Chapter 13 Everett
Power Over Me, Dermot Kennedy
The thudding of fists assaulting heavy bags resonates across the vaulted ceiling of the boxing gym.
Each time my fist collides with the stitched leather bag, I think of her.
Her soft lips.
Thud, thud .
Her beautiful, fiery gaze, alight with feelings I know I stoked within her.
Thud, thud .
The way she opened for me.
Thud, thud .
Her body calling for me to set it free .
Thud, thud .
I need more.
Various scenarios are playing through my mind, of marching to her townhome and ravaging her body. Providing everything it needs.
“Mate, I think you’re gonna kill ’em if ya don’t stop. Then we really won’t know what happened to the shipments.” Marcus’s voice trails into my ear, interrupting my dark thoughts.
Stepping back from the leather bag, I wait, watching as Marcus unzips the bag, then its contents—a bloodied spy—fall out onto the floor.
He is wheezing as he clutches the side of his rib cage. His nostrils are flaring, and tints of black and blue circle his eye sockets.
He had been following Bobby and Marcus’s trail.
A trap we had set, hoping this idiot would inevitably fall for the bait.
A few guns and shipments of alcohol had gone missing, but the idiot left behind a beautiful pattern to his thievery.
He would steal within two miles of a specific trade route pickup.
We set up a stakeout easily enough and caught him, fucking wanker.
He tried to play off that he was a drunken fool who’d lost his way, but once Kenneth got a hold of him, he sang like a canary.
We couldn’t get every piece of information before he first passed out due to pain or fear.
Either way, he pissed through his trousers and onto Kenneth’s oxfords.
If it wasn’t for Marcus, the bastard would be dead.
His tiny whimpers irritate the hell out of me, so I take my oxfords and politely kick him onto his side.
“AH!” He yells.
“Jesus, you’re fucking loud,” I mutter, crouching down near his head. His wide-eyed expression and panting mouth are steered in my direction.
Marcus comes closer and crouches near the man’s torso beside me.
“All right, champ, you’ve been blessed today, to be in the presence of our good leader, Everett,” Marcus states with a sardonic smile.
“So, we can do this the easy way, which is death. Or we can do this the hard way and slowly bury you alive in a pit of adders.” He cocks an eyebrow as he takes a cigarette from his pocket.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You said that incorrectly, dumbass.”
“What?” he asks, befuddled.
I look over at Marcus while the man continues softly whimpering and clutching his stomach on the floor of the gym.
Staring at him with the utmost patience I can muster, I pretend he is a foal that had fallen on its head multiple times and slowly explain, “It’s we can do this the easy way and you tell us what’s going on, or we can do it the hard way.
Which is torture, so you got that part right.
” Moving my hand through my hair, I return my gaze to the writhing body.
“But death is easier, boss. Why wouldn’t you pick death?” Marcus asks innocently.
The body speaks through sputtered breaths: “Why…would…I want….to die!? You fuck…fucking…idiot.” His last word struggles to leave his lips as one bloodshot eye peers up at Marcus.
Marcus flicks the man’s nose like a puppy’s. “Oi! That’s not nice, I didn’t do this to ya! You did this to yourself! I also didn’t lay a finger on ya! I just put you in the heavy bag.”
Refraining from chuckling, I maintain my icy demeanor and stand, towering over the body .
Before I can begin my interrogation, a loud bang erupts from the boxing gym doors. Freddy enters, stumbling in.
Great. He is fucking steaming drunk.
Marcus stands and proceeds to approach Freddy.
“Hey, mate, we gotta deal with this guy and—” Before Marcus can finish his sentence, Freddy shoves him to the floor and drunkenly marches toward me, his footsteps dramatically echoing off the gym walls.
“I’m a fucking Adder! I’m a fucking Adder! I should be here fucking shit up too!” he screams like a toddler who’s had a bottle snatched from them.
As I calmly raise my hands to soothe my brother, Freddy pulls out a .38 pistol and quickly fires three shots. Two miss the man, but one successfully hits him. Blood runs down his expressionless face as the body stills.
The haunting bullet hole in his forehead glares at me.
“Well, you really fucked shit up, Freddy. You entitled prick.” I keep my composure though angry fire rages within my chest. The urge to punch my brother in the fucking face is overwhelming.
Placing my hands in my trouser pockets I exhale, shaking my head. I hear Marcus’s footsteps drawing near as Freddy raises the pistol to my temple.
“I could fucking do it, ya know. Hic-cup. ” He pushes the barrel of the gun harder into my temple. “I could kill you now and be on top. Call the fucking shots. I wouldn’t hafta listen to ya.” He’s stammering his words in a drunken drawl, punctuated by small intermittent hiccups.
