6. Emmett
CHAPTER 6
Emmett
H orror movies start more or less in that same cliché, nauseatingly predictable way.
There are the side, filler characters that die off pretty quickly.
Then there are the so-called main idiots who spend ninety percent of the movie tripping over nothing, ignoring the wide-open front door where they can easily escape but instead, they choose to hide from the chainsaw-wielding asshole from behind a flimsy, see-through curtain.
It’s pathetic bullshit filler.
And the worst part is, the audience pretends to give a shit if the character is going to die or not.
Well, that’s not what my story is about.
I’m not interested in beating around the bush or holding up an air of mystery—none of that will miraculously change my fate.
I’ve known my so-called fate all my life, which means I know how this story ends.
And to be fucking clear, I’m not interested in changing it.
Not that it can be changed anyway, so let’s get a few facts straight.
Destiny.
Providence.
The future.
I call it bullshit.
By the end of this story, before I take my last breath, I’ll make sure you understand that this is a horror story, so your sympathy is not wanted here.
I’m dying.
That’s a fact that should be made pretty fucking clear, but that’s not my fucking story.
This is about a vicious scheme that was initiated years ago, and successfully completed the night I turned ten years old.
But I know the plot is much older than that.
So, unlike the sappy, predictable stories you’re probably used to, this one has greedy, calculated, evil characters that know how to shed blood to silence loose ends to hide their deeds, and get what they want.
Power.
They want power… which means, to get even, I need to meet them at their level.
I’m the judge, the jury, the executioner, and the devil all wrapped in one.
And this story, my story , it will end the way it was intended.
In tragedy, chaos, and madness.
And I’ll be the architect of all three.
I was just a kid when my world turned upside down, but now, I’m grown.
The game that has been at play since my mother was young will soon come to a glorious end, even if I drop dead right after.
I’m that one asshat that believes if my world is fucked and there’s no way out, then I’m bringing everyone down with me.
I’ll set it all on fire, bring it down to ash…but before that, I want the blood to flow.
“Sir,” Kai says, approaching to hand me a dark file.
“Is this all?”
“Yes, sir,” he says simply, and I know it’s true.
You can scour the fucking earth, no one is more thorough than this fucker who has a glaring scar across his face.
Kai looks big, intimidating, and mean… unlike his twin who can blend in anywhere.
“Is he the one?”
“No, sir.”
I thought as much.
“Go ahead.”
Kai bows his head slightly, then he walks away and is quickly swallowed by the surrounding darkness.
All my life I’ve done my best not to slip up.
I’ve kept myself tightly reined in.
I never burst out in emotion.
Never give in to moments of weakness or flimsy bullshit that will get in the way of what needs to be done.
Everything I’ve done up to this day has been right on target, so I can’t be blamed for the mirage my silence has created.
Nor should my actions be misconstrued.
I’m not a good guy or just a mere asshole. I’m much more than that.
“Ahhhh!” A howling, almost screeching scream rings clear in the room. “No, no, stop!” the man cries. “Do you know who you’re messing with? Do y?—”
The angry voice is cut off with a pretty impressive flesh pounding.
Then the unmistakable sound of bone being crushed and blood spilling onto the concrete floors as another sharp, shrill cry rings and echoes in the dark room.
This… the horror happening right now, the violence of it, this is who I am.
The life I’ve worked my ass off to maintain in Westbrook Blues is not real.
The truth is, I’ve been pretending like I’m one of them.
I’ve done it so seamlessly that there are no fucking flaws and they all bought it.
To them, I’m just an ordinary rich guy with a disease.
I go drinking with Noah. Roll up blunts, behave like young fucking billionaire socialites, and all that crap.
I’ve engaged in sports and other extracurricular nonsense with King and George in both middle and high school.
Despite my condition, I’ve played extreme sports, just to fucking blend in and to keep appearances.
Philanthropic activities? I donate to charities, keeping the Easton Family’s clean, civil side honored by the world.
Sympathy and empathy? What else screams those two useless emotions than finding out a person of status like me has a heart condition?
I’ve done all that because as the heir of the Easton Family, I need the ability to blend in both civil society and the dark underbelly people only hear from whispers and fear-induced rumors.
