KADE
4
The drive out to the McDonnell farm did nothing to dampen the white-hot rage clawing under my skin. Since the moment I laid eyes on Sage crouched between the dumpsters, it took all the strength I had to remain fucking calm and tend to her wounds. Beneath my cold exterior, I was—and still am—seething. I don’t know where her piece-of-shit boyfriend gets off putting hands on his woman, but I’m about to remind him why painting her perfect skin with bruises is a bad fucking idea. He should have left with the warning I gave when I tossed his ass to the curb… but that would be too easy. Instead, Buckle Boy made his second mistake, granting me enough reason to finish the job I started earlier.
As I exit the truck into the night, Sage’s eyes burn into my skin. “Kade, this is a bad idea. Retaliating will only add fuel to the fire.” Gone is the sassy girl I spent the night observing, and the defeat lingering in her muttered plea only makes me want to strangle Johnson more.
Finding her gaze through the darkness, I implore her to do the one thing she shouldn’t. “Trust me.”
“Just be careful, okay?” An emotion I can’t quite put a finger on travels across her face. Then, finally giving in, she dips her chin. She must read me well enough to know no matter what she says, my decision is made.
“I meant what I said, Sage. Whatever happens, wait in the fucking truck.” With those parting words, I close her into the dark cab and shift to open the back door.
The last thing I want to do is give Toby a chance to prepare for my arrival, so I quickly grab hold of my favorite black Stetson from its perch on the bench seat. Inside the hat there’s a pair of cowhide gloves that I swiftly remove and tuck into the rear waistband of my jeans. Securing my medallion into the leather band of the hat, I place it on my head.
With a quick glance toward the passenger seat, I spy Sage leaning against the side window, eyes focused on the scenery with a vacant expression. Her distracted thoughts buy me enough time to pick up a few discarded lengths of baler twine from the footwell. Once I have everything, I close the door with a quiet click and stride up to the small cabin as if I don’t have a care in the world. One rickety step at a time, I make my way to the porch. I come to a halt at the door, considering my next move. It’d be rude to barge in unannounced.
Raising my hand to the hard oak, I rap my knuckles against the solid wood three times and wait. About forty seconds later, the door swings open, giving an unappealing view of the dickwad known as Sage’s boyfriend in nothing but his tighty-whities. The lack of a bulge at the front almost makes me feel sorry for her. Through bleary eyes, he stares at me, dumbfounded, breathing out a muttered, “What the fuck?”
“Is that any way to greet a guest, pencil dick?” My arm stretches out to grip Toby by the throat, cutting off the remainder of his question. The fear in his eyes has my lips curling in a smug smile. “What’s the matter, Tobias? Do you not like it when someone bigger”—I squeeze harder, making his eyes bug out—“and stronger puts their hands on you?” I tut, tightening my hold on his windpipe until he’s clawing at my wrist like a sputtering idiot. “It’s no wonder women would rather come upon a bear than a man. Am I right?” I refer to the eye-opening social media discussion, and frankly with men like Toby roaming the streets, I’d have to agree with the women on this one. What does it say about the men of our society when women feel safer with a fucking bear?
Normally, I wouldn’t waste my time on a two-bit wannabe cowboy like Toby. Tonight, he took a gamble by damaging a pretty wildflower, and now I’m here to collect his debt. A quick glance past him gives me a prime view into his small living quarters. From my vantage point, I do a brief scan of the room, and make sure Johnson doesn’t have company. After all, I wouldn’t put it past this prick to be stepping out on Sage; we’ve all heard the stories he spews around town.
To the left side of the cabin there’s a double bed with the sheets strewn all over the place as if he just vacated it, a dresser, and a door that leads to what I presume is a bathroom of sorts. To the right is a joint kitchenette-living space warmed by a lit wood stove. Satisfied there is nobody in here with him to witness my arrival, I push against Toby’s trachea and force him to step back.
“It’s time we have a discussion about when it’s appropriate to put your fuckin’ hands on a woman.” I keep my grasp firm as I walk him backward and kick the door closed behind me with the heel of my boot.
