Page 84 of Hidden Desires
He sat on the floor, hands still bound, with his back pressed up against the living room wall.
“You’re going to have to be more specific. I’ve killed a lot of people over the years,” his father said, shrugging it off like he was talking about the weather.
“Steven. Chester’s son. The kid from the dumpster.”
“Oh, the junkie who couldn’t pay his bill.” An evil smile spread across the man’s face as he seemed to be reliving the murder in his head.
Talk about fucked.
“That one was fun. I drove him out to the desert, then let him loose like I was letting him get away. I let him get about a hundred feet away before I threw my first dagger. The sound that boy made when my blade connected with his calf. Have you ever looked into a terrified man’s eyes the moment he realizes that no matter what he does, his life is coming to an end? That smell of fear, I swear, is what God must smell right before he sends a natural disaster to murder hundreds of people. One great tsunami to wipe out an entire village.”
The man was delusional. Not only had he become unhinged, but it also appeared that his father was losing his grip on reality.
“You’re not a god,” Blade reminded his father.
“I may as well be. I get to decide who lives and who dies. At least in Vegas, I do.”
Another sinister smile.
“What does that mean?”
“After I was kicked out of the Winter Brothers Circus,I spent a few years roaming the West Coast, taking jobs in construction or panhandling, doing whatever I could to make some money. That is, until I had a run-in with one of the members of the Cyanyd Kings. The punk tried to rip me off, so I threw half a dozen knives into his chest. His boss reached out to me two days later and offered me a position on his crew. Now I get to slice open any young punk who mouths off or gets on the wrong side of my boss.”
“But you’re still just abitchtaking orders from his master,” Blade snidely threw back.
His father froze. It appeared he didn’t like that comment.
Slowly, he turned from the window and walked back to where Blade was sitting.
He glared at his son before crouching down so that they were face-to-face.
“Well, this is one order that I won’t be following.”
There was something cold and dark about his words. Blade refused to show his father any weakness.
“What does that mean?”
The Demon Blade Thrower smirked at his son.
“Well, my boss just about creamed himself when he realized that there was another dagger thrower in town. He then shot his load when he discovered that the dagger thrower was also my son. He asked me to reach out to you and convince you to comework for the Cyanyd Kings. Having two dagger throwers in the crew would double the crew’s fear factor.”
All this was just to get him to join his father’s crew?
“But I’m no idiot. I know that the second the boss secures your loyalty, he’ll order you to take me out. That’s what gang bosses do with old folks like me—they replace us with younger, fresher models. So, here we are. Father and son. Youth versus maturity.”
His father stood up and walked over to the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a glass. He took a sip, staring at the kitchen cabinet.
“No fucking way am I being replaced by my faggot son.”
His father turned to face Blade. His eyes were black as night.
“First, I thought we would have a little fun. Then we can get to the killing-you part.”
His father downed the amber liquid before placing his glass down on the counter.
“It’s nothing personal.”
He turned to the two men who remained with him.
