Chapter twenty-four #2
“It’s not as if I had a fucking choice.” Hunter shrugs as the passenger door opens and Harrison stabs our captive in the arm with a needle. His eyes pop wide as he realizes what’s happening, but within moments, I see the darkness fall over his eyes, and he passes out.
“Good job, Waite,” Hunter tells his accomplice. Harrison grins, obviously proud of himself. He loves all this undercover bullshit. “Now, let's get him inside before he wakes up. Come on, Russ.”
Russell starts to clamber out of the car. Hunter walks around to the passenger side and helps Harrison extract Hastings, throwing an arm around each of their necks as if he has just had too much to drink.
“You go park somewhere,” Harrison says, “then meet us downstairs.” Both my car doors slam, and I watch them all disappear through the inconspicuous gray door and out of sight.
I find a parking spot farther down the street between a vintage red Mini and a luxurious black Bentley.
After reversing my jeep into the space, I sit momentarily, considering what will happen tonight.
Yes, I’ve dispensed justice before. I’ve heard men scream and beg for their lives.
But never has it seemed more important to make one pay as it does now.
I want to hear every cut of his flesh, every break of his bones.
Not only do I want to watch and listen, but I need to partake.
I rarely get involved in the actual violence, leaving it to the men who always enjoy it.
But tonight, I will fucking enjoy every slash.
After climbing out of the car, I slam my door closed then walk down the street toward the station entrance.
On stepping through, I find a dark, narrow staircase.
A simple white sign on the wall tells me there are one hundred and three steps to descend.
As I step down, old white and red tiles line the walls.
In the distance, I hear trains passing on nearby tracks beneath the city streets, the sound of metal scraping over metal loud and clear.
On reaching the bottom of the stairs, the noise of the train subsides and I can hear voices from further along the corridor.
I find them in a small room. My friends stand in a circle with our prisoner in the center.
In the corner is an old metal bathtub from a time long gone.
Hunter’s focus moves to me as I step in to join them.
“Interesting place, isn’t it?” he says casually. “Hard to believe people practically lived down here during the war. Churchill probably washed his balls in that bath.”
“How did you get access?” I ask him.
“Someone I know is a tour guide. It felt the most fitting place for this.”
There are dozens of abandoned tunnels and stations around London.
We’ve used many over the years, but this is our first time in Down St. He turns to Hastings, who’s now awake and standing in the center.
“I would imagine many of your arsehole friends live in Mayfair.”
“I fucking live in Mayfair,” he growls back.
“And you’ll die here,” Russell tells him. “Your blood will seep into the ground deep below the pavement you have walked.”
“If you’ve brought me here to kill me, fucking get on with it.” His voice is wavering despite his words. “But before you do, I want to know why.”
I chuckle under my breath as I am reminded we haven’t told him the why of the situation. He’s in the dark.
“Samantha.” My word is blunt and clear.
“Who?” His lips twist into a smirk. “I don’t know any tart by that name.”
“Watch your mouth,” I snap, stepping forward into his space. Our eyes lock, and we glare at each other. “The woman you beat to a pulp in the back of your car.”
“Which one?” he goads. His vile features are highlighted in the murky tunnels, and the only light sources are pathetically dim wall sconces.
“Some little whores love it rough. The way their skin marks is…”
He trails off, then rolls his eyes dramatically.
“Fucking perfect.” My fist connects with his chin hard, and he stumbles backward.
“Let’s see if your skin marks so prettily.” I land another blow on the same spot.
“You need to get to the gym, Chase. That will barely leave a bruise.” He tries to smile nastily, but his lips barely widen, as if frozen.
“Is there water down here?” I ask Hunter, ignoring the asshole in front of me, wanting to focus on what pain I can inflict next.
He signals to a small tap on the wall, a black bucket placed beneath.
Harrison moves toward it. We all watch him fill the dirty, disused tub one bucket at a time.
My attention turns back to Hastings. “You will regret ever laying a hand on her. These last hours of your life will pass so slowly, you’ll be praying for death.”
Russell stands to one side, leaning against the wall, balanced on his crutches. He rocks slightly as if uncomfortable. “You okay?” I ask him, and he shrugs. “How the fuck did you get down those stairs?”
“With difficulty,” he replies, deadpan. “But it will be fucking worth it to see this bastard die.”
“I’m surprised you’re here,” Hastings says to my brother. “Your reputation precedes you. You’re no angel.”
“I don’t proclaim to be.” Russell limps toward him. “But I never have or will lay a finger on a lady.”
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Men like us love to see fear in others. Whether that is physical or mental.”
He grins disgustingly, leaning forward into Russell’s face.
His body turns and bumps my brother’s shoulder with his.
The movement is awkward due to his hands still being tied.
It mimics the gesture of friends. “You and me are cut from the same cloth.”
My brother turns away, not reacting impulsively as I expect him to.
A few moments later, the crutch connects with Hastings's skull.
Russell raises the metal tube again, then brings it down hard on his face.
Blood spurts from his nose, splattering his shirt then running liberally over his lips.
He drops to his knees but continues to smile.
Harrison continues to fill the tub as if nothing has happened.
“Say that again,” Russell snarls.
“Men. Like. Us,” Hastings repeats.
This time, it’s me who loses control. I grab Hastings by the collar, pushing him forcefully to the bathtub.
Turning the bastard away from me, I kick him hard at the back of his knees and he drops to the floor.
Clutching the back of his shirt collar, I push his head down into the freezing water.
With his hands still tied to his belt, he flails his shoulders but can’t fight me off.
Hunter appears on the other side to apply more pressure.
We hold him under the water for thirty seconds.
Russell counts in the background, then we pull him from the water. Hastings gasps for breath.
“Men like you,” I say furiously. “Only pathetic cowards mistreat women.”
Hunter pushes his head forward, and I follow. We hold him longer this time, forcing the air from his body and allowing the water to invade his lungs before releasing him again.
“You won’t die by drowning,” Hunter tells him.
“That’s a death too easy for a bastard. This is stage one in an exit from this earth so beautiful, and you’ll be your own audience at every stage.”
My friend’s eyes move to me. “Again, and this time for one minute. I find any longer than that, they can die by accident. I have too much fun planned for that to happen.”