As I lead him through the rustic, minimalist cabin, Toby’s gray eyes bug out of their sockets. My smirk widens when I steer him toward the small two-seater table. Using the toe of my boot, I knock against a leg of one of the dining chairs and slide it into the middle of the room.
“Be a good boy and sit the fuck down,” I growl in his face before releasing my grip, shoving him onto the chair with more force than necessary. An audible gasp reverberates through the space as Toby struggles to fill his lungs with air. But once he finds his bearings, his fight reappears. Before he can get any ideas, I secure his wrists behind his back with the pieces of baler twine I’d retrieved from my truck.
He thrashes against my hold, but once I’m done securing his wrists, I drop to my knee and tie each ankle to the front chair legs. Assured he’s not going anywhere, I rise to my full six-foot-six height, towering over the pretty boy and subsequently instilling fear in his dead eyes.
“You’re a pussy,” he spits. “Tyin’ me up because you know I could take you.”
My head tips back as a chuckle vibrates against my rib cage. Toby is at least six or seven inches shorter than I am, and probably a good sixty pounds lighter. If I sneezed near him, I’d blow him over. The mere thought he could stand a chance in a brawl with me is hilarious. I’ve taken bigger shits than this guy. Wanting to get that point across, I lift my boot and scoot his chair backward, bringing him adjacent to the roaring fire.
“Fuck you,” he hisses.
“Nah, but I will fuck your girlfriend. Maybe I’ll even record it so you can watch how a real man should treat her.”
“Touch her, and I’ll kill you,” he grits out through clenched teeth.
“Funny. I have the same thought. Only difference is, I’m not too chickenshit to follow through.” Unfazed by Toby’s pathetic show of machismo, I reach for my hat. My fingers settle in the dent on either side. Then, lifting it off my head, I pull out the chip I’d tucked beneath the leather band. Once the familiar piece falls into my palm, I set my hat on the table next to a dirty dish towel.
An idea sparks, and I gently place the medallion on the tabletop and pick up the soiled cotton. “Open wide, princess.” I thread a hand through Toby’s sandy hair. He clamps his lips together, refusing me entry. Unfortunately, his refusal isn’t an option. Using my free hand, I grip his jaw with a firm grasp until he’s forced to open wide. I waste no time in stuffing his mouth full, and though he does his best to spit the towel out, without the use of his hands, his efforts are futile.
Certain that the bastard can’t free himself, I take my time by drawing out the inevitable. “I think I’ll enjoy making you sweat a little.” There’s a pack of cigarettes on the table next to me, so I help myself to one, lighting it up with the brushed-chrome Zippo tucked neatly inside the carton.
Smoke held between my teeth, I scrape the other chair across the floor and set it backward in front of Toby. Satisfied with the placement, I straddle it and rest my arms on the top rail.
Toby’s eyes bore into mine as I take a slow drag, allowing the cherry ember to burn through the skin. After a few pulls, I decide it’s a good time to throw the dog a bone. “Now that we have a bit of fuckin’ peace and quiet, we can finally get to that chat I mentioned earlier.”
The chair legs rattle against the wooden floorboards, but I pay no mind to Toby’s struggles and continue, “You claim to be a man, don’t you? But the way I see it, you’re nothing but a punk-ass coward. Real men know the value of the women they’re holding. They don’t raise their voice. They don’t demand control outside of the bedroom. And they certainly don’t use the person they love as a fuckin’ punching bag.” I pause, even though he can’t respond. “Wanna know what I’ll do to the fuckin’ coward who mistreated my woman, Toby?” A wicked smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I sit forward, bringing my body over the back of the chair, closer to his face. I take one last pull of the cigarette, then bring the cherry top to the side of his cheek. My grin widens as I extinguish it on his flesh, adding, “End him.”
The little piglet cries out a muffled squeal, and his eyes fill with fear. His body jerks as he fights against his restraints. A bead of sweat drips down his forehead, and I toss my head back, releasing a sinister chuckle. “How do you want to die, Tobs?”
My fingers tease open the knife sheath attached to my belt buckle, and I remove the blade with ease before holding it out for him to see the freshly sharpened edge. “I could carve you up like a fuckin’ deer or”—I reach behind me for the cowhide gloves tucked into my waistband, then wave them in his face with the other—“I could choke you with my hands.”
