Fifteen
Elias
Locust – Machine Head
I watch until she’s safely reached her apartment, not failing to notice the occasional glances she throws my way to check that I’m still here.
I’m not going anywhere, little rebel.
I wait a few minutes after she closes the door before pulling the Porsche into gear and driving away. Her rose and honey scent lingers in the air, and I fight not to lose control of the vehicle.
As I hit the stoplight, my mind wanders back to Headstone. My hands tighten on the wheel until the leather creaks beneath my grip. I can still see him, stumbling after her like she was fucking prey.
I watched their entire set from the security cameras upstairs.
Something told me she needed a distraction-free night.
But my generosity only goes so far. I was seconds away from closing down the monitor and heading downstairs when I saw him pull her back.
I saw the look in his eyes through the grainy footage.
I’ve seen it a thousand times. Something shifted inside me.
Something that has remained composed for years.
I was down the stairs before I’d formed a thought.
After bulldozing my way through the crowd and getting to her, I fractured.
Her body stood upright, but her eyes lost focus, as if she had stepped somewhere else entirely.
I know that look. I’ve seen it in interrogation rooms, in men who checked out because their minds were safer than the reality they faced.
Tears fell down her beautiful cheeks as his slimy hands touched her.
I’ve seen women fight. I’ve seen them claw, bite, kick, and draw blood.
But this wasn’t one of those times. She simply left.
Her body was there, but she wasn’t. By the time my fist connected with his face, I wasn’t thinking about anything else. Only her.
The light changes to green, and a car honks behind me. I ease my foot onto the gas pedal, but my grip on the steering wheel never loosens. I press the call button on the handsfree, and Gareth answers on the second ring.
“Yes, boss?” he asks. There’s a low groan in the background along with a faint dripping sound.
“Status update, Gareth,” I order.
“He’s out cold, but you probably want to get here soon. I got a little carried away,” he adds, and I don’t need to see his face to know he has a feral, bloodthirsty grin.
“I’ll be there in ten,” I reply as I push down harder on the gas pedal. “If he’s dead before I get there, Gareth, second or not, you’ll be paying the price.”
“Understood, boss.”
I end the call, the engine roaring louder in the sudden absence of his voice. My grip tightens on the steering wheel even harder as I race through the streets of Bridgeport.
I’ve always thought of Headstone as a living, breathing entity, its life force drawn from the energy of the people who lose themselves within her walls every night. Once they leave, she feels dead. But not tonight. No, she won’t be the one dying tonight.
As I walk across the dance floor, my boots sticking to the surface as I double my stride, I catch the sound of whimpering. I take a deep inhale, savoring the moment as Headstone comes alive again—this time with a different spirit.
Usually, I like to conduct this kind of business away from the legit side of things, but sometimes duty calls anywhere and Elias Monroe answers.
I pull my creased pack of cigarettes out of my pocket and light one up, taking a deep drag, savoring the burn in my lungs.
Taking the last few steps towards the basement door, I pause.
My heartbeat rings in my ears. My jaw clenches as I hear flesh pounding against flesh.
Gareth is enjoying himself. He rarely gets the opportunity to anymore.
I swing the door open. The metallic scent of blood hits me like a wall, and the pounding stops.
I take a deep inhale, savoring the scent as I begin my slow descent down the stairs.
My boots echo off the bare concrete walls.
I’ve dealt with countless men like Kirk.
Normally, they would be handled out the back with a lesson learned, but this is different.
He touched her. The one person in this entire fucking city who’s off limits.
The thought alone sharpens my focus as I inhale slowly, steadying the red mist that threatens to cloud my vision.
Gareth’s smug laugh cuts through the silence. “You’re fucked now, asshole.”
When my boots hit the floor, I look up to see the blonde cunt from earlier strapped to a rickety wooden chair in the middle of the room, a small pendant light swinging above his head.
His dirty blonde hair is streaked with blood, although it’s hard to tell where it came from.
Blood dribbles from his nose and pools between his lips.
More blood seeps from his ears and hands. I turn to Gareth and quirk a brow.
“Sorry, boss. I don’t get to do this much anymore. I got a little carried away,” he replies with a small shrug.
“And this is why Cain is my enforcer,” I reply sternly. “Did you find any ID?”
Gareth takes a step closer, pulling out a driver’s license from his jeans pocket. “Kirk Holloway. Twenty-nine years old, currently living in 261 Newton Road,” he reels off, handing the piece of plastic to me.
I give a small nod to Gareth, pocketing the license for now. Taking one last drag of my cigarette before dropping it to the floor, I walk over to where Kirk is sitting. Up close, the wounds are more than just blood.
Good.
His left eye is swollen and blue, and I can’t help but be proud of the awkward angle of his nose. I take his head in my hands, his thick, coagulated blood coating my fingers, and give him a quick shake. No movement. I try twice more with no success. I need him awake for what I’m about to do next.
