Chapter 8 Lennox
Lennox
THE ENFORCER
The engine of the SUV dies with a low rumble, the sounds of the night swallowing it whole. We’re here.
I glance out the window, my eyes scanning the dark, secluded area.
The warehouse is on our right, its dilapidated exterior barely visible under the faint glow of the moonlight.
It’s an abandoned place we bought specifically for jobs such as this, it’s isolated and off the grid.
I made sure of it. Not an easy job to do in the city of angels, but already knowing how Kage prefers to torture his kills, the last thing we needed was someone hearing these pigs squealing for help.
We needed somewhere quiet, hidden, and far from prying eyes.
Besides, he needs the room to work and take his time.
I don’t need to look at Kage to know he’s got that fucking fire in his eyes.
He’s been itching for this moment all night.
Frankie’s barely conscious now, his body slumped against the door of the SUV, still twitching from the pain in his leg.
I step out of the SUV and pull open the door, Frankie’s body falling out in a loud thump on the gravel beneath him.
Well, that’s one way to get him out.
Kage circles the SUV like a fucking shark, ready to tear into his next victim.
We grab Frankie by the arms and haul him up, the metallic scent of blood now mingling with the stale industrial air around us.
His leg is practically dead weight, dragging along behind him as we pull him up to the warehouse door.
On the outside, the warehouse looks like a place you would pass without a second glance.
Metal siding peeling away from the frame, grime and rust coating the entire building, windows boarded up to keep the homeless from going inside.
It doesn’t seem like much, just another forgotten building on the edge of the industrial plants.
But once we step inside, it’s an entirely different building.
The moment I swing the door open, the first thing that hits me are the lights. They’re fucking blinding. The overheads are all exposed bulbs and bright as all hell.
The entirety of the building is open and wide.
The floors are smooth, cold concrete, and there’s grated drains every few feet that we had installed for easy clean up.
They run along the entire floor, each one there to siphon off the blood, sweat, and piss; any kind of evidence of what goes down here.
When we’re finished, we just wash it all away as if it never happened, calling in Jimmy’s crew to dispose of any pieces left behind.
The walls have freshly painted white surfaces that are almost too clean for a place like this. It’s not just an old warehouse; it’s a fucking operating room. It’s clean, efficient, and the perfect setup for what we do.
With the kind of fun Kage enjoys having, we had to add a space for cleaning up. In the back of the warehouse are bedrooms with full bathrooms and closets where we keep spare clothes, only crashing here if we stay late. More times than not, Kage gets carried away with his kills.
Frankie is disoriented as we drag him through the entrance, the overhead lights only get brighter the further we make it inside, illuminating the stark, sterile surroundings.
The cold metal of the chair we’re about to strap him into gleams in the center of the room, ready and waiting for him.
Our own personal throne of torment. It’s heavy duty, dark steel, and bolted to the ground.
It’s not the chair that’s intimidating, it’s the four thick eye hooks embedded into the floor surrounding it.
Each hook has a short, stainless steel chain attached to it.
These chains are too short to give the person sitting in the chair even a shred of freedom, forcing them to stay in one place.
At the end of each chain, a cufflink rests, designed to lock the victim in place, incapable of escaping.
We drop Frankie into the chair, ignoring the way he groans in pain from the open wound in his thigh.
Kage moves, grabbing one of the cuffs and snapping it tight around Frankie’s wrist with a brutal, loud click.
The sound echoes in the room, cold and final.
Frankie tries to resist, but there’s nowhere to go, the chains are too short and tight.
He’s stuck, same as the many others before him.
Frankie’s breathing turns erratic, his chest rising and falling in panicked bursts as we finish locking him into place. His body jerks against the cold steel of the cuffs, the chains keeping him restricted, only able to shift a few inches at most.
Seems someone got his energy back. This should be…interesting.
Kage stands in front of him, arms crossed, his head tilted slightly admiring his work. There’s a satisfaction in his stance, similar to a predator enjoying the first moments of watching their prey. I already know what’s coming next, I’ve seen it hundreds of times. Kage loves the slow kill.
“You ever gut a deer, Frankie?” Kage’s voice is almost casual, low and smooth, but there’s an edge to it.
