I run the knife through the tattoos covering his body until he’s bleeding from many shallow cuts.It won’t kill him, but he’ll feel the sting of them.
For the next few hours, I inflict pain on the piece of shit hanging like a slab of meat from the hook in my butcher’s bay.When I drop the pair of pliers to the table, I sigh as exhaustion weighs me down.
Frankie is a work of cuts and burns.The nails from his fingers and toes are gone.Blood leaks past his lips from the teeth we’ve removed.
His feet splash in the puddle of piss under them as he tries to move from the hook.
“You won’t get out of this on your own.Butcher earned his name for a reason.Just be glad it’s me doing the work and not him.”I pat Frankie’s bloody cheek.“Now, you get to sit and think about why you’ve found yourself in this position.You shouldn’t touch things that don’t belong to you.”
For all the taunting and shit he’s done over the phone, he’s not had much to say since we’ve brought him here.I could pull a few screams from him, but not enough to appease the reaper that’s clawing at my skin.If it wasn’t for the craving in my soul to get back to my family, I’d spend more time with him.
“Malice, let’s give our guest a tune to keep him company,” I order, walking over to the hose hanging from the ceiling.
I pull my clothes off as the childish tune bursts from the speakers.“Baby shark,” I sing in a whisper as I wash the blood and grime from me.
The music is loud in the room, causing the pounding behind my eyes to worsen.So, I finish cleaning myself quickly, tossing the dirty clothes in the barrel and grabbing the ones that Blitz holds out to me.
Butcher secures the chains around Frankie and clears away the weapons before following us out of the bay.
The music is softer out here, and I sigh, rubbing my temples.“We’re going to need to take shifts guarding him.Butcher, Ducky, and Blitz, you three will take the first shift.I need to get home to my family and fucking rest.My body is killing me.Keep the music going.Specifically, that song on repeat.Lights on.I want sleep deprivation.That way, when I come back, he might be ready to crack.We need to get all the information we can from him about his contacts into the trafficking ring he was going to sell my daughter to.We know she was going to the Villarrubia Cartel, but there are other players.There’s a connection to the churches, I’m sure of it.I don’t give a fuck how long it takes us to wipe them out.It could take us years to get them all, but I can’t stop.It’s eating me up that I left it for as long as I did.”
“You were a kid when you left, Prez,” Blitz says.“You couldn’t have done shit back then.”
“I could have when I got older.It was easier to pretend that shit didn’t happen, you know?”
I peer around at the brothers who continuously have my back without hesitation.There aren’t many people I give a shit about outside of my Birdie and my kids.These men ...I’d lay down my life for them without fucking hesitation, and I know they’d do the same.
There’s something fucking humbling about that.
If I got all emotional on them now, they’ll probably kill me on the spot, assuming something done took my body over.
I’m sure it’s just because I’m tired, anyway.
A good night’s sleep will have all these warm, fuzzy feelings disappearing.
“The rest of you get back to the club and get some rest.It’ll be your turn on shift next.Butcher, I’ll send Hannibal back with some grub for you.Maybe even a sweet treat from Wicked Whisk.”
Butcher groans.“Not playing fair, brother.”
I laugh, knowing the man’s weakness for sweetness.More aptly, for the little raven-haired beauty that owns it.“I’ll be sure to have them inform Snow it’s for her most loyal customer.”
“You’re a cruel man, Prez,” he grumbles.
I chat with everyone for a bit longer before I head back home.
Despite the pain riding my body, my shoulders aren’t as heavy from the burden of Frankie.
He’s not out there anymore.
They’re safe from his threats now.
Frankie’s reign of terror is over.
Chapter Forty
WhenPopecamebackhome yesterday from his fight with Frankie, there was a lightness to his steps.There were bruises on his body, cuts on his face, and his knuckles were swollen, but he was alive.He was breathing.
It was all I asked from him.
