Page 21 of Blackout: Book Two

Chapter Eight

Blackie

There are two types of church. The first is a sacred place of worship, somewhere you go to repent your sins and be one with the good Lord. I’d like to tell you I’m a frequent visitor, but the truth is God severed his relationship with me a long time ago and no amount of Our Father’s or Hail Mary’s will change that.

The second isn’t a holy sanctuary of any kind. It’s a lair where sinners kneel for the Devil and beg for his mercy. A place one goes when their soul is black. Nothing is off limits. No crime too severe. No act of violence too brutal. A place where death and destruction are your rites of passage.

As soon as the cocksucker opened the cell and declared he was taking me to church, I knew I was headed to hell and my defenses went on high alert. My knuckles whitened as my fists curled at my sides. As curious as I was, I didn’t ask questions or put up a fight. I took my fucking sentence like a man and followed the guard down the cell block.

Soon the sound of the inmates hollering and banging on the bars faded, and I was led down a narrow hallway. It reeked of urine, feces and well, fucking death. My mouth grew dry, and I felt my pulse quicken. The guard passed me off to another one, and he slowly unlocked a fireproof door. With a jerk of his head, he silently ordered me to enter the darkened room.

I stepped inside and swallowed the bile rising in my throat as I glanced around the torture chamber. The concrete walls were stained with blood and the floor acted like a fucking toilet.

“Il Padrino will be with you shortly, Petra,” the guard said.

I turned to look at him, but he slammed the door before I got the chance.

“Shit,” I muttered as a pang of dread churned in my gut. I didn’t know why I was there or who was behind it. All I knew was that I was about to have my fucking ass handed to me. My blood was about to splatter across these walls and my bodily fluids would likely join the ones drying on the floor. Death and destruction were imminent and the only thing I could think about…the only thing I could see was Lacey’s face as it flashed before my eyes. Instantly, regret filled my veins as all the ways I failed her ate away at my conscience.

It’s funny how a man can ruin his life and continuously self-destruct yet at the end he forgets all of that. Instead of trying to ruin himself, he wishes for more. More time. More chances. More everything. It doesn’t matter that he knows he’ll make a mess of things if given the opportunity. The heart wants what the heart wants and in that moment my heart wants my wife. Maybe I’m destined to keep hurting her but where there is pain, there is so much fucking love and all I wanted out of life was to love her.

I guess it’s true what they say, you really have to hit rock bottom to open your fucking eyes. Sadly, for some rock bottom is the end. There is no second chance. No opportunity to repent. As I glance around the room searching for a means to defend myself, I realize I’m one of the unfortunate ones. The only weapon I have against my faceless enemy is my fists. I have gotten myself out a lot of jams, but this is do or die. If I fail, I’ll likely never see Lacey or our baby again. Forget the charges against me and the possible long-term sentence that will keep me here. I’ll be dead and I don’t believe in the fucking afterlife. When they drag my bloody body out of this fucking room, that’s it.

Game over.

The end.

The door opens and I quickly spin around. Blinking against the stream of light that enters the dark room, I focus on the three men standing before me. None of them are familiar but their ink sure as fuck is. I’ve studied it intently over the last few weeks and have memorized every motherfucking symbol. They’re part of the Sinaloa Cartel.

Swallowing, I watch as the one standing to the far right reaches over his head and tugs a string. A single light bulb illuminates the room just as the guard slams the door shut, caging us together.

It’s me against them.

Three to one.

I’m fucked.

“What the fuck do you want?” I growl, clenching my fists as I widen my stance. The cunt standing in the center who I assume goes by Il Padrino, steps forward, sizing me up with his beady eyes as he cracks his knuckles menacingly. His tongue sneaks out of his mouth and runs across his lips before he flashes a smile full of gold teeth.

“I’ve come to collect a debt,” he explains, rolling his neck from side to side. “It seems Javier, didn’t adhere to my warnings. I told him not to play with white trash, but my brother, he’s always looking to broaden his horizons, even if that means him lying down in the gutter with a bunch of washed up bikers. You and your psychotic leader seem to have underestimated us.”

“Is that so?” I retort, crossing my arms against my chest. Sweat beads at my forehead as I meet his gaze and silently mull over my next move. It’s not like I have many options. I’m at the fucking mercy of the goddamn enemy and right now I’m mentally kicking myself for not thinking these pricks would come at me while I’m in here. It’s the one thing I didn’t plan for when retaining Schwartz.

“You killed my cousin, motherfucker. On top of that, you stole from my organization.”

“We didn’t steal shit from you fucks,” I fire back. “Get your facts straight. We were prepared to give you everything we promised in exchange for a meeting with Sergio. The guns and the territory. You cunts pulled the trigger on that deal the minute you fucking started shooting at us.”

Seeming unfazed, he turns to his left and snaps his fingers.

“A deal is a deal, Chico. You didn’t deliver and now it’s time for you to pay up.”

Before I can question him further, I catch sight of one of the two other guys. His fist wrapped tightly around a silver piece of pipe. My mouth goes dry as my eyes dart to the object he’s wielding in his hands. I’m so focused on his movements I lose sight of the other guy. It isn’t until his fist collides with my cheek that I realize they’ve distracted me.

Instinctively I swing back. My knuckles split open as they slam into his jaw. The pipe slams into my ribs and I lunge forward. Another jab to my face. One to my eye. The pipe crashed against the other side of my ribs. The wind is knocked from me as I stumble forward.

Lifting my head, I spit blood and watch as Il Padrino’s lips curl in satisfaction.

“Do I have your attention yet?” he taunts.

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