Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Matteo
Almost Three Years Ago
Nico has been watching me weirdly out of the corner of his eye for the past half an hour. We’ve been cooped up in Remo’s bedroom, scouring the dark net for any information on our targets while our tech savvy brother sets up surveillance monitoring.
It’s kind of scary how quietly and swiftly Remo breaks every cybersecurity law put in place.
He’s always been able to access street cameras in the past, and can hack into any businesses’ private cameras if need be, but this is on another level.
He’s programming facial recognition software to alert him whenever the scum we’re looking for are spotted.
He’s feeding the tool of his own making live footage from every available camera inside of five hundred miles surrounding our territory.
He already digitized the files Nico asked for, and sent us both a copy to keep on our phones.
Every part of me is certain that I won’t need to look at it again, though.
The faces of the men who could do so much evil to an innocent girl are burned into the back of my brain permanently now.
I don’t think I could ever forget them if I tried.
Perhaps seeing them dead will help.
“Find anything useful?” I ask, rather than grumbling about his obvious and unwelcome glances.
Nico purses his lips. “Not yet.”
Unfortunately, neither have I.
Sighing, I look back down at the computer screen in my lap. “Great.”
“Is it itchy?”
Nose scrunching, I have to return my attention to my brother. “What?”
“Is it itchy?” he repeats, tilting his head. His icy blue eyes are more piercing than the rest of our brothers, like they’re meant to be as unnerving as he is. “The need. Can you feel it under your skin? Do you want to rip it out and feed it?”
“Are you high?” I ask, blinking in confusion. “Am I supposed to know what the fuck that means?”
“You want to kill these guys yourself. I can feel it wafting off you. You’re practically shouting it from the rooftop. I want to know if it itches. If it’s irritating you so badly that you feel like your skin might fall off if you don’t scratch it.”
Dumbfounded by his eagerness for an answer, I shake my head. “Is that how you feel when you want to kill? Itchy?”
Nico shrugs, the interested glint in his eyes beginning to dim. “No. But we’re not the same. You don’t get enjoyment out of it.”
“I’m going to be honest, man. You’ve never confused me more in our lives.
” I let out a huff, exhaling through my nose.
“No, it doesn’t itch. It hurts. I feel like I’m burning up, honestly.
Not because I want to kill, but because I want them dead.
I’m so mad that this happened, and I don’t know what to do about it other than to do this. ”
Nico stares at me, processing my reply.
“I don’t care about killing like you do, that’s true,” I continue.
“But I think the only way to get rid of this anguish or pain or whatever it is, is to feel them dying myself. I want to watch you hurt them worse than you’ve ever hurt anyone else before.
I don’t have a taste for the act itself, but I want to feel them suffer in the ways that I know you can make them. I want to help, even.”
I keep imagining the way their blood will feel on my hands. Will it be hot and thick as it should be? Or cold and thin from their lack of humanity? Will I be able to sense the wickedness in their DNA?
Nico remains silent, and I notice that Remo has stopped typing on his keyboard behind us. His attention has been caught, and I start to wonder if I’ve just said a bunch of meaningless word salad.
Until Nico eventually speaks. “Worse than I’ve ever hurt anyone else before, huh? That’s going to be a difficult feat. I’ve set the bar pretty high with Uncle in the past.”
A strained chuckle crawls up my throat. “I’m sure you can manage. Don’t you have a list of things you want to try? Pick a couple and we’ll try them.”
“Well…” he trails off in thought. “I’ve never boiled someone alive. We’d need to torture them thoroughly first, though. I don’t want them to die too quickly. And I don’t know how painful it’ll be since I’ve never watched it be done before.”
“Oh, boiling alive is that all?” I tease, laughing lightly. “You’re an interesting guy, Nico.”
“Am I?” he asks, doubtfully. “I’d argue that it’s more interesting that you want to torture than it is that I have a bunch of ideas saved in the back of my mind for times like these.”
“Well...” I cough awkwardly, clearing my throat. “We’ve always known that I’m interesting. I’ve been trying to tell you all for years that I’m the best sibling.”
Remo snorts, returning to his typing.
Nico doesn’t even pretend to be amused.
“Tough crowd.”
“Try new material if you want laughs,” Nico suggests unkindly.
“Give me a break, will ya?” I huff, grumbling under my breath. “I’m not exactly in fine form tonight. My head is fucked.”
He doesn’t have a smart remark for that.
“I think it’s good,” Remo says without turning around to face us. He continues to work on the coding or programming or whatever the heck he’s getting up to on his various screens.
Needing clarification, I ask, “What’s good?”
“That you’re both so affected by this,” he replies distractedly. “That you hear about something so terrible and you want to make it right, even if you can’t actually help her. Dad would be proud, if he knew what we were all doing right now.”
I—
“I’m not doing anything noble,” Nico grouches. “I want to punish criminals in the most inhumane ways possible. I’m going to enjoy it. I don’t care if it makes anyone proud.”
“I’m not trying to make anyone proud either—” I start, but Remo interrupts.
“Knowing that would only make him more proud, Matteo.” He stops typing, spinning in his chair to eye his twin.
“And you can pretend to be indifferent to everyone else, but you stopped being able to fool me more than ten years ago now. Just take the comment for what it is and accept that you’re a good person when you allow yourself to be. ”
Nico looks like he wants to get out of his seat and throttle our brother, but he doesn’t get the opportunity to act on his anger. A loud and high-pitched alarm sounds from Remo’s computer, ringing out twice before shutting up.
“What was—”
“We’ve got one of them.”
My heart beats wildly in my chest as I get up to look closer. Nico has the exact same idea and meets me behind Remo’s chair.
“Where is he?” he snaps, narrowing his eyes at the screens.
“Only an hour away,” Remo reports, using his hand to point at the map as he zooms in. “Here.”
“Let’s go.”
“Wait,” I start, grabbing Nico’s arm.
His face goes as still as stone. “If you’re having second thoughts, you’re free to fuck off and stay home. I don’t need you for this.”
“I’m not backing out,” I practically bark, voice dropping.
“I’m only saying we need to take a second.
Our plan can’t just be to storm over there and wing it.
Are we bringing back up? Do we know where we can take him that’s nearby and private enough to keep him for hours or days?
Are we knocking him out to move him? Is he alone? ”
Nico’s jaw clenches and he looks like he wants to break my arm for holding him back.
“There’s an old storage warehouse five miles from his current location,” Remo provides. “It looks like he’s alone, but there’s civilians around. I’ll message your team to meet you in the area and run recon if they beat you both there. Same story as usual.”
“Good enough?” Nico snarks, pulling his arm back and narrowing his eyes at me. “Get dressed, I’m leaving in three minutes. With or without you.”
“You have a team?” I question in disbelief, following as he leaves Remo without a thank you or a goodbye.
“What about it?” he grunts.
“How often are you going out to find someone to torture that you have a team of backup on standby?”
“Often enough.”
Jesus.
“How does one even acquire a torture team?”
“Uncle Cesar got them for me for my twelfth birthday.”
Of course he did.
“Three minutes,” he reminds me as we come to a stop at my bedroom.
I nod. “I just need different clothes. I’ll be quick. I’m not missing this.”
Nico searches my face, probably looking for doubt that he won’t find.
“Good.”