10. Gator #2
I will do anything, and I mean anything, to secure that future, no matter the toll it takes on my soul, because for my family, I have no soul.
The scars on all of us, physical and otherwise, are proof of what we’ve survived together.
Even in moments like this, surrounded by darkness and danger, what matters most is the bond we share.
No matter how rough the ride gets, we are in this together.
The only thing I know for certain is that, no matter how this war goes, we will still be the top dogs, because we are fighting for something far more valuable than some turf. We are fighting for our family’s lives.
“What’s the game plan here? You think just because my pops got shot we’re weakened?”
"Fuck you, you pussy.” He spits, muffled by the gag in his mouth, almost foaming at the mouth.
A smile crosses my face as I watch the pathetic excuse for a man, strapped to a chair across from me, fight his restraints as if he were going to make it out of this room alive.
It makes the monster inside me salivate at the sight of my prey fighting for the life I will take.
“Here is how this is going to go,” I say, putting out my cigarette on the floor in front of me.
“You are going to tell me where I can find your brother and the son he should have had his bitch swallow. Then I’ll end it quick.
How we play this is up to you. But God help me, I hope you choose to go out screaming and crying like a little bitch while I tear you apart, bit by bit, for even thinking of touching what belongs to me. ”
“I ain’t telling you shit.” He seethes, still fighting like hell to get untied, but he will die long before that happens. The roar in my mind subsides as my surroundings narrow to the task at hand. He made his choice, and now I will deliver my promise.
“Oh, but you will,” I say in a voice so calm I question whether it even came from me. I rise from the chair I have been sitting in and walk to the table of instruments Nutz has laid out for our playdate. Words I should start using now that I am someone’s father.
He claps, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“I’m so excited!” Nutz exclaims, as if he just won the lottery, but instead he’ll be helping to torture a human being—if you can even call this man that.
An animal is more fitting. Going after women and children is low, even in my world.
Nutz ain’t all there in the head. He’s not what anyone would call mentally stable on any spectrum, but he’s good people.
That’s for sure. I was raised with this man, and I know his loyalty is unwavering.
The man hunts pedophiles with his wife for “date night,” then comes home and feeds a couple of body parts to his pet alligator, Henry.
Nutz swaps the collars Henry wears like outfits, but they all have bells on them so we can hear the alligator coming.
It’s pretty unsettling, considering how I got my road name.
But we supply intel on the nasty child-touchers to our resident psych ward walking, so I’m sure you can put two and two together about the level of depravity going on around here.
But my brother Nutz takes the crazy train to a whole new level.
We have to keep him away from the explosives, but he’d do anything, and I mean anything, for his family, and that will always be enough for me.
I pull out one of my favorite torture devices.
It gets a little messy, but boy, is it effective.
Something about watching your muscle, skin, and fat being torn from your body in a circular motion and flung all over the place tends to get people talking.
I pull out what's known as a one-inch hole saw attached to the end of an electric drill. For those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s a circular drill attachment with serrated teeth used to carve out precisely sized holes.
They come in all sizes, but I find the one-inch size to be a perfect fit for the job, effective without worrying about doing too much damage before you finish an interrogation.
“Let's hop right into it, shall we?” I say with a feral grin, tapping the drill button twice to get the saw spinning because no one can resist giving a drill a few warm-up spins.
Nutz nods enthusiastically. “I like that one.”
“Me too, bud.” I walk over and push it into the president's thigh, hit the button, and let the drill rip; layers of muscle, skin, and blood fly through the air. Covering both him and me in a gory mess. The president screams in anguish, begging like a pussy for me to stop.
“Stop? Why would I stop?” I shout over the begging and the drill’s whine in a faux-confused voice, shrouded in what I am sure is a sadistic smile.
I let off the trigger for a brief moment—to trick my prey into a false sense of hope and calm.
“Have you told me where your brother and nephew are yet? I’m not going to stop.
” I hit the drill again, bringing it to life, tearing deeper into his thigh and hitting bone.
“Okay!” he screams.
I stop the drill immediately. “Okay?” I ask. The silence deepens. I pull the gag from his mouth so he can speak properly.
“I’ll talk,” he stammers, sweat pouring off him as he fights to breathe, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession. He reeks of desperation.
“Don’t tell me that all it took was a little drilling to get an answer? In all my years, I’ve never heard of someone so willing to squeal so quickly. It’s almost disappointing,” I say with a fake, sad pout.
I could give a fuck less how long it takes for this fuck to start talking, but I would be lying if I said I wanted to stop torturing the son of a bitch.
Knowing the plans they had for my Ol’ lady and son is enough to make me smile with glee at the thought of possibly stabbing the drill into his other thigh.
I’ll be honest, I’m popping a chub thinking about it. Make my fucking day.
"Just fucking kill me,” he begs.
“Not yet, sweetheart. First, you need to tell me where to find those fucks.” I take the drill and stab another one-inch hole into his other thigh as he screams and begs me to stop. I might have started drilling back up a little prematurely, but I'm enjoying myself. What can I say?
“They are at the clubhouse. They made it in last night.” He pants. I reluctantly pull the drill from his thigh and make eye contact to let him know I'm listening and to keep talking.
"How many?” I ask.
"Thirty, that’s including my boys.”
I laugh at that number. They think they only need thirty to take us down. But let's be real, they're probably still waiting for other chapters to arrive. “You got more coming in?”
He nods. “Yeah, in four days.”
Nodding, I tap his cheek with the drill in my bloodied hand, making him squeeze his eyes shut and recoil in fear.
I rise to my full height and look into his eyes, something my father taught me.
He always said that if you are man enough to take a life, be man enough to look them in the eyes while doing it.
“You flipped on your club so fast that I hope they find you in hell and rip you limb from limb. I’ll be sure to tell them all how weak and pathetic you were.” I draw my gun from my shoulder holster and blow the fuckers’ brains out.
"Again!” Nutz shouts with enthusiasm, clapping like a child who just watched a magic show.
“Again, indeed, alert the men we ride tonight. Send a little appetizer of what’s to come up to Tulsa first, using this fucker.” I wave my hand at the dead man in the room. “However, you see fit, Nutz, just make it real nice. I want them to get a really good idea of what’s to come.”
“Say no more, I know just the thing!” His eyes light up with glee as he eyes the man, petting the soft alligator keychain on his knife.