But my type of education was far different.
Yes, the boys and I were all ‘trained’ like fucking black ops boys, but where it ended in training for King, Noah, and George, for me it proceeded to the real thing.
On school breaks and other involuntary days off, I’d be shipped back to the south of Italy for intense ‘training’ but really, it was a million ways of trying to kill me.
I not only had to hide my condition, but I had to fucking work to be better than everyone else.
Better than my cousins.
Better than my uncles.
Better than other families that have been eyeing me, my position, and the power I hold.
I was thrown in with undercover Italian special forces, the hardcore Yakuza, and everything that made me into a killing machine.
I have blood on my hands… and there’s even a deluded witness who could attest to that, but she chose fantasies to keep her sane.
When I was sixteen, I tore apart a man with my bare hands, beating him to death.
So simply put, I’m not one of the boys.
It takes too much effort to act like a decent human being with polite manners when your inherent nature is too disturbing for normal society, but I had to do what I had to in order to get here.
And I’ll be damned if anyone gets in my way now.
I already have Angel on the agenda but she’s just a blemish on the entire scope that I’ve been putting together carefully.
So far, it’s been falling together nicely, if the events of the past few years are anything to go by.
“You’ve got the wrong guy!” the asshole in the room cries, his annoying voice bouncing off the walls, but no one outside will hear him. “I swear I’m not who you think I am!”
There’s a lone light bulb in the room right above his head, so I can see the fucking sweat on his rotting flesh.
He’s been hanging from those chains for a week now. He might believe he’s been holding up pretty well by refusing to say a word, but it’s intentional. I wanted him to tenderize , so to speak.
“Listen, we can talk about this! You’ve been ignoring me this entire time, but I’ll tell you now! I’m just a simple man! I work a nine-to-five gig and I have kids!” he pants. “I don’t own anything! Not a house or a car! I have no money! How many times do I have to tell you this? My family will be worried sick, please let go!”
Right out the ‘play dumb’ playbook.
He even sounds truthful and sincere, anyone would believe his plea.
Unfortunately for him, I’m not anyone.
I’m just the man who’s been playing with my prey for a while.
The beating continues until the stench in the room is overwhelming fear, but I hardly give a damn.
“I don’t know anything, I swear!” he cries in between the screams and pain-filled groans.
I almost smirk.
It’s interesting how they always go from not having anything to not knowing anything. Which goes to show that he knows I want information.
Good.
Saves so much time because I do have places to be.
I flip through the report, ignoring him. My phone buzzes in my pocket with a text.
Fishing it out I read the message from Astraea.
Astraea: You’re coming, right?
I sigh, then quickly type a response back.
Me: No.
Astraea: Emmett… this is kind of a big deal. And besides, you said there’s nothing wrong between you two.
I ignore her and put my phone back in my pocket… but only for a few seconds before another text buzzes.
King: You better be there. Disappointing my wife is not a fucking option.
Me: Not my job.
King: It’s my job, yes, which means don’t fuck up.
Me: I said no.
King: Where the fuck are you?
Me: The shop.
King: … don’t you dare show up at my house with a drop of fucking blood on you. She’s sensitive to it.
Well then. He has an idea of what I’m doing even though him knowing was never part of the plan.
Everything I’ve done for the past nineteen years has been meticulously calculated.
The people in my life, despite the seemingly innocent film cast by our long-standing friendship , are also part of a plan.
After all, when you have a specific target to hit, with not much time to do it, you go all out.
All the people in my life, all the strings I’ve pulled, the high-stakes game of chess I’ve been playing for years now… all of it has its intention and purpose.
And most importantly, it all has an expiration date.
King : Just heard. My wife says Ivy chose New York.. She won’t be around anymore so get it together.
Well then… Angel chose NYC, huh?
Likely doing damage and trying to catch smoke with her bare hands.
Pathetic.
And I did see the messages from weeks ago…only I already know that something’s off simply because her reaction was way off.
Me: Gossip is more up your lane than Noah’s. Do me a favor, keep it off my channel.
King: FU!
Low, tortured groans echo in the room. Then the bastard is splashed with ice-cold water… the sound closely followed by the buzzing of electricity.
