Chapter 3
E very time Amaris sees me, those amber-brown eyes light up with rage. Every time I see her, I want to snuff out the fire in her eyes. I enjoy coming in here and ruining her day, but that’s not enough. I hate Amaris Santos. I want her blood on my hands, and not in a way she’ll enjoy.
Amaris is the mission I have been preparing for all these years. If it was up to me, I would’ve snapped her neck in an alley somewhere already or kidnapped her to throw her off a cliff. Renato, my father, has the final say and decides when I strike. So for now, I’m just watching her, biding my time while I wait for my orders.
I ignore the coffee she placed in front of me and flash a cheeky smile. “If you needed assistance with your ass, that’s all you had to say, sweetheart.”
“Don’t be desperate.”
“Pussy is everywhere, wanna see how easy it is to get?” I turn to the other worker behind the counter, who has not been subtle at all about wanting to see me after her shift. “Hey, Goldie Locks, meet me in the back on your break.”
Her eyes light up like she just won the lottery and she shakes her head quickly. “Yes, sir.” I wink at her before turning my attention back on Amaris.
“You repulse me,” she says. She scrunches her nose the way she always does whenever I say something crass. When she gets mad, I swear her hair turns a shade redder.
After I saw her in person for the first time, my hatred for her grew tenfold. I already knew she was a vile vixen, but I didn’t know she would be fucking hot. Her almond eyes drew me in first. They were alluring, like a fox. When I see her face, I can only describe the burning sensation in my chest like a pang of lightning. The confusion further stokes my anger towards her.
I pull out a $10 bill and throw it on the counter. “The feeling is mutual.” With that, I grab my cup and head out, leaving Amaris in her simple little world.
Enjoy it while you can, little fox.
My phone starts ringing when I’m a couple of steps away from my bike. I take a sip of my coffee and take a seat before fishing my phone out of my pocket. Without even sparing a glance at the name, knowing who it is already, I update Renato on Amaris. Nothing new to tell.
“That little hellion knows her place, you just make sure she stays in line.”
I murmur my agreement then ask, “Am I going back to the house or am I meeting you somewhere?”
“I need you to meet me at the abandoned warehouse. Somebody has been running their mouth about things they aren’t supposed to know about and I need you to take care of it for me.”
“I’ll be there.” He hangs up in response.
Our conversations are never longer than a handful of minutes. I have no complaints, the only thing I need from him are my orders. To him, the only thing I’m good for is killing or intimidating people.
A mindless drone that he created.
I down the rest of my drink and toss the cup into the nearest trash can, then start my baby up. My black metallic Yamaha Bolt R-Spec is my favorite distraction from the real world. When I ride, I live in the intangible moment that I’m in and ignore any problems I have.
My gloves are sitting in the pocket of my jacket, leaving my hands bare. I glance at the phrase crossing both my knuckles when I turn onto the bridge, it says HELL BENT . It was the first tattoo I got. I was, and still am, hell-bent on getting revenge for Mama. This is just another reminder.
Smooth roads give way to rocky gravel, signaling me to slow down as I approach an old building about the size of a barn that was abandoned years ago. It used to be creamy white, but now it’s dirty, the metal peeks through the chipped paint and vines have overtaken it over the years. We’ve been using it as a torture chamber ever since Renato discovered it.
The stench of urine slaps me in the face when I pull open the double doors, causing my steps to falter. Making my way to the corner that has a man hanging from his arms, I go straight to the table. I pass Renato whose grimace matches my own.
This guy seems familiar, but not important enough for me to recognize his face or name. More tears fall as his eyes blow wide after noticing me. He visibly starts shaking, trying to speak through the duct tape over his lips. My only concern is I hope the fucker doesn’t piss himself again.
I put a few drops of peppermint extract on a small cloth, then lightly wipe it on the inside of a surgical mask. I put that mask on, then cover my entire face with a black cloth mask. The only color on it is two dark red X’s over my eyes and a sewn-on smile. I learned early on that people excrete disgusting scents when they are scared or dying, scents I have no interest in inhaling. This mask combination takes care of that for me.
Slowly, I turn back around to face tonight’s target. He closes his eyes for a breath, then opens them with renewed vigor. But I can still see the fear swimming in them. Turning my attention back to the table, I look over some of my toys while Renato talks in the background.
“I don’t like to repeat myself, Carlos, but I will ask you one more time. If you don’t give me what I want, Kylo is going to give you a makeover with his tools over there. Go ahead, take a look at the table.” I faintly hear footsteps somewhere behind me. “Look at it,” his voice booms. Muffled cries follow shortly after. Taking my gloves out of my jacket pocket, I take off the jacket, set it on a chair, and put my gloves on.
This guy worked for us ? There’s no way—he’s a wuss.
“Tell me where you got your information from.” Carlos shrieks when the tape covering his mouth is ripped off.