His muffled nonsense grows louder as he squirms against the baler twine that saws into his wrists. “Relax. I’m not gonna kill you,”—I insist as I rise to my feet and stride over to the table—“yet!”
With my back to him, I place both the knife and gloves next to my hat before retrieving the chip I left discarded there earlier. Childhood memories flash before my eyes. “ Life’s a gamble, kid. Every decision you’ll make is as fickle as a coin toss, but it’s up to you to choose wisely. You pick the wrong side, you’ll never find your way back.”
The symbol of my father’s achievement winds through my fingers, and an instant calm washes through me as I silently read the quote on the back. God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
Sage’s safety is something I can change. I’ll shed her of this monster and ensure he never lays a hand on her again.
With the chip captured between my forefinger and thumb, I spin on my heel and flash Toby a malicious smile. “This is the part where I take a gamble on which method ends your life. Strangulation or mutilation?” His grunted pleas don’t do a thing to stop me from rolling the chip across my knuckles over and over again.
“Heads or tails?” I watch as the chip flips up into the air, then lands in my palm. I curl my fingers over it before revealing the face of the sobriety medallion, and the well-known mantra embossed around the raised triangle.
My teeth graze my lower lip, followed by a sweep of my tongue. “You’re right,” I direct my words to the chip. “Strangulation is a cleaner choice. Less chance of leaving behind any DNA.”
Once more, I turn my back on Toby, ignoring his pathetic murmured cries that are drowned out by the dish towel wedged in his mouth. At my ease, I wander back to the table and survey the items I laid there. As I guide the gloves onto my hands, my eyes catch Toby’s full grocery bag. Perfect. New plan in place, I reach for the plastic and empty the contents all over the table, then close the distance between me and the woman-beater who’s about to take his final breaths.
Lowering myself in front of him, I rip the cloth from his mouth and give him a brief reprieve. He gasps, sucking in a breath before shouting, “Have you lost your fucking mind, you deranged sociopath?”
“He really doesn’t understand who he’s playing with, does he?” I ask myself as I tilt my head to the side and raise a questioning brow. “Is that any way to talk to your reaper? Especially when he’s let you live a few minutes longer than you deserve.”
My fingers brutally grasp his jaw, and I force him to peer into the dark depths of my soul. “How does it feel to know my face is the last you’ll ever see?”
“Please,” he begs. “Don’t hurt me.” His cries are so pathetic I can’t help but chuckle at his discomfort. Toby makes an obnoxious whimpering sound, before declaring, “I promise I’ll do better, be better.”
Sick of hearing his empty promises, I push to a stand and round the chair until I’m hovering behind him. “I bet your words echo Sage’s. She begged you to stop, too, didn’t she? But you didn’t.”
“No… Fuck… I’m sorry, okay? Please, God.”
Sick of his shit, I shove the bag over his head and yank it backward until it cuts off his airflow. Over and over, I loosen my grip, giving him a sense of false hope, only to pull back hard again. I can only imagine what he’s thinking, but one thing I do know for sure—at this moment in time, he regrets ever laying a hand on Sage. Probably wishes they’d never met in the first place. Dropping my mouth to his ear, I give him one final goodbye. “God can’t save you from The Gambler. Not when there’s a debt to collect.”
His body jerks as the life drains from his limbs. Tightening my grip, I tug harder, enjoying every second he flounders around like a dying fish. Satisfied I’ve stolen almost every ounce of life from him, I finish him off by shoving his face onto the edge of the wood stove. The plastic bag connects to the blazing-hot cast iron, and it melts against his flesh with an audible sizzle.
He releases a half-hearted squeal, and his body goes limp, as I snuff out the remainder of his rotten life. “Good riddance, asshole. Save me a seat in hell.”
Taking my time, I collect my belongings from the kitchen table and decide to swipe the pack of cigarettes and the Zippo as a souvenir. “He won’t be missing them where he’s going.”
At the door, I place my hat back on my head, but before leaving, I toss a disgusted glance over my shoulder. “I’ll be back to dispose of the trash, but first I’m taking your pretty girlfriend home.”