Chapter 33 Correction
Correction
I walked casually down the empty hallway that my men had secured, three posted at each end and three more at the door I was heading for. Scott appeared at my side, striding in with a demeanor that emphasized the seriousness of the situation. And how it would be resolved.
This sort of problem had happened on occasion, but had it become increasingly rare since I’d led the operation. But when it did come up, correction was swift and satisfying.
A single nod to my men and the door to the hotel room opened, allowing me to walk through and find a very frantic woman inside. Her motions were so loud and chaotic she didn’t even hear us enter.
“You know, a smart woman would have just abandoned her things instead of coming back for them.” She stopped shoving her clothing into her suitcase, turning to face me in pure shock. “She would understand that her life was more valuable than her material possessions.”
She stood in stunned silence as Scott and my men piled in behind me, filling the room and closing the door with a final thud. Her utter terror was palpable, thick and sultry as it permeated the room, feeding my inner demons.
“Hello, Natasha,” I sneered.
She stared back at me with wide doe eyes, completely frozen in place, as if moving would cause me to attack.
“You remember me,” she stated softly, her voice tight with disbelief.
“I remember all of you,” I corrected. It was difficult to forget some of my fondest memories, the sweet satisfaction of breaking down the willful and disobedient, witnessing their transformation before my very eyes.
Before Jaden, they were my greatest and most pleasurable symphonies.
“How did you get in here?” Natasha managed to choke out.
I cocked a brow at her. “I own this hotel,” I answered, stepping farther into the room. “Another fatal mistake on your part.”
“I’ll scream,” she threatened, retreating as best she could.
I nearly snorted as I observed the state of the room.
It was a fucking mess. “That was quite the story you told out there. Has it really been five years?” I mused, reflecting on old times.
How fortunate for all of them that I’d suddenly lost interest when a certain redhead entered my life.
“It’s truly impressive, really, and very brave of you to come forward with your experience.
” I turned my gaze back to her, pinning her in place.
“But also very stupid. You were better off being dead, Natasha.”
Finding her spine, she stood a little straighter. “I did what was right. People like you need to be stopped.”
I chuckled this time, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, my wife feels the same way. You can imagine how well that’s worked out for her. Or how well that’s worked out for literally anyone,” I empathized.
Natasha’s brows furrowed in confusion, her silence weighing down the obvious. “If she’s married to you, then I feel sorry for her,” she said bitterly.
“You shouldn’t,” I replied. “She’s much better off now since she was in the same auction as you once. I’d say she got pretty lucky compared to your buyers.”
Natasha’s face lit up in horror, her eyes becoming as big as saucers. “Lucky? Did you also rape her as often as you raped me?” she practically snarled, baring her teeth.
“Oh, definitely more,” I answered. “Just like you, she also had a problem with obedience. But she was far more amusing than any of you ever were, which was why I decided to keep her for myself.”
Her features tightened with disgust as she glared at me, hatred brimming in her eyes. “That poor girl,” she hissed.
I waved her off with a smirk. “I’m honestly not sure what’s worse. Being stuck with me or getting gang-raped every night under the rule of a Mexican cartel. I imagine the drugs at least helped to pass the time and numb the pain.”
Natasha’s lips twisted into a scowl. “I’d choose the cartel any day.”
I laughed softly at her attempt to remain strong.
“If only you’d been a little bit smarter and not earned yourself an ass beating the day before the auction.
You might have ended up with someone who actually gives a shit about you.
But you chose to devalue yourself at the worst possible time instead. ”
Slight trembles shook Natasha’s body, her glossy green eyes watering in the corners. Her fists clenched at her side, her knuckles turning white, and just like that, I watched her turn right back into that frightened little girl who never stood a chance in my world.
“You really are a fucking monster,” she whispered.
My lips curled at the obvious. “I’m aware. Now, what was the drug of choice Gael got you fixed on again? It was heroin, wasn’t it?”
Natasha gulped back a panicked breath as my men began to crowd her, one of them pulling out a small plastic bag from their breast pocket and tossing it to Scott.
“What are you doing?! Let go of me!” she nearly screamed before she was restrained and pressed into the bed, her protests muffled by the pillows.
“You know, addiction is very difficult to overcome, especially during incredibly stressful times,” I said, my hands dipping into my pockets as I inspected the room.
“I can’t imagine that describing the worst horrors of your life in front of a very large crowd wouldn’t retraumatize you into a very unstable mental state. ”
“No!” A sob filtered through the pillows as Natasha’s body began to shake, her limbs fighting for the freedom she wouldn’t find.
Pulling out a large metal spoon and lighter, Scott held up the spoon while Brian carefully poured a large amount of the powdered heroin onto it. Removing the syringe from his pocket, Brian gently emptied the water mixed with citric acid into the spoon while Scott held the lighter underneath.
“Please, don’t do this! Not like this! Please!” Natasha cried from the bed, tilting her face away from the pillows. She struggled to lift herself, fighting as best she could to get away, but Alex and Jackson held her firmly in place.
“You should be ecstatic to go out like this, Natasha,” I countered. “All that euphoria you get to experience right before the light goes out? What better way to end your own life after all you’ve suffered, right?”
Heavy tears fell from her eyes as she continued to choke out inaudible pleas.
“I’m sure the world will understand.”
Once the heroin liquefied, Brian took the syringe and filled the barrel, tapping it lightly to remove those pesky little air bubbles.
