22. Brass Knuckles
TWENTY-TWO
brASS KNUCKLES
DIRT NAP: DIGGY GRAVES
DOMINIC
T here's an itch underneath my cast I can't get for the fucking life of me, and it's beginning to piss me off. Or maybe I'm just looking for anything—even the smallest thing—to piss me off, trying to get my mind off what's happening tonight. I've been waiting for this moment for so long, and now that it's here, my anxiety has never been worse.
I sit up, retrieving the ruler from my nightstand. With meticulous care, I ease it between my leg and the cast, scratching the irritated skin as this small part of me begins to mend. Hopefully, tonight will mark a turning point, the beginning of healing the rest of my broken self. But only time will tell.
A soft knock echoes, followed by Ash's entrance. A shadow of sadness clouds his features. He doesn't sit but instead walks to the window, hands in his pockets, a heavy sigh escaping him in a painful exhalation. His head bows, his gaze fixed on the floor, an obvious weight pressing upon him—a burden he seems unable to find the words to tell me.
"What's troubling you, brother?" I ask, setting down the ruler, and the itch finally soothed.
He remains silent for a moment, then asks without looking at me, "Are you sure you're ready for tonight?"
"Ready to kill my father?" I reply, the casualness of my tone jarring even to my own ears.
Finally, he turns, nodding. "Yes," he says, another sigh escaping him. "Truly ready. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. You have to be certain, absolutely fucking certain." He sits, taking a deep breath. "And I don't just mean ready to end his life. I mean, ready for the emotional aftermath, the fucking wave of feelings that will crash over you afterward."
I move beside him, his words sinking in, striking a chord deep within my heart. My focus has been solely on revenge, on the act itself, neglecting the emotional consequences. Ash's struggle is evident, etched on his face, letting me know that he's clearly not okay.
"I'll be okay," I assure him, the words meant as much for him as for myself.
"It's not fucking easy, Dom. I'm struggling," he admits, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.
"You can talk to me, or Cali, or the others. Cali might have some helpful advice since she's used to this shit," I offer, forcing a smile as a knot of nerves tightens in my chest.
He shakes his head, a single tear escaping and tracing a path down his cheek. "It's not that simple, Dom." His voice cracks, the weight of unspoken grief heavy in the air.
He looks out the window again, the city lights blurring through his tear-filled eyes. Silence hangs between us, thick and suffocating. The casual confidence I’d projected earlier crumbles, replaced by a chilling awareness of the enormity of what we’re about to do. The itch under my cast is forgotten, overshadowed by the far greater, deeper ache in my soul. Finally, I reach out and place a hand on his shoulder. The gesture feels clumsy and inadequate, but it's all I can offer.
"We'll get through this together," I say, my voice barely a whisper. "We always have and we always will."
He leans into my touch—a small, almost imperceptible movement, but it speaks volumes. He needs this, this silent acknowledgment of the burden we both share, this unspoken promise of support.
"Tonight," he says, his voice low and strained, "tonight, we end this for you."
He looks at me, his eyes searching mine, seeking reassurance, seeking strength. I see not just my brother, but a reflection of my own fear, my own uncertainty. The certainty I’d feigned earlier evaporates, leaving behind a raw, vulnerable truth. We're both terrified. But we are also together. And that, I realize, is the only thing that truly matters. The only thing that will see us through the night and hopefully into a future where the ghosts of the past finally rest.
After spending the afternoon talking with Ash about how he’s been coping since killing his father, I’m finally ready to move forward with our plan to eliminate mine. I slip my hand into the pocket of my blue jeans, my fingers brushing the brass knuckles nestled inside. My crisp white shirt clings to my torso tightly hugging my bulging, colorfully tattooed biceps.
I chose white over black for several reasons, but primarily because I'm craving the sight of my father's blood staining me—an undeniable testament to his finality. Still, I tuck my loaded gun into the back of my waistband, keeping it close in case things go awry. As I put on my Boston snapback, I slide another pair of matte black brass knuckles in my other pocket, feeling fully prepared to end this.
Stepping out of my room and taking the short walk down the hall, I find the others in the living room getting high—where they always are, doing what they always do—caught in an unchanging cycle. It won’t be long until that changes. Our lives will be irrevocably altered once our parents—including Cali’s—are dead; they're the ones who set this all in motion. And we're going to be the ones who end it.