Standing back, I slap him across the face. The sound of flesh hitting flesh, followed by a small groan, fills the room as his head lolls around before snapping upright. His face contorts with confusion, which quickly morphs into panic as his eyes focus on Gareth.
“Now, now, Kirk,” I say softly as I move towards him, his eyes darting between Gareth and me. “I must apologize for the treatment you have received so far. You see, my business partner struggles with self-control.”
“W-What?” he mumbles, a bubble of blood forming at the plosive.
“Yes, Kirk. I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
Turning to Gareth, I gesture for the water bottle behind him. He nods slowly, his head hanging low, but I don’t miss the small smirk that flashes across his face.
I take the cold bottle from Gareth before turning back to Kirk and gently pouring the cold water into his mouth. He swishes it from side to side before spitting it back onto the floor. Splashes of bloody water splatter over Gareth’s shoes.
“Sorry,” Kirk says with a disgusting grin.
“Please tell me what happened,” I press as I turn the cap on the bottle, placing it to the side just out of his reach. His eyes follow the movement, and he licks his lips.
“This cunt just started beating the shit out of me for no fucking reason!” he shouts as he looks towards Gareth and pulls against his restraints.
The chair wobbles against the floor with the feeble force of his movement.
He could easily get out of these restraints if he put his mind to it, but by the way his eyes struggle to focus, his mind isn’t on anything right now.
“It wasn’t for no reason, was it, Mr. Holloway?” I ask, my voice even.
He stills, redness creeping into his cheeks as he slowly shakes his head, processing my words. “Is this about that white-haired cock tease?” he asks with a half-scoff, and I fight to conceal the twitch in my hand that threatens to swing again.
“What did that… cock tease do?” I push the words out, though they taste sour on my tongue.
“She started something that she never finished,” he leans back in his chair, the smirk growing.
My body goes deathly still, my fingernails dig into my palms. Hearing it coming from his mouth is different. “So, you were going to rape her?” I reply calmly with a forced smile.
“No, no! It’s not like that, she wanted—”
I tilt my head slightly, studying him as he scrambles over his own words. There’s always this moment. The moment when they convince themselves that whatever they say becomes reality.
“She wanted what?” I ask.
His breathing turns uneven as his wrists strain against the restraints. A red flush forms against the area where skin and rope connect.
“She was into it, I swear,” he insists, his voice now an octave higher. “She didn’t say no.”
I take a slow step towards him, crouching in front of him so we’re eye level. His gaze darts across my face, searching for any sign as to what’s about to happen next.
“Did she say yes?” I ask quietly.
Silence. Gareth shifts somewhere behind me, but I don’t look away from Kirk.
“She didn’t fight,” he mutters, blood pooling in his mouth now.
My jaw tightens, but my voice remains steady. “That wasn’t the question, Kirk.”
I reach out and brush my thumb over the swelling on his cheek. He flinches at the contact, and something dark settles comfortably in my chest.
“I’m sorry. I was drunk. I’ve got a sister, please let me go,” he blurts out in desperation.
“If a man touched your sister the way you touched her,” I say calmly, “I would hope someone like me finds him.”
I push my hands against his chest, the chair he’s sitting on falling backwards.
A pool of blood forms behind his head as I slowly walk over to him, savoring his wide eyes and the beads of sweat forming against the dried blood on his forehead.
I give him a small smile as I press my boot against his throat, feeling the tendons stretch under the leather.
He sputters and tries to wiggle his way out of my hold, but I stand firm.
“You were going to rape her,” I declare, leaning in closer to him. It’s not a question anymore.
His eyes grow impossibly wider as his face takes on a deathly purple hue. A dark patch grows across his groin. The acrid scent mixes with the copper in the air. Fucker has pissed himself. My face scrunches in disgust.
“Do you have any last words?”
He wiggles, trying to gasp.
“Oh, my apologies, Kirk, you can’t speak.”
I remove my boot just enough for him to gulp for breath before bringing my foot back down. His face bunches in confusion.
“Did you think I would let you say one word about my girl?”
Kirk tries to shake his head, pleading with his eyes that are now red.
“I think you’ve learned your lesson,” I say, lifting my boot from his neck as he inhales sharply.
“T-Thank you,” he croaks out.
“No, thank you,” I whisper as I pull my pistol from my waistband, point at his head, and pull the trigger, relishing in the split-second of surprise that painted his face.
He goes limp, mouth hanging open slightly as brain matter clings to the floor behind his head. I turn to Gareth, whose face is littered with a thousand questions, but he knows better than to ask a single one.
“Clean this up,” I tell him as I walk towards the stairs.
“Boss…” Gareth starts.
“Not now, G. Deal with this problem and call Cain if you need him. That crazy motherfucker will be happy to help.”
Gareth gives me a silent nod. I clap my hand on his shoulder before making my way up the stairs. The sound of movement and heavy dragging follows me up the stairwell, and I can’t help but smile to myself.
My girl. It has a ring to it, but Little Rebel is so much better.