bree makes my mouth water, but I don’t want him to see me falter. I spit on the floor near his feet and meet my dad’s eyes. This hurts him. He trusted Horse for a lot of years, and the betrayal is raw, but he needs to see it—needs to know the price for that betrayal has been paid.
‘I won’t fuck her, Peter. It is Peter, right? Your name? The club gave you the nickname, and since you’re not a member of this club anymore, I’m taking it away, but I’ll give you something. Your girl—’
‘Sadie,’ my dad offers helpfully.
‘ Sadie ,’ I repeat, smiling as Horse’s head drops, resigned. ‘She’ll be safe. She will be well looked after, right, dad?’
‘Yeah, son. I’ll look after her real well,’ he says, smooth as silk, and Horse actually sobs.
Jesus , part of me feels a little bad for the man. A tiny part, the part of me that considered making this quick and merciful. Unfortunately for Horse, I'm not a merciful man right now, I'm a vengeful man, a man full of rage, a man who would burn the world to ash for the woman he loves, and Horse, he's nothing but kindling to me now, and I'm about to light the match.
‘See, Peter. We won’t hurt sweet, sweet Sadie.’ I pick up a scalpel, then a hunting knife, seeing which feels the most comfortable in my hand, then my eyes land on the Viking cleaver my grandfather gifted my dad when I was kid, and I smile up at him.
‘You put this here for me?’ he nods, yes, and I pick it up, testing the weight in my hand and admiring the smooth, sharp curved blade. ‘Oh, that’s nice,’ I muse, and my dad nods but looks away. ‘Yeah, I think this will do.’ I move back to Horse and show him the knife in my hand, seeing him swallow hard as his breathing becomes ragged, his eyes wide. He knows this is going to hurt. ‘It’s poetic, don’t you think?’
‘You want a little atmosphere, kid?’ my dad asks, pointing to the speaker on the table, and I smile, pulling out my cell phone and connecting it, then starting Bree’s favorite playlist of disco classics. Dad shakes his head again but smirks as he leans back against the wall, crossing his huge arms over his chest.
The opening riff of Disco Inferno pours out of the speaker, extra loud, and I bob my head to the intro of the song, getting ready. Then, with a ridiculous spin in time to my girl’s favorite music, I swing the pronounced tip of the blade into the side of Horse’s knee with a smile, and he screams out in pain.
Grabbing his long, graying hair, I yank his head back and lean over him, ripping the blade from his knee. ‘You fucked me,’ I spit, ‘you kidnapped my girl.’ I bring the knife down again, onto the top of his kneecap this time. ‘Now I’m going to fuck you until there’s nothing left.’