Page 1 of Acceptance
Chapter One
Griffin’s Beach
Brock
“What the fuck is this?” Bill shouts from the chair he’s tied to with zip ties. Just like he did to Beckett Cohen in prison.
Beckett laughs as Brock Bradshaw finishes tying up Scott Bishop, the warden. These two made their lives difficult while they were locked up without due process. The plan was to kill them inside, and Brock even got stabbed the first week.
“Doesn’t this feel familiar, Bill? Maybe I should’ve brought a baton with me to beat the shit out of you with. Would that help refresh your memory?”
“You won’t get away with this!” Scott shouts.
The guard who ultimately helped get them out of prison gave Brock the address of Bill’s place where he and the warden have their little affair going on. It was the trade-off for his help: Kill the two men who don’t deserve the power they’ve been given.
Brock knows he and Beckett made a mistake breaking into Donald Ramsey’s house. Pissing off someone so powerful and well-connected wasn’t the best idea, but he hurt Shannon Walters, Beckett’s girl. Threatened her life if she tried to leave him.
“This feels a little weird,” Beckett says. “I mean, they’re still butt naked.”
“Hey, I figured they’d dress after Bill was done getting a pounding from his boss. The last thing I expected was Scott to be a caring little fuck buddy and cuddle him afterwards.”
“What do you want?” Bill asks. “Money? I have money. Won’t even call the cops.”
Leaning against the buffet in the dining room where they dragged both men and tied them up, Beckett shakes his head. He took the worst of the beatings, so Brock gives him full rein on this show.
“Nah, I don’t want money. How ‘bout you, Brock. You want money?”
“Not really. I do think I owe the warden here a little payback for the knifing in the yard that first week, though. I mean, let’s be honest. Bill does nothing without his boss’s say-so.”
The older man widens his eyes. “I didn’t do—”
“Oh, shut the fuck up. Your boy, here, was bragging about how untouchable he was because shit came down from you. And your orders came from an asshole who beats and threatens women,” Beckett says. “Specifically, my girlfriend.”
Brock just smirks as Beckett twirls the bat in his hand, a contemplative look on his face as he stares at it. It’s not a baton, but at least it won’t break.
“Just like Donald Ramsey, Scotty thinks he’s untouchable. Isn’t that right?” Brock says.
“I do feel bad for his wife, though. I doubt she knows about this little arrangement they have, and she’ll have to find out around the same time she learns she’s a widow. It almost doesn’t seem fair.”
Tilting his head, Brock gives it a shake. “Or maybe it’s a favor. I can’t imagine he’s a peach to be married to.”
“So that’s what this is about? You’re going to kill us because we were forced to carry out orders by a man who owned me?” Scott asks. “Look, I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t have a choice.”
“Sure, you did, Scott,” Brock says.
“Did you know that people who start sentences withlookusually feel as though they’re backed into a corner. That they have no power because it’s all been stripped away from them. Do you feel powerless, Scott? Is that why you’re so damn uncomfortable?” Beckett asks.
The change in the former Special Ops military man almost scares Brock. He’s typically very reserved unless it comes to Shannon. This became very personal on a level Brock doesn’t fully understand.
Deciding to stop the psychological torture Beckett’s more than happy to inflict, Brock grabs a knife from the buffet where they’d previously laid out the various knives found in Bill’s kitchen. A chef’s knife. He plays with it in his hand before jabbing it into Scott’s side just like the men in the yard did to him.
Scott cries out, and Brock shoves a towel into his mouth. “Now, be a man, Scott. I didn’t cry like a little bitch when you ordered your boy to have me stabbed.”
“And I dropped all five of those punks like they were nothing,” Beckett says. “Did you tell your boss that, Billy Boy?”
Winding up, he hits his target in the head, drawing blood with a loud crack that makes Brock wince. “Stop, okay? You madeyour point. We won’t say anything,” Bill says, his eyes fluttering open and shut with the stun of the hit.
“Dead men can’t speak,” Brock says. “It’s one of the only things they’re good for.”
