Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
FREAK
Leaving Trixie is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in my life.
But she’s right, there’s a final nail in the coffin that I have to hammer in before we can start to put her past behind us.
Alongi has to die. But not until I make him suffer first. Not only for her recent injuries, but for every time he put his hands on her in the past.
Then a thought stops me in my tracks. If he disappears, Trixie will be in the same position he was in, unable to make a legal commitment to me in the citizen world for another seven years.
I’m not waiting that fucking long. Having an idea, I detour to Bullseye’s office, pleased to find him there.
After entering, I perch on his desk, explain my problem, and suggest my solution.
His eyes gleam. “There’s poetic justice in that, Freak. I fuckin’ love how you’re thinking. Leave it to me. I’ll try and arrange it.”
That done, I resume my previous mission.
When I enter the clubroom, I’m stunned to see how full it is. Some brothers are sprawled out on the floor or couches sleeping, but others are milling around as if waiting for me.
“She’s conscious,” I tell them, then brush my hands through my hair as I shake my head in disbelief. “She’s got a rocky road ahead, but it looks like she’s going to be okay.”
A cacophony of cheers, shouts of “fuck yeah”, hands slapping tables, and feet stomping fills the air, the sleeping brothers awaken, and they join in once they’re brought up to speed.
One by one, they all approach, slapping my back or shaking my hand.
Most offer celebratory comments, all except for one.
“Thank fuck for that. You’d have been an asshole to be around otherwise.”
As I raise my hand to give Rat the well-deserved punch in the mouth, Saint grabs hold of and stills my hand. “For once, he’s got a point, Bro.” It’s Saint’s grin that calms me down. Especially when he adds, “I’d be the same if anything ever happened to Pippa.”
Overhearing, Short raises his chin. “Once you’ve claimed them, they’re in your heart. Seems like that organ would stop beating if they weren’t around.”
“You a poet now, Short? I thought eloquence was my domain.” Words slaps his back and grins.
An ear-splitting whistle pierces the air.
All sound stops, and I, like my brothers, turn to the bar where Bullseye is standing, his face scrunched as he regards Dee, or maybe Dum.
We can all hear him when he states, “Asked you to get their attention, Prospect, not break their fuckin’ eardrums.” He turns to face the rest of us.
“Time to go treat our guest to the Kings’ hospitality. ”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I immediately swing on my heels and march toward the kitchen, then out the back door of the clubhouse. Followed by the rest, Bullseye steps in line after me, but he doesn’t attempt to take over the lead of our procession.
I’m the enforcer. I normally take point in our interrogations following Bullseye’s instructions. But tonight he’ll be leaving it all to me – the extent of the torture, when and how Alongi will die is down to me.
Of course, all the brothers will want to get their ounce of flesh too, and I won’t deny them. I want him to hurt.
The back barn is a fair walk away from the clubhouse.
It was I who suggested its use when we first found the crumbling structure.
Once fixed up, though, I’d then only been a prospect, due to my previous career, I’d had good ideas for equipping it for torture.
It’s remote, at the rear of our property, with a damn near impenetrable forest behind, and away from any roads or tracks where the public would go.
We installed soundproofing, even though it was well shielded from any hypothetical passersby.
Later, when I became the enforcer and had gained ideas from the Kings in my position in other clubs, I’d added on a few additions.
Best of all, there was a rain tank behind the barn that collected water from the monsoons, and which, after recent days, would definitely be full.
Useful for washing away blood, and also for a few other tricks I keep up my sleeve.
My hands itch with my eagerness to play with my toys. Not once since I joined the club has dealing with our enemy ever been more personal. Alongi is mine.
As I approach the door, I briefly close my eyes, quietly mouthing something as close to a prayer that has ever passed my lips. Silently, I make a vow, promising Trixie I’ll do all I can to make him hurt to avenge her.
Stepping inside, I find the prospects had followed my instructions to the letter.
Alongi’s hands are cuffed and tied with rope to the rafters.
He’s been pulled so high that his toes only just touch the ground.
When he sees me, he starts scrabbling to find purchase, desperately trying to get loose.
