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Chapter One

Griffin’s Beach Brock

“ W hat the fuck is this?” Bill shouts from the chair he’s tied to with zip ties. Just like he did to Beckett Cohen in prison.

Beckett laughs as Brock Bradshaw finishes tying up Scott Bishop, the warden. These two made their lives difficult while they were locked up without due process. The plan was to kill them inside, and Brock even got stabbed the first week.

“Doesn’t this feel familiar, Bill? Maybe I should’ve brought a baton with me to beat the shit out of you with. Would that help refresh your memory?”

“You won’t get away with this!” Scott shouts.

The guard who ultimately helped get them out of prison gave Brock the address of Bill’s place where he and the warden have their little affair going on. It was the trade-off for his help: Kill the two men who don’t deserve the power they’ve been given.

Brock knows he and Beckett made a mistake breaking into Donald Ramsey’s house. Pissing off someone so powerful and well-connected wasn’t the best idea, but he hurt Shannon Walters, Beckett’s girl. Threatened her life if she tried to leave him.

“This feels a little weird,” Beckett says. “I mean, they’re still butt naked.”

“Hey, I figured they’d dress after Bill was done getting a pounding from his boss. The last thing I expected was Scott to be a caring little fuck buddy and cuddle him afterwards.”

“What do you want?” Bill asks. “Money? I have money. Won’t even call the cops.”

Leaning against the buffet in