Cali spots me first, her captivating eyes sparkling with intrigue as she takes me in, her perfectly waxed brow arching. I walk closer, sitting on the arm of the couch beside her.
"White, huh?" she teases, trailing the tip of her tongue across her lips while eyeing my body in an obvious, intriguing manner.
"Yeah, just wanted to stand out," I reply with a grin, eliciting a laugh from Ash that brings a smile to my face after our earlier conversation. "Don’t worry, I’ve got a black hoodie to throw on once it’s all over."
Cali leaps off the couch, leaning down to kiss me fiercely, leaving a lingering sweetness on my tongue as she playfully pulls away.
"I’ll be right back, then we can head out," she winks before strutting away.
I turn to the three guys, who are transfixed by her bouncing ass as she walks out of sight. It’s as if they’ve never seen her leave before, and I can’t help but chuckle under my breath.
"So, who’s coming with us?" I ask, drawing their attention even through the thick haze in their minds and the smoke swirling above us.
They fall silent, and glancing at each of them, I quickly grasp why. Ash is too geeked up on coke, his jaw working like he’s chewing gum, making him utterly paranoid and useless for tonight. Killian's eyes are drooping, a rolled-up bill in his hand as he preps to snort a line of crushed-up oxy, lost in a heavy nod from the downers, rendering him equally ineffective. And then there’s Five, grinning vacantly as he gazes out the window, his eyes glossy and bloodshot from the high-grade pot he stays smoking.
It's clear: all three of them are too fucking blasted to join us tonight.
"Alright then, Cali and I will handle it." I settle back down, quickly mixing a shot of heroin from my pocket, seeking a little liquid courage to fortify me for the night ahead.
Fortunately, I locate a vein right away, and the rush from the dope courses through me before I can even pull the needle out. Once everything is stashed away and a cigarette is lit, Cali re-emerges from the hall, her outfit making my jaw drop to the shaggy carpet beneath my feet.
She’s clad in a silky red top that barely covers her, ending just below her firm, braless tits, exposing her toned, glistening stomach. The tight white skirt that mirrors my shirt hugs her curves, barely long enough to cover her ass. To top it off, she sports a fresh pair of white Jordans paired with red knee-high socks. She looks incredibly sexy, and I’m fighting the overwhelming urge to bend her over the fucking couch.
But there’s no time for distractions. I’m hell-bent on getting this shit done.
"Ready?" she asks, winking at me, her dark lashes fluttering as she laughs.
"You fucking know it," I reply, rising to my feet, the drugs coursing through me making me sway slightly. "You’re going to be cold, babe, because we’re taking my bike."
She shakes her head, playfully tugging up her tiny skirt to reveal an even tighter pair of booty shorts. "I’m prepared. Always am."
I lick my lips and grasp her hand, tugging her toward the door. "We’ll be back," I call over my shoulder, fully aware that none of them are likely to hear a word I’ve said.
The air is fresh and a bit cold as we ride through the city on my bike, leaning into each curve on the road, Cali's arms tightly wrapped around my waist, right where they belong. All I can think about is the rest of our lives when all of this shit is over. I mean, will it stay how it has been? Will we all stay together or go our separate ways? Are we all just together because we share the same trauma caused by the same people? Or do we all truly love each other so deeply that we just can't live without one another? Shit begins to make me more nervous than killing my father.
I can't lose Cali, not after all the time I missed without her. Not after all the shit we've been through, especially all the shit we've been through just trying to get each other back. I guess I'm a little anxious about what's going to happen when we take the last life on her list, and I'm not really looking forward to finding out.
After torturing myself with my thoughts the entire ride, I pull over and park my bike against the curb a couple blocks down from the fancy gentleman's club my father is known to spend his nights at. My plan to kill him was never to just go to his house and find him there. No, I wanted his death to be in public, so everyone could watch his ass get everything he fucking deserves.
Climbing off my bike, Cali and I walk hand in hand down the sidewalk, the cool night air embracing us like a suit of armor and easing the tightness in my chest. a
Without speaking, she takes our masks out of her backpack and hands me mine with a smile.
"What's the plan?" she asks as she covers her face, those bright red x's providing a sense of comfort against the anxiety trying to cripple me.