“Freddy, I don’t give you any orders because you’ve never fucking listened. You’re entitled, a self-righteous arsehole, and you only give a fuck about yourself.” I turn to face him, the barrel of the gun sliding across my temple to meet the middle of my forehead. He furrows his brow, glaring at me.
We’ve tried giving Freddy the benefit of the doubt. We’ve given him all the patience in the world and tried reasoning out why he is the way he is. But there is no reason. He hasn’t been hurt. He hasn’t suffered any significant trauma. He’s just a narcissistic prick.
And lastly, how can I respect a man who avoided the war while his younger brothers volunteered to put their lives on the line? There’s just no way in hell to forgive that level of selfishness.
“Do it,” I deadpan.
Freddy’s face relaxes as he and Marcus ask in unison, “What?”
“Boss…” Marcus softly states.
Cocking my head to the side, I lift the corner of my mouth into a smug grin. “Do it. Maybe I’ll finally fucking feel something.”
With that, I see a shudder rack Freddy’s body as he stutters, “F-fuck y-you.” His hand begins to tremble, the barrel of the gun vibrating against my skin.
“We don’t kill our own family!” Marcus shouts, causing Freddy to flinch. The doors to the gym open as Bobby’s voice trails in.
“What the fuck is going on?” I can hear Bobby’s footsteps near Marcus.
Marcus frantically exclaims, “I don’t know, mate, but Freddy’s fucking lost it.”
Freddy glances over to where Bobby and Marcus are standing, and that’s when he makes a grave mistake.
Swiftly, I lunge toward him.
I raise my forearm, knocking the limb holding the pistol across his body. My hand slides down Freddy’s arm, grabbing his wrist and bending it toward his torso, the gun now resting into his abdomen. My other arm lifts to grasp his neck with my bare hand and delectably squeeze .
“Guys—” Bobby’s hesitant voice echoes as silence consumes us. “Guys, let’s talk it out. Have a cuppa and just hug it out.” I can feel Bobby’s body close to mine as a tender hand lands atop my forearm, which is gently choking Freddy. “Everett, come on, brotha, we don’t kill one another.”
My silence is all-consuming. A pin drop could be heard. The tension builds, electricity and anger rising within me. I can nearly electrocute Freddy with the amount of pent-up rage that’s building within me. Nevertheless, I ease off his neck, but grab the gun from his limp fingers.
Opening the cylinder of the gun, I empty it of the remaining bullets and state, “No, we don’t kill family.” Then I rear back my arm and assault Freddy’s bitch-ass face with the pistol .
Bobby lets out a long, exaggerated exhale. “I figured a hug, ya know? With each other’s arms, not a pistol kiss to the face.”
Freddy’s body rocks back. He lands on his ass with a loud thud following his descent.
I bend down, sneering into his face, “Who’s clothed you?
Who’s sacrificed the most for this family?
Who’s everyone’s fucking problem solver and punching bag when shit doesn’t go their way?
It’s me, you fucking prick. That’s why Father put me in charge.
Did I want this position? No.” Standing back up, I pocket the gun and continue, “But I’ll do it with honor, accountability and as much fucking integrity as a fucking gangster can.
So grow up, stand down and get the fuck out of the way. ”
Returning to the farm with Marcus and Bobby, I lock eyes with Kenneth as he approaches the barn on his Triumph motorcycle. The Adders unload the spy’s body and dispose of his existence by taking the carcass down to the pig pen.
I hear the crunch of gravel as Kenneth comes closer.
“You got the bastard?” he asks, sliding off his motorcycle goggles from his head and walking inside the barn beside me.
“Somewhat, but no other information before Freddy had to come and fuck everything up,” I state, opening the heavy barn door for him.
He shakes his head as he takes off his winter coat.
“Jesus fucking Christ, why can’t we fucking kill him?” he sneers, setting his things down.
“You know the answer to that,” I retort. A scream reverberates within the air.
We walk to the next room within the barn. A few Adders are staring into a pit filled with fifty or so snakes. They continuously coil and strike a man who is hollering and screaming in pain.
Kenneth points at the man in the pit and looks at Biscuit. “Anything from the other guy?”
Marcus joins the conversation. “No, boss. He kept swearing and singing shitty songs, like ‘Ring Around the Rosie,’ saying the only thing he’ll be ‘singing’ is music, then occasionally cursing at us in Italian.
” Marcus places his hands within his trouser pockets then collectively winces with the other Adders as a snake strikes the gent’s face—right in the eye socket.
Neither Kenneth nor I bat an eye. We stand side by side, arms crossed.