“I don’t know nothin’, boss. I swear. You gotta believe me!” He pleads.
“I don’t have to do shit.” I turn to the scene in time to see Renato slap Carlos and then stick the tape back over his mouth.
Thank goodness, he’s been whining since I walked in.
Renato claps me on the shoulder. “This is what you were made for. Teach him a lesson, that the Kincaid empire will soon belong to you.” He walks around to my other side. “If you want your revenge, you need to be the best. Show me you have what it takes to wipe out anyone who gets in your way.”
A switch flips in my head, my hidden smile grows to match the one painted on my mask. I look at my toys again. Knives, screwdrivers, pliers, a saw—no. I’ll have some fun, but I won’t drag it out too long.
Round one calls for the hammer. Whistling Ring Around The Rosie , I saunter up to Carlos until I’m standing just a foot in front of him.
It’s fun to taunt them sometimes.
“You pissed yourself before I showed up. I don’t know if I can have any fun with you,” I tsk.
Without warning, I lash out with the hammer, hearing the bone crack on contact. His muffled screams get louder, so I whistle louder and shatter his other knee cap.
Echoed sobs follow me back to the table where I exchange my hammer for the pretty little electric cattle prod. This time when I make my way back to him, I rip the tape off his mouth and stand behind him out of view. He’ll squirm more if he can’t anticipate my next move. His pleas go in through one ear and out the other. I stay silent until he seems a degree calmer, then I shock him in his ribs, holding it until he releases an ear-piercing scream.
“Are you not tired yet? Don’t worry, we are almost done here,” I taunt in a low, menacing voice.
Heaving a breath, he spits out, “You’re just his fucking puppet.” A zap to the cervical shuts him right up.
Appearing in front of him suddenly, I twist the prod into his abdomen, relishing in the symphony he’s singing. I’m done playing with my food. Switching out the prod for my favorite toy yet, I prepare for our final game.
Carlos was weak until he spotted the spike-covered baton in my hand. Suddenly, he’s flailing and attempting to free himself—it’s almost amusing, if it wasn’t so pathetic.
“I always loved a good round of baseball. How about you?”
Before he gets a chance to answer, I swing at him full force, coming in contact with his shoulder first. I continue hitting him like he’s a pi?ata and I’m the birthday boy. I’ve given up control to the blind rage in my heart.
A strong grip on my shoulder pulls me out of the trance I fell into. Dropping the baton where I stand, I look at the hand on my shoulder then follow it to the owner's face.
Renato gives me an approving nod and pats me again before letting go. “You did good. Now make sure you get this mess cleaned up before you leave.” I nod and keep my eyes on his departing form.
The cloth mask is suffocating now, so I rip it off and turn to the mess that used to be Carlos. One peer at the disfigured body makes me want to heave up the coffee I had before arriving. It’s gotten easier to deal with, but the gruesome aftermath always rattles me up a bit.
Fucking hell, this shit is gross.
No matter how many times I have to torture and kill someone, no matter how deeply Renato tries to ingrain in my mind that this is right, it still weighs on my subconscious.
But this is the way things are.
I step outside and dial the clean-up crew. They should be nearby waiting for my call, so I give them the green light to come down to work. Taking my spot on my bike, I light up a cigarette while I wait on the crew to arrive so I can get home and wash today off of me.
Ace greets me outside my front door when I get home. If I’m not inside, he won’t be either, but he will always be guarding the place. No one comes back here unless they need to go into the woods and no one has ever set foot inside my house. If they tried, Ace would tear them into pieces first.
“Hey, buddy. Long day for you, too?” I ask him, rubbing his head.
I swear he answers me sometimes with his expressions and sounds. I unlock the door for us and let him in first. Dropping my full face helmet on the coffee table by the door, I scan the room—out of habit—then move to fill up Ace’s water bowl. The carbon fiber helmet is matte black with red lines, the only touch of color to my usual black ensemble.
While Ace drinks, I jump in the shower and wash the sweat and grime from the day off, trying to avert my thoughts from spiraling into darkness.
The only smidgen of brightness I have in this life is Ace. He’s the closest thing I have to a friend, or family, for that matter. They weren’t kidding when they said a dog is a man’s best friend; he’s been my right hand for the past ten years. I got him as a puppy a year after Mama died. Neither of us like people—we protect each other and he’s the only one I trust around here, ironically.
Considering I only have coffee in my system, my first order of business is lunch. Locating the left-over rice and chicken that I made yesterday, I heat that up while I fry some asparagus.
Half of the meal is split into a dish for Ace, sitting right next to my chair. We eat in a comfortable silence.
“How about we skip our workouts today, Ace? I’m exhausted.”
He seems to make an agreeable sound, then proceeds to get comfortable. That’s all I need to follow suit and take the spot next to him on my couch.