Page 80 of Kings Fear No One
“Don’t fucking call me that! You piece of fucking shit, the only reason you’re alive is ’cuz the info you’ve got. If you didn’t know Abraham’s location, I would’ve ripped you into pieces myself on day one.”
“I have provided the info you asked for,” he repeats defiantly. He peers up at me through black and blue eyes that can barely open.
But the challenge is there. It’s unmistakable. He’s antagonizing me. All of us.
I rev the power drill a second time and assess what body part I want to start with first. The others serve as a silent audience as they watch on, arms folded across their chests.
Xavier no longer serves a purpose for us. Which means he’s fair game for revenge—and I’ve got plenty of reason to exact revenge.
“You had one reason to be kept alive. But now you’ve made it clear the info you give is no good,” I say, stepping closer. “So now you’re going to pay for all the shit you’ve done. All the times you asked how high when Abraham told you to jump. All the times you beat the people you held captive. All those times you took advantage ’cuz you thought you could get away with it.”
He's clamped his bloody mouth shut as if refusing to beg for mercy.
But that’s alright. Mercy wasn’t coming anyway.
“Guess what, dipshit?” I ask. “You thought wrong. This is for Teysha.”
Xavier can’t hold off his screams anymore. Not when I’ve jammed the power drill against his crotch and the metal chuck begins boring into him. His jeans dampen with blood as his head falls back and he shakes with agony.
I savor every second, pressing harder the more he screams. Watching the pain clench his swollen face is a one-of-a-kind sight I’ll never forget.
Teysha would be horrified if she knew what I’m doing. She’d probably cry and beg me to stop. Even after everything this piece of shit’s done to her.
Exactly why I continue. I don’t stop ’til his crotch is mangled and the jean fabric is oversaturated with his blood. As he sits slumped in the chair, I move onto other body parts. His thighs and then his chest. Eventually, his cheek.
The torture goes on for over an hour ’til he’s barely alive. Then I step back and watch him bleed out.
Silver approaches me first. “I’ll have Moses and Big Eddie dispose of him. We’ve got to move if we’re going to follow this other lead.”
“And if it’s another dead end?” I ask, setting down the power drill. It drips with Xavier’s blood. I’m covered in it too, a badge of honor more than anything.
“If it’s a dead end, we’ll keep looking. But Tate took photos when he came across it and it looked pretty damn convincing.”
We leave the basement to go gear up.
I’ve got my reservations about this mission. After the shooting, Tate was able to track down an SUV belonging to Juan Cabello and break into it only to discover the vehicle registration didn’t match his address. Instead of the address I had followed that led me to Juan’s house, the SUV was registered to an abandoned warehouse two hours outside of town.
In the trunk, he found other incriminating evidence like a few duffle bags of cash, weapons, and drugs. But what was most telling of all was the set of robes. The exact kind Abraham and the Chosen Saints wore.
The more we’ve uncovered, the less things have made sense. If Juan Cabello wasn’t a Chosen Saint, then what the hell was he doing with their robes and a truck registered to an abandoned warehouse that could be posing as their new compound?
Why would Xavier give his address when we were interrogating him?
These thoughts and more turn over in my head as we hit the road and I’m steering my bike in formation with the others. We’re a pack of rumbling thunder making our way down the highway. Other cars smartly move out of our way and let us pass through.
We’re not even sure what we’ll encounter when we get there, but we’ll handle it like we always do. The others are determined to come out on top. They won’t quit ’til we’ve eliminated the threat.
I’m the same, though magnified by ten. I’ll stop at nothing to make Abraham pay. I won’t move on no matter how long it takes me to track him down and make sure he suffers for what he’s done to us. It’s more than personal. It’s life or death.
The world can’t go on if we’re both allowed to live. He’s got to go down once and for all.
We slow up, approaching the huge lot that the abandoned warehouse is located on. We’ve already worked out our plan, splitting up like we always do when conducting raids like this. The first team veers off with Silver as lead.
I’m heading up the second team. My group follows me as we ride along the back of the property and then prepare to breech the fencing. From the reconnaissance Tate did when he checked out the address, we’re aware of the security cameras.
We keep to the outskirts, our skull ski masks concealing our faces.
The fence poses no challenge to get over. We pause once we’ve climbed onto the other side, watchful for any Saints that might be on guard. Though not much has changed since my time held captive by the Chosen Saints—once the sun’s down, Abraham and his so-called family are more about their ceremonies and celebrations than they are about security.
