Page 30 of Property of Shotgun

“When am I going to be big enough to sit in the front with you Uncle Shotty?”

I tousle his hair. “Don’t rush it, kid.”

Turning my attention to Killian, I lift him up. “I’ll see you later, buddy. You be good for your mom okay?”

“Mmm kay!” I kiss his cheek then set him back on the floor. As soon as his feet touch the ground, he takes off, his diaper hanging off his butt. Of all the boys, I think he’s going to be the one that drives us to drink.

When he disappears into the living room with his bagel, I turn my attention back to Jade.

“I’ll see you later.”

She gives me that smile again. It’s a little dimmer than before, but nonetheless still beautiful. “Later, Shotgun.”

I crack my fingers, rolling my neck slowly as my fingers tighten around the meat hook in my hand. With the three mercenaries, I nailed them to a beam and let them hang there for hours. Then, every hour on the hour, I took a piece of them, just like they took pieces from Irish.

Fingers.

Limbs… whatever I felt like taking at the moment.

One bitched and moaned so much, I took his tongue out.

But each lost both their eyes, and I did it with the rustiest pair of pliers I could find.

The carnage was plentiful, and they begged for mercy.

But there was none to be found.

Killing them, disposing the bodies, making everyone who was paying attention aware thatno one fucks with the Kings—that’s the shit I get hard on.

But this one is extra special.

After word got out that the first mercenary was taken out, Fatmir vanished. No one, not even Mondestino, could get eyes on him. But when the third mercenary was nailed to the beam, bleeding out like the pig he was, he squealed, revealing that Fatmir had fled to Albania.

It’s taken six months to lure him back to the states, and much to my dismay, I can thank Mondestino for that.

I stalk towards the oil drum in the center of the room, watching intently as the flames dance from the top of it. Guido nudges me, offering me a pair of metal tongs. I take them from him, catching the meat hook with the prongs, and lower it into the fire, getting the hook nice and hot.

I want to smell his flesh burning as I hang him.

“You’re making a mistake,” Fatmir spits, struggling against Biggie and Jersey who have him pinned to the concrete wall.

“Did I say you could fucking speak?” Biggie growls. “One more fucking word out of you, and I’ll cut your tongue out just like we did with that other cunt.”

“Mondestino set this all up,” Fatmir sneers. “But you know that, don’t you? You know it and you still suck his cock.”

Biggie slams Fatmir’s head against the wall, wedging his thick forearm against the base of his throat.

“You about ready, Shotgun? Cuz if not, I’m going to blow this motherfucker’s head off.”

Fitting the flame-retardant gloves to my hands, I remove the hook from the flame. Sweat drips into my eyes, and I blink it away, turning to where Fatmir fights to breathe.

“Turn him around and put him on his knees,” I order.

Keeping his arm around Fatmir’s neck, Biggie spins him around, then Jersey kicks him in the back of the knees. His legs buckle, and Biggie goes down with him, never removing his arm from his neck. Fatmir braces his hands flat against the wall as he kicks his legs, using all his strength to fight Biggie’s hold, but he fails miserably.

In one fluid motion, I rear my hand back before driving the hook into the back of his neck. His flesh sizzles. Fatmir screams in agony as Biggie quickly releases him. Blood spurts everywhere as I twist the hook through the muscle and tissue beneath his skin. Guido steps to my side handing me a long, thick chain. I thread it through the hook, and signal for Jersey to flip the switch. The chain starts to move, and inch by inch Fatmir is pulled off the floor. His arms flail and he kicks his legs, screaming in his native tongue.

He begs.

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