"We're just going to walk the fuck in there and drag his ass outside, probably to the back lot away from the main road, and I'll take care of him while you be my lookout for cops. I don't give a fuck about anyone watching, but I ain't trying to go to jail over this mother fucker." I put my mask on once we're a street away from the club, and then put both sets of brass knuckles on my hands, ready for this fight more than I've ever been ready for anything.
The heavy oak doors of the club loom before us, a testament to the wealth and power my father so carelessly flaunts. The bass thumps through the pavement, a visceral vibration that mirrors the frantic beat of my heart. Cali squeezes my hand, silent reassurance in the face of the impending violence. We step inside, the sudden shift from the cool night air to the stifling heat of the club a jarring transition. The air is thick with the smell of expensive perfume, sweat, and desperation.
The music is deafening, a chaotic blend of sounds that makes it difficult to focus. But I see him. My father. He's sitting in a plush booth in the back, surrounded by his perverted friends, while a bunch of whores grind on their laps, laughing at some obvious bad joke. His face, usually etched with a cruel indifference, is softened by the alcohol and the company. For a moment, a flicker of something like pity crosses my mind But it's quickly extinguished by the burning rage that has fueled me for years.
Cali nods subtly, her eyes fixed on the entrance. We move through the throng of bodies, a silent current pushing us towards our target. The closer we get, the more palpable the tension becomes. I can feel the eyes on us, the whispers, the sudden silences as people notice our determined stride and the menacing red gleam in our eyes. We reach the booth, and I pull out my gun, the cold steel a comforting weight in my hand.
My father looks up, his eyes widening in recognition. The laughter dies on his lips, replaced by a look of pure terror.
"Get the fuck up," I demand, and he does so without hesitation, afraid of the gun I have no intention of using.
He tries to speak, to protest, but the words are lost in the commotion of the club. I raise the gun, aiming for his chest; the image of his blood staining my white shirt is a vivid, almost satisfying thought. But before I can pull the trigger, a hand grabs my arm, yanking me back. I turn to see a burly bouncer, his face contorted in a snarl, his fist already cocked.
The fight is brutal, a chaotic ballet of fists and bodies. The brass knuckles dig into flesh; the sounds of cracking bones and grunts of pain fill the air. Cali fights alongside me, a whirlwind of fury; her kicks are precise and deadly. We're outnumbered, but we fight with a ferocity born of years of pent-up rage and trauma. The bouncers fall one by one, their bodies crumpling to the floor.
I grab my father as Cali leads us out the back door, and I drag him across the cold pavement, ruining his expensive suit. Once we're far enough away from prying eyes, I tuck my gun away and stand face to face with the man that created me, the same man who ruined my fucking life.
"What, are you here to kill me, Dominic?" he asks, a chuckle in his voice that pisses me off.
I don't answer him. In fact, I don't speak at all. I ball my fists, the brass digging into my flesh, but I couldn't give a shit. I raise my arm and swing, the bras knuckles connecting with his cheek and splitting it open with the first hit. He stumbles backward, blood soaking his jacket, a look of fear etched on his face.
Taking one look at Cali, she nods, giving me the okay that the coast is clear, and that's all I fucking need. I begin swinging like I'm out of control, using both fists to inflict the most damage possible. My father puts up a fight; well, he tries to, but his vile hands are no match for the bloody brass adorning mine.
Blood splatters across my white shirt, a gruesome yet strangely satisfying testament to my actions. The satisfying crunch of bone beneath my knuckles is almost melodic, a counterpoint to the ragged gasps escaping my father's lips. He collapses to his knees, a broken, whimpering mess. I stand over him, my breath ragged, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The adrenaline is fading, replaced by a chilling emptiness, and I can't explain it for the life of me... but Ash's words reply in my mind, and it begins to make sense.
"Only kill him if you're ready to deal with the emotional roller-coaster," I whisper under my mask, hesitating.
Cali approaches, her face pale but resolute. She kneels beside me, her hand resting on my arm. "It's over," she whispers, her voice barely audible above the pounding of my own blood in my ears.
I look down at my father, his life ebbing away. The rage that fueled me is gone, leaving behind a hollow ache. The satisfaction is fleeting, overshadowed by a profound sense of loss. This wasn't the catharsis I expected. It's just…over. Saying nothing, not even a word to him about how much he fucking broke me, I stand up and slide the brass off my fingers, putting them in my pocket. As a final fuck you, I take out my gun anyway, cock it, and put a bullet clean between his eyes, making sure the mother fucker is indeed dead.