“No, wait, wait a minute… just wait!!” A stilted shout rings across the room. “Eres el diablo! ” the man yells suddenly
Here we go.
No matter how you try to camouflage yourself, when you’re hanging by your fucking balls, you’ll slip back into your default setting.
“The devil, huh?” I mutter faintly, and the room falls into a heavy silence.
My men take three paces back.
The room gets a bit colder.
“Seems like you know I’ve come to collect.”
“W-who… who was that?” the asshole stutters, now looking around with wide eyes and blood dripping down his fucking face. “Who’s there?!”
I ignore him and get back to reading the report.
I’m not particularly moved by the name calling, though.
Rumors about just how horrible I am have been floating in the underbelly and in my own Family since before I was born. It doesn’t faze me anymore.
An abomination.
A curse.
A sin .
A cold beast.
The devil.
Whatever.
I’ve been called every name in the damn book by the people in the shadows that know who I really am.
Most have been on the receiving end of my particular brand of power … and it has nothing to do with the usual violence.
I go for what I don’t have.
The heart.
The existence of the ‘lovechild’ between the taboo female heir of a powerful Mafia family and a mere common foot soldier shouldn’t have happened, but it did.
Syrus’ status was elevated, while the in-family hatred for my mother—as well as her reverence and untouchable status—shot up several degrees.
What they don’t know is that what solidified her position was also the rot that crept in and put her life in danger.
I should’ve died at birth.
Unfortunately, I lived. The fucked-up organ in my chest kept groaning along, beating painfully, slowly, and annoyingly from moment to moment—and because of that, she lived as though a noose was already around her neck.
And now years later, I’ve taken over the role.
If only the Family knew that the heir they hate so much has numbered seconds, they’d wait in anticipation… but instead, they’ve all stupidly resolved to taking shots at me.
Like the leech screaming in pain right now, gasping for air in between the torture.
“You’re so dead!” he shouts and curses. “I know you must be in the network! But do you know what you’ve done? Do you?!”
No one says a word.
As a matter of fact, no one ever asked him a question. My men just went to work because the thing about pain is that it’s nothing when it’s not coupled with fear.
And silence while experiencing heights of indescribable pain will only produce unimaginable levels of fear.
So now hearing him say that means only one thing. He’s fucking afraid.
But that’s just the first part.
Kai gives a signal and the electricity is turned off.
The shadows step back from the asshole, leaving him panting, bleeding, and gasping while he hangs from the ceiling by the chains.
He realizes the torture has stopped, so he looks around with one eye swollen shut like a rotten peach and the other dripping blood.
Something like triumph disguised as hope flashes in his one eye.
“I fucking knew it!” he shouts. “You thought I wouldn’t discover who you are? Now that I’ve outed you, do you think you’re going to get away with this?”
The chains dangle as he fights against them, an obvious move to try and intimidate the people around that he can’t even see.
His right arm is limp and deformed. The freaking boxers he’s wearing look like an infected medical waste bag.
“You took me and beat me up, that’s a declaration of war! This will not go unanswered.”
A low, humorless chuckle escapes my lips.
“W-who… who’s there?” the douchebag stutters. “You don’t scare me! Come out and face me, if you have the guts!”
Kai is by my side in a heartbeat. “Sir, do we proceed?”
“Wait,” I mutter.
“Come out! I know you’re there, desperately trying to strategize, maybe even find a mask to hide your ugly face from me seeing you, but I swear on my fucking life, you won’t live!” he screams.
Interesting.
“He’s got quite a pair of lungs in him,” I mutter. “I’m sure someone more deserving could use them.”
“I’ll check the market,” Kai says simply.
“Children.”
“Yes, sir.”
I’m such a person. I’m not moved by this act of inhumanity of the black market at all.
But when I’m back in Westbrook Blues, that part of me is tucked down deep within the layers of civility and ‘etiquette'.
“How long?” I question.
“He’s been shouting and foaming at the mouth for three days now,” Kai offers.
“Has he?” I just flew in tonight to deal with him. “Then he’s nice and tenderized now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What are you saying!” the idiot shouts again. “I can hear you whispering and cowering, hiding in the dark! Do you think you can make a move on the Family like this?”