“You piece of shit! You know you don’t have to do this!” she cried, panic flushing her pale skin.
“Oh, but I actually do,” I replied affirmatively. “With all your wear and tear, I doubt you’d sell twice.”
More tears. More pleas.
“I’ll disappear! I promise! I won’t help anymore! I didn’t even know your name until tonight!”
I shook my head at her desperate attempt. “Sorry, but I don’t like loose ends,” I answered. “They have a tendency to unravel the fabric.”
“No! No! Don’t!” Natasha screamed as they flipped her on her back and tied the rubber tourniquet around her small bicep. The track marks covering both of her arms were extensive, and I hoped none of her veins had collapsed.
Pressing the needle into her skin, Brian injected the fatal dose of heroin into Natasha’s bloodstream, the effects of which were nearly immediate. Her struggling ceased as her body grew limp, her eyes glazing over while her head fell back into the pillows.
It only took about five minutes before her breathing started to slow, the rising of her chest lessening with each breath.
After rubbing the spoon clean of his prints, Scott placed it between Natasha’s fingers.
After ensuring her fingerprints were in place, he set it down on the nightstand, along with the syringe, empty plastic bag, and cheap lighter.
Between that time, my men swept the room, checking for anything else that might indicate who else Natasha had collaborated with, if at all. Scott went through her phone while Jackson checked her laptop, cleaning anything that might need scrubbing.
Her things were removed from her suitcase to be placed back around the room, appearing as if she had no intention of leaving so quickly.
But a notification from Scott’s phone stopped him in his place, his eyes sharpening as he studied the screen.
“What now?” I asked as I stood from my seat at the small kitchen table.
He smirked. “Matt’s been sighted again.”
Fucking finally.
Dean and his team had somehow lost Matt last night, having no idea how he managed to disappear on him.
Matt was very familiar with Chicago, so it didn’t surprise me that he managed to somehow slip away.
Regardless, Dean’s failure would not go unpunished, especially now that there was zero knowledge that Matt was even still in the city.
The timing was becoming aggravating though. The fucker wanted me out here, and here I was, ready and willing to grant his death wish, and he was nowhere to be seen. He had no problem showing up uninvited to a business deal at another club, but hid when I actually tried to draw him out at another.
Come on, Matt. I’m right here.
“Where?” I asked, moving closer to see the image on Scott’s phone.
It wasn’t a very clear one, the darkness shadowing much of his features, but the hair and body shape looked right.
He stood with three other men next to a building, the surrounding area looking like an old shipping yard. “Where the hell is that?”
“Apparently, it’s off the Calumet River. On the other side of the city,” he answered with a groan, the distance not exactly convenient.
“Who sent you this?”
“Your boy. Dean’s waiting for your orders.”
About time.
“Get a team out there now. Dean is not to let Matt leave while they’ve secured the area,” I ordered, ready to finally finish this. “Let’s go get him.”
With Natasha’s pulse practically nonexistent, we left the room as if we’d never been there and quickly headed to the underground garage.
Scott phoned in the order for the nearest team to secure the area while two armored Escalades pulled up just outside the elevator doors.
The driver of the second one got out, Scott replacing him as I slipped into the front passenger seat.
The rest of my men took the first SUV, leading the way as we barreled out of the garage and down to the docks.
It took us nearly thirty minutes to get there, my team having only beaten us by fifteen minutes, but the area already looked more than contained. It looked like a fucking ghost town, not a single sign of conflict anywhere. It couldn’t have been that easy.
Exiting the car, we were met by the squadron leader and his second, their rifles and uniforms looking barely scuffed or used.
“Sir,” Russel said as he greeted me with a nod. “We’ve swept and secured the area, but the place is empty.”
I immediately scowled. “What? I told Dean not to let them leave. Where the fuck is he?”
I may just beat the man to death for failing me twice in twelve hours.
Russel exhaled as he glanced down at the ground. “You’re going to want to see this, sir,” he replied gravely.
I almost rolled my eyes.
Fucking great.
I shook my head with agitation as we followed him around the corner to another building closer to the canal, a rusty black door barely clinging to its hinges. Three of Russel’s men stood guard outside the door, nodding to me as we passed through and into more darkness.
The smell of mold, dust, and rot saturated the air, my eyes catching the five other men standing around the room before they landed on the five others lying still on the floor. Stepping closer, recognition filled my chest with enraged disappointment.
Dean and the four other members of his team were lined up next to each other on the floor, their bodies so riddled with bullets that it was a miracle their faces were still intact.
“What the fuck,” Scott muttered under his breath, but when I glanced at him, he wasn’t looking at the bodies.
When I followed his line of vision, fury seethed through my muscles as I caught sight of a familiar message written on the wall.
Still one step ahead of you.
Motherfucker.
Stepping forward, I crouched down to Dean’s body and pressed my hand to what was left of his shoulder. My blood became nearly as frozen as his. He’d been dead for hours, which meant that text couldn’t have come from Dean.
This was a setup.
“Call Clive. Now,” I ordered, standing from my crouch and waving for my men to circle back with me. “Burn this place to the fucking ground,” I told Russel as I pulled out my own phone and dialed Owen.
The unbridled violence coursing through me grew colder with each unanswered ring, Scott having just as much success with contacting Clive. None of us could reach anyone.
Fuck!