Cali doesn't even flinch. But then again, I didn't either.
We leave him there in a pool of blood, a lifeless heap in the alleyway. The silence of the night is broken only by the distant sounds of the city. As we walk back to the bike, the weight of what we've done settles heavily upon us. The cool night air no longer feels like armor; it's a clear reminder of the brutal reality we've just created.
We don't speak on the ride back. The city lights blur into streaks of color, mirroring the chaotic jumble of emotions swirling within me. The high is gone, replaced by a bone-deep weariness. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by the rhythmic whir of the bike's engine.
Back at the apartment, the others are still lost in their haze, oblivious to the events of the night. We don't tell them. There's no need. They understand.
Cali and I shower together, my casted leg hanging out the edge of the shower, the water washing away the physical grime but not the emotional residue. As much as I want to fuck her, make her mine again right here, I don't. Neither one of us dares to try anything. We wash each other in silence and then she wraps her arms around me, somehow knowing the mental turmoil fogging my mind.
"I love you, Dominic," she whispers over the stream of the scalding water, rubbing her naked, soapy body against mine.
She gets my dick hard in mere seconds, and before I know it, I'm grabbing her hair as hard as I can and shoving her ruthlessly to the floor of the shower, forcing her knees to take the brunt of my actions. She knows what's about to happen, and with the black hair tie around her wrist, she pulls her hair back into a low ponytail like a good girl, rising on her knees so her face is level with my dick.
"I love you too, Cali," I finally reply, a smile curling on her lips. "Now open that fucking mouth, Little Psycho," I growl, putting a palm against the shower wall and my head under the running water.
She begins to open her mouth and Impatiently I thrust my dick inside, forcing it open the rest of the way. With a single jerk of my hips, the tip presses against the back of her warm throat, and I shiver as she gags around my cock. Without me having to tell her, she looks up at me while slowly bobbing her head, taking my dick in and out of her mouth while swirling her tongue around it ever so teasingly.
"Fuck," I mutter, grazing her cheek with my free hand, my touch making her increase her speed.
The faster she sucks, spit drips from her lips, and I fuck her mouth in an angry array of thrusts, bringing tears to her eyes that slide down her cheeks with the shower water.
I watch her fuck herself with her two middle fingers while her thumb vigorously rubs her clit, turning us both on and making my cock pulse against her tongue. She sucks like a pro, taking me deep down her tight throat and swallowing to make it even tighter, making all the blood in my body rush to my dick and my orgasm appear out of nowhere.
"Fuck, stick out your tongue, stroke my cock, and sit up straight," I command in a desperate, dominant tone that she listens to right away.
The moment she sticks out her tongue and begins stroking me, my cum spurts out, landing on her tits before it finally finds her tongue, making her look fucking stunning covered in nothing but me and the water washing the evidence away.
At least we still know what happened.
After we clean up and get dressed, Cali follows me to my room, locking the door behind us. We lie in bed, the silence between us a calming contrast to the violence we've unleashed. I pull her close, her body trembling slightly. We hold each other, the comfort fragile and fleeting, and before we both know it, we're fast asleep with one less monster haunting our nightmares.
The next morning, the sun rises, casting a pale light on the city. The world continues, oblivious to the darkness we've brought into it. We look at each other, the unspoken question hanging heavy in the air: What now? Part of the shared trauma that bound us together is gone, replaced by a void. The future stretches before us, uncertain and terrifying, at least until we finish the mission we've started together. We've ended one cycle of violence, but what will replace it? The answer remains elusive, a chilling uncertainty hanging over us like a shroud. The silence is deafening. But it's a brand new day with so much to look forward to, and now is the time for me to begin to rebuild my life without the demon on my back.
No matter what, it's going to be a good fucking day. Why? Because my father is finally gone. He's never coming back except to maybe haunt me, but I can live with that. The main thing is now he can't hurt anyone else, and for that, I finally feel like I can breathe for the first time ever.
1. Mother
2. Father
3. Holden Graham
4. Gunnar
5. Adam Moretti (Ash's father)
6. David Blacksburg (Kill's father)
7. Jackson Gray (Dom's father)
8. State Senator Pete Gallagher
9. Mayor Kyle Benjamin
10. City Councilman Marcus Rutherford
11. Judge Hayden Wilson
12. Brockton Chief of Police Robert Bailey
13. City Councilman Mr. Josè Brown