Make a move on the Family … hmmm, these are the usual things lackeys say when they know they have no other way out. But this fucker is not a lacky… he’s just pretending to be one to fool me.
Unfortunately for him, I know how to ‘draw’ everything out of liars.
Including secrets and little twisted fears they only whisper to themselves.
“Come out, you sonofabitch! Face me and just know you’ll be facing death!”
At that comment, I really want to burst out laughing.
Facing death in one moment and facing death every second of your life are two vastly different things.
And in this world, fear is currency.
“Whatever you think you’ll achieve here, I hate to break your bubble, but it won’t ever happen! Your blood and that of what’s dear and near to you will shed like a river!”
I smirk.
“And which Family do you bleed for, Freddy?” I ask softly.
Immediately, the chains rattle, the mangled body hanging there starts to shudder and tremble.
“You…”
Slowly, I unfold from the chair and stand up.
The room falls silent until all I hear is the labored breathing of a dying pig.
The man hanging from the concrete ceiling stops struggling as soon as he notices that something has changed.
I watch as he whips his head from left to right in a frenzied panic. He starts sweating profusely as I approach him.
When I step at the edge of the shadows, before the light… I’m right in front of him.
Freddy’s bleeding eye immediately widens in shock and then I watch the guilt, horror… and ultimately my favorite, fear, flashing in his eyes.
His face pales so fast, ghosts have nothing on him.
“M…master!” he stutters brokenly. I almost wince, remembering my own speech impairment from years ago. “M-master, y-you… why are y-you…”
“Freddy,” I start softly, as if I’m talking to an old friend. The rest of my shadows in the room visibly react to my cadence, stepping back slightly but holding still regardless.
“Master Easton, sir!” Freddy pants.
“Tell me, who’s this ‘they’ you’re working for right now?”
“S-sir,” he croaks, his eyes almost bulging out. “You know me, I work for you!”
I stare at him.
Blood starts gushing from his wounds more profusely than before, as if the very sight of me is enough to drain the life out of him.
“I only work for the Easton Family, sir!”
“Really?”
“M-master Easton, please, sir, you have to believe me. I’ve only ever been faithful to one Family and one Family alone! I’d never do anything to disrespect you!” he cries.
I nod. “But you would do anything to get ahead, wouldn’t you?”
His one eye widens like a freaking saucer.
“No, sir, I would never!” he shouts, lying through his tobacco-stained teeth. “I’m very grateful for the nice life the Family has given me.”
The nice life… at what expense?
“Of course you wouldn’t, Freddy. How long have you been with the Family?” I ask conversationally.
“Over twenty years, sir!”
“Yes,” I mutter, sinking my fisted hands deep into my suit pants pockets to prevent a rage-induced accident from happening. “So why are you here now?”
Freddy’s pale, sweaty, bleeding, and bruised face jerks up. I see the many thoughts passing in his eye and then I see the moment he decides to play me.
“Sir, I don’t know what you’ve heard about me or what accusation of disloyalty they’ve accused me of, but I’d never bring harm to you, Master Easton!” he gasps, his mouth wide open.
I shake my head slightly. “I’m not him. Master Easton is your boss.”
“B-but… but I also work for you!” he chokes.
I smirk, and the asshole shrinks back, his one open eye looking like that of a crazed crackhead.
“You also work for me?”
“Yes, yes, sir! I can do anything for you, sir!”
“Does that include surveillance and sabotage?”
“S-sir?” he stutters. “I don’t understand w-what you mean.”
I tilt my head to the left. “Really?”
I have a thing about lies… I can’t stand them, as Freddy will find out soon.
I look to my right and Kai steps forward. Behind him are four men.
“Make it long, messy, and deliver the severed limbs to his kids’ school,” I instruct, then turn around to walk away.
“Whoa, whoa, wait… what’s happening? My kids…. You know I have kids?” Freddy cries, but I keep going. “Yes! Yes, I have been watching you and reporting back every detail to Master Easton! It was only under his order, sir!”
I stop.
Just then, the whole room starts vibrating.
Debris and loose cement showers down from the cracked ceiling with a shuddering creak that makes my father’s pathetic lap dog freeze in place as he realizes that I’m not joking.