But the prospects know their shit, and he’s not going anywhere.
That beam above him is reinforced. I’d overseen the installation myself.
Alongi’s eyes widen as he watches us all file in. It’s a tight fit with all the brothers. No one wanted to stay behind. And no one is going to give him any sympathy. He’d hurt one of ours.
Confirming, as he must already know, as he’s been left hanging for hours, there’s no way he can get free, Alongi stops struggling, but his toes slip, and he starts gently swinging.
As he rotates, he glances around as if to find someone he can appeal to.
Finally, his slow spin ceases. I move into his eye line, and at last, his gaze settles on me.
The pressure on his shoulders must mean he's in agony, but after taking a deep breath, he digs his toes into the ground, anchoring his body. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.” His voice sounds confident.
“You’re the underboss for the Mafia in New York,” I tell him dismissively. “Your name’s Piero Alongi. I could tell you your birthday if I could be bothered, but all I need to know is that you’re a piece of shit.”
His head moves upward, then returns to a neutral position. “You must be batshit crazy if you know who I am. The Mafia will come for me. And if I’m dead, they’ll declare war.”
There’s a chair nearby that is used if the interrogator wants to take a load off during lengthy interrogations.
I pull it toward me now, but instead of sitting on it, I turn it around and placing one foot on the seat, lean forward with my hands on my knee.
It’s a deliberate casual pose, signifying without words that his threats don’t mean fuck.
After staring at him for a minute or so, I speak, my tone casual.
“That you were here with just one soldato suggests your mission to kidnap, abuse, and kill my ol’ lady wasn’t sanctioned, but personal.
I doubt anyone knows where you were heading.
” I’m happy that Pippa was able to find some details for me, as Trix had never spoken about her family.
“I doubt you wanted your consigliere to know you were here to kill his daughter. Or that you would have discussed what you had planned with your fiancée, Maria, your intended wife number two. Just so happens you have to get rid of your first before your nuptials can happen.”
His eyes go wide, then he sneers. “I tell my fiancée everything. If I don’t return…”
I tune out the rest of his words. I’d seen his pupils flick to the right.
While it’s not been proven scientifically, under the circumstances, it’s enough of a reason to think he’s lying.
My hand slashes through the air. “You really expect me to believe you’d tell your new sweet sixteen that you’re travelling to Arizona to dispose of your ex-wife?
Was it pillow talk or something?” For a start, I know the age of consent in New York is seventeen, and that virginity is praised in his circles.
His fiancée would have been protected from him until the deal was done and dusted, or in this case, the marriage certificate signed, and whatever money or contract that sweetened the deal was delivered.
He changes track as I expect. “I’ve got money and contacts. I can offer a lucrative deal for your club.”
From behind me, Prez drawls, “I’m Bullseye, the club president. We haven’t had the pleasure of being introduced yet. But I can assure you, I’m not interested in getting into bed with the Mafia and your dirty money.”
“Dirty money?” Alongi scoffs. “You're supposed to be a one-percenter club.”
“We don’t traffic women, run prostitution rings, nor push hard drugs,” Bullseye enlightens him.
“Well, aren’t you just all choirboys?” he sneers.
It’s that expression that gets me. I’ve held my temper in check.
Now I start to loosen the reins. Moving from the chair, I approach him and plant my fist in his stomach, putting all my not inconsiderable strength behind it.
He screeches, and his legs try to curl up.
He even vomits. Luckily, I’m ready for that and have stepped out of range.
Once he’s finished retching, I move forward again, stopping his body from swinging so I can talk to his face. “We’re not interested in any deals you make. We’re here for revenge. You dared lay hands on Trixie.”
“Trixie?” Although still wheezing, he manages to bark a laugh. “You even gave her a whore name. That’s if you’re speaking about my wife, Patricia.”
“It’s a derivative of her name, you stupid fuck,” I snarl. And had been bestowed on her by Irish. “You claim she’s your wife? The injuries you gave her during your marriage, and the ones you inflicted today, certainly don’t reflect that relationship with her.”
“She’s a stupid bitch. She deserved what she got. How do you think I felt when I found out she was whoring for your club?”