Chapter 24
Dante
Idrop the piece of shit onto the filthy cement of the makeshift jail cell. The dumbfuck is not deadweight, but damn, he could lose a few pounds, preferably in blood and flesh.
His head hits the floor with a sickening crack—well, not sickening to me; I enjoy it—and the air whooshes from his lungs.
I press my boot to his windpipe just in case the asshole gets any ideas. “That one of them?”
The man my brother adores, the one I’ve become addicted to overnight, gives a sharp nod then averts his gaze.
People joked I got the brains and Des got the charm. It bothered him far more than it did me, because I don’t care and he’s not stupid.
One thing holds true, however: he has all the emotions, the humanity, and I have none. “Live or die?”
Lucas’ answer is no surprise. “Live.” But he shocks the hell out of me when he continues, “I want you to send a message to the rest of them.” His bloodshot eyes, surrounded by deep red and purple bruising, connect with mine. “Let them know what happens when they mess with us.”
Us. Welcome to the dark side, my addiction. The Rossi side. There’s no going back now. You don’t rehabilitate from murder and torture. It becomes you or it breaks you, and we won’t allow Lucas to break.
My twin kisses his temple. “You got it, baby.” Then, he glances up at me. “Make sure they know who it’s from.”
Des holds Lucas while Reece staunches the flow of blood from an open wound on Lucas’ scalp.
Reece mutters something about being surrounded by psychos but otherwise doesn’t intervene.
The way he violently responded to Aurora’s voice while fighting to come out of anesthesia leads me to believe the same darkness flows through his veins.
He also didn’t flinch when I shot someone in the forehead upstairs. Instead, he lifted his gun and shot the next dickwad square between the eyes. He’s competitive.
I don’t consider myself a psycho. I’m not dysfunctional. Jax tends to lose his tether to reality at times. Me? I know precisely what I’m doing, and I don’t give a fuck. I’m not saying I’m a vigilante, but the world could use fewer predators. I have zero remorse. Maybe I’m a sociopath.
The wheezing prick whose throat is under my boot doesn’t have much consciousness left, and I need him to escape.
When he stepped out of the stairwell, I snuck up behind him and tore through his shoulder with a serrated knife—my favorite weapon. He went straight to his knees and dropped his gun.
Typically, I’d say jumping someone from behind or stabbing someone in the back was cowardly, but they showed Lucas no mercy, and I have none for them. I stomped on the fucker’s face and ribs until the damage exceeded what was done to our boy. Fair is fair.
Apparently, Lucas doesn’t care for loud noises, particularly grown-ass men shrieking. He covered his ears and tucked into Desi’s chest. I shut the bastard up quickly with an uppercut to the jaw, but he’s bound to wake and scream like a banshee when I slice through his skin.
“You got zip ties, Viking?” I plan to let this dickhead loose on Skid Row for his friends to find. All he needs is a working set of legs.
Reece uses his free hand to search through his bag. “Hurry. He can die in the alleyway for all I give a fuck, but not here. Not with your monogram on his skin.” He passes the plastic restraints.
His arm shakes, and I know he’s hurting, but he doesn’t complain.
Ain’t no way this rapist piece of shit is ratting on us, not after kidnapping and assaulting a federal agent. He’s lucky I’m letting him live with only a few scars, broken bones, and a horror story.
I crouch and make quick work of binding the douche canoe’s wrists. He attempts to kick me, and I punch him in the nuts.
“Keep your feet to yourself. Didn’t your mama teach you anything?”
He balls up into a fetal position, gasping for breath, his wrists tied tightly behind his back. It’s his own fucking fault for being stupid, a predator, and for touching what’s mine, but I digress.
I grip my blade in one hand and the idiot’s hair in the other. “Tell me your favorite song, Lucas.”
Des wears that unwavering grin, as constant as death and the sunrise. “Oh, I love this game. We used to play this as kids.”
“My favorite song?” Lucas’ voice cracks, and he whisper-sings the lyrics, “Don’t stop be-lieving…”
“Journey?” Des asks, taken aback. “No shit.”
“We listened to a lot of classic rock.” Reece tosses medical supplies into his backpack and adds, “We only have a few minutes before backup arrives.”
I position the tip of my knife at the motherfucker’s cheekbone. “Brother, kick us off.”
“Just a small town boy…” he begins, the lyrics altered. “Livin’ in a lonely world…”
The ballsack howls and struggles beneath me as I carve into his worthless flesh. He arches his neck in agony, and I snag the corner of his lip.
“You ruined my masterpiece, cuntmuffin.” I place a knee on his forehead to keep him still while I finish the jagged letter ‘D’. “Now, I have to start over.”
I bet Jackson would love this. I glance at my brother and, sure enough, he has his phone out, filming. I’m no psychiatrist, but revenge and violence can be quite therapeutic—and Jax is going to need it if these sick fucks sent him any taunting pictures of this jail cell.
“Just two city boys,” Des sings louder.
I join in, confident of the next part. “Born and raised in Staten Island!”
Reece scoffs but slides in on the coming lyric, and the four of us drown out the pussy’s whining.
Facial injuries are so messy, and blood drips from his nose and chin onto the nasty floor. I’m certain there’s sufficient body fluids and evidence in this basement to keep crime scene investigators busy for years.
I yank the little bitch’s hair, flipping his head to the other side as we drag out that high note. “Searchin’ in the night!”
After I finish the ‘R’ and hastily cut ‘Rapist’ into his chest, I assist him up the stairs. He stumbles on the steps and collapses face-first, unable to extend his hands to catch himself.
Jesus, I need a cigarette.
“Seriously? You’re the worst criminal.” I pick him up by his belt and add a wedgie to his humiliation. “Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind and dismember you.” I boot him in the ass. “Don’t forget to tell all your fucked-up friends it was Dante Rossi who got you looking pretty.”