“W-what was that?” he whispers, looking up. He wouldn’t know where we are because I had him moved while he was unconscious.
“You’ve been watching me for years, reporting your surveillance to my father. You really can’t recognize this place?” I ask disinterestedly. But that only makes him jerk back some more, ready to flee. “I’d save my energy if I were you.”
“No, sir, please… I was just doing what Master requested of me.”
“Yes, of course,” I nod in agreement. “After all, we can’t disobey orders.”
“Yes, yes, we can’t!” he readily agrees, nodding his head eagerly. “I was only following and watching you because Master thought you were on the move.”
I know all this.
My father made a poor, rash decision years ago that has caused him to live as a wanted man that lives on the run now.
He knows that from now on, he can never live as a free man. If he dares to show himself in society or even in the underbelly, the man he severely wronged will catch him… and God only knows what Eli Beaumont, George and Astraea’s father known as the Phoenix, will do to Syrus.
To be fucking honest, from my talks with George, I’ve since learned that Eli hasn’t made a move on my father yet, and I know it’s not because he can’t find Syrus, but because he was simply concentrating on being a grandfather lately.
I don’t believe that at all.
Eli Beaumont is just like my grandfather, both hardened, ruthless men that don’t give any second chances.
The only notable difference is, Grandfather is a greedy, selfish bastard that doesn’t give a damn about who he tears apart to achieve what he wants, not even the life or death of his own daughter.
Thing is, for Eli, the longer the matter of revenge seems to be dragged, the more profound and inescapable it will be when everything finally blows sky high.
“How is my father?” The last time I saw Syrus was at the Blues’ country club where all hell broke loose over a year ago. “Did you tell him about what I just found out?”
“W-what you just found… sir, I don’t think I follow.”
I turn around slowly, then walk back to him. “So I’m wrong then.”
“No, no, sir, that’s not what I mean,” the idiot starts, blood gushing from his wounds, his broken fingers sticking out, limp and bloody. “I… I’ve been loyal to the Family for over twenty years now. I haven’t once done anything to betray your trust!”
“It’s not what you did,” I stare him dead in the eye with a smile on my face. “It’s what you’re going to do.”
“Yes!” he jumps. “I’ll do anything!”
Of course, when one wants to avoid death, they become desperate.
But often times, desperation is the thing that signs your death certificate, just like fear.
Fear is a soul destroyer.
It’s the life sucker.
Fear will have you lost and knocked out of the game before you even realize that you could actually make it.
As for me, I’m a dead man walking, so what’s there for me to fear?
“Of course you will, Jonathan Burton from Wyoming.”
He widens his one eye with shock. “You… you know who I am?”
“You spent years trying to erase that name. Used the Family’s resources for your own means, but tell me, which of your schemes led you to this… Sugar Plum?”
He pales even more. Pure fear filters in his eyes.
“Sugar Plum…” he starts. “It’s the side lady I frequent.”
Without warning or a heads-up, one of the shadows takes a pair of garden shears and snips off three of Freddy’s fingers.
A howl echoes in the room, but it’s drowned out when the vibrating starts again, debris raining down from the ceiling.
“Ahh!”
“You see, Jonny, Freddy, whoever the hell you are, I’m not my father and I’m not Grandfather. I won’t stand for lies, simple and straightforward.”
“Yes, yes, my apologies, sir! I understand! It won’t happen again!” he cries, bursting out the words in labored gulps of air.
“Good. Let’s try this one more time. Sugar Plum is a trafficking ring site you’ve been using to get rich… while using my fucking name!”
My words are soft, calm even, but the reaction they bring out in the room…
The sound of trickling liquid echoes in the room, right before the stench hits.
This fucker just wet himself.
“Sir… please… have mercy on my kids at the very least. They had nothing to do with this,” he bursts into tears, crying, stuttering over his words.
I watch him for a second. “Is he being for real right now?”
“He was a drama kid… right before his father killed his mother,” Kai answers flatly.
I don’t give a damn about that, but I do note how he doesn’t mind trafficking other people’s children and has the audacity to plead for his own. Fucking asshole.
There are so many traumatized people out there but many of them choose not to be shitty humans.
This fucker is as slimy as a snail, evades high risks, but what I know for a fact is that he isn’t the sharpest tool in the box.
I glance to my left. One of the shadows steps forward, grabs Freddy by his hair, and jerk his face up.
I lean down a bit and finally ask the only question I wanted to ask this lowlife.
“Tell me, did you use that site to get rid of my mother?” I ask softly.
It’s as if watching a shipwreck in slow motion.
His one eye almost bulges out as he stares at me.
“S-sir…”
The shadows move in, lift up his right leg and start up the rusty, old, blunt chainsaw, and as I watch, Freddy’s leg is ripped open from the thigh, down the middle, splitting open his kneecap and then down his shin.
He screams and cries and eventually throws up, but I just stand there watching it all.
Cold water is splashed all over him, but I can see he’s losing a lot of blood and is now disoriented. Besides, I need to go.
“We’re almost done, Jonathan. Just tell me this, whose site is it?”
In the underbelly, everything feels connected, but the kind of shit this twisted, this deep and hidden can only ever be orchestrated by equally hidden figures.
I saw the site. I analyzed the coding, the structure, its backdoors, its setup, paywalls, the multidimensional firewalls, the smokescreens, the redirection from small angles… it’s all genius level.
It’s almost impossible to find the original owner of the site, nor can I locate them.
The moment I thought I could, it kicked me out and I know there’s no way this fucktard’s donkey brain can conjure up something like that.
I take a few steps back, thinking about it carefully.
Coded meticulously, but it seems that ring has been running for longer than the site has, which only means the site was created recently, probably with just one intention.
“The only reason you used my name is with the intention of framing me, isn’t it?” I stare him down.
He doesn’t have to say anything at all, but I see the answer flashing in his eye.
“Who put you up to it?” I question quietly.
“Master Easton, I mean, sir… I don’t know…”
I check the time on my Rolex just for effect, but I’m always subconsciously aware of the time.
“How’s your wife, Jonny?”
“W-what?”
“She’s been living a great life as an endorser of human trafficking, raising her children on the dime made on selling someone else’s, huh?”
“No, no…it’s not like that! She had nothing to do with this!”
“Right, because stalking my mother and then drugging her mindless over twenty-four years ago was her not having anything to do with this, huh?”
And this right here is the reason why I’m doing this.
The information that was in the report.
I couldn’t care less that someone is trying to frame me, I’ll smoke them out soon, but the grievances and crimes committed against my mother from the past are what I will never forgive!
Jonny’s jaw slackens and realization dawns in his eyes.
“Sir, I can explain.”
“You had your wife, then mistress, drug my mother so you could make an extra buck behind your master’s back, what’s there to explain?”
“I swear I didn’t know that Madam was pregnant! No one knew!”
“Who’s the father?”
“Sir?”
“Of the second child, who is the father?”
At that, he falls silent. I can tell he doesn’t know.
I turn around and make my way to the hidden exit. I have another meeting that I can’t miss, even if I wanted to.
I don’t have to look to know that Freddy is about to be done for, but as I walk, he suddenly shouts with all his might.
“I know who was the last to see Madam alive!”
Without wanting to, I stop in my tracks.
“If you let me go, I’ll tell you who.”
“You are negotiating your worthless life with me?” I ask calmly. I take steps towards the door.
“They know!” he shouts. “They suspect that there’s something wrong with you and are close to figuring it out.”
“Yes, just as I wanted.” I shrug, which shocks the idiot, but he’s still fighting for his life.
“Sir, I know I’m already dead but if you can just spare me this one time, I swear on my life, I’ll prove my life to you.”
“No doubt that was your sales pitch to my father to be his errand boy,” I say quietly, and he falls silent. “Oh, don’t tell me that hurt your little soft spots inside. Syrus already knows I have you, why hasn’t he come for you?”
Ambition is a cunning little thing sometimes.
With that, I continue on but when I get to the door, he says one more thing.
“The girl!” he shouts. “The girl, she was there that night! She knows!”
The girl?
“We’ve been watching her, and she remembers! All these years, she’s been pretending to have amnesia, but she remembers everything!”