Frankie stiffens, his lips parting as if he wants to speak, but no words come out. Kage just keeps going, a menacing grin plastered on his face.
“First, you slice up the belly, real slow. Just enough to open it up without puncturing anything important. Let the air hit the insides, let all the warmth leak out…” He slides his hand down the front of Frankie’s sweat soaked shirt, pressing hard against his stomach.
Frankie flinches, his muscles tensing under Kage’s touch.
Kage grins. There it is.
“Then, you reach in. You start pulling everything out, intestines, liver, heart, piece by piece. It feels real hot in your hands. Slick…alive,” Kage’s voice drops lower, almost a whisper against Frankie’s ear. “At first.”
I glance at Frankie. His pulse is hammering so hard, I can see it in his throat.
“P-please, y-you don’t have to do this,” he stammers, his voice cracking.
Rolling my eyes, I let out a slow breath, shaking my head. They always say that.
Kage chuckles, amused as all hell. “Oh, no?” He leans down, lips just behind Frankie’s ear. “You think we’re doing this because we have to?”
He flinches, eyes darting to me questioning if I might be the reasonable one. Fucking wrong.
“You grabbed that girl at The Dollhouse as if she was yours to take,” I say, crouching in front of him. “That was fun for you, watching her squirm. Wasn’t it?”
His mouth opens then closes, scrambling to come up with something, fucking anything, that might help him get out of this mess he got himself into.
“I-I didn’t mean—”
Kage’s fingers curl into the top of Frankie’s hair, yanking his head back hard enough that he sucks in a sharp breath. “Don’t you fucking lie to us.” He curses through clenched teeth.
I stand, adjusting my cuffs, appearing to look bored with this little charade we’re playing as I step away from them.
“Let's get one thing straight, Frankie. We’re not doing this because we have to,” I glance at Kage, who’s watching Frankie as though he’s nothing more than an animal at the end of its usefulness. “We’re doing this because we want to.”
Kage grins, teeth bared like a fucking lion ready to attack.
“And we’re really fucking good at it.” He releases his head with force, causing Frankie’s face to twitch, but he keeps his mouth shut.
He’s seen the brutality we’re capable of, but there’s a stubbornness in his eyes and that is something that’s going to cost him.
I step closer, my eyes narrowing as I lean in, speaking low and deliberate.
“You’re our only fucking lead, Frankie. Names, locations, who’s running this sick fucking ring of yours.
You’re gonna tell us everything.” I pause, letting the weight of my words sink in.
“And we’re not leaving here until you do. ”
Frankie’s jaw clenches so hard I can see the muscles in his neck bulging, his entire body going rigid in the chair.
He’s trying to hold it together, but it’s fucking pointless.
There’s no escape. He’s trapped. Either he dies by our hands, or he dies at theirs.
In the end, it doesn’t fucking matter, he dies regardless.
It’s his choice on whether it's a slow death or not.
Kage stands tall above Frankie, his shadow swallowing the bastard whole. His voice is low and dark. “You think you’re tough, don’t you, Frankie?” he taunts, moving in so close his breath is hot on Frankie’s face.
“Let's see how tough you really are.” I say, as I make my way over to the appliance room.
I step inside, flicking on the overhead light.
This is where we store all of Kage’s favorite toys.
Bone saws sharpened to precision. Embalming instruments laid out like a mortician’s pristine collection.
Drills with bits designed to burrow and shatter bone.
A barbed wire wrapped baseball bat, the dried remnants of its last use still crusted between the metal coils.
A shiver runs through me as the memory of Kage using that bat flashes through my mind.
The sickening crack of bone as he split the last guy's head open like a melon is a sound I’ll never forget.
The sheer brutality of Kage’s methods used to make me question his sanity.
These days, it’s just another day at the office.
I force my attention back to the tools, strolling past the rows and carefully brushing my fingers across them as if they were fragile.
Every instrument you could possibly imagine that could be used to torture a man is in this room, displayed as Kage’s personal trophies.
I’m not as consumed by it as he is, but I can respect his method.
Watching Kage unleash his demons, the way he channels his anger from his past into the lives he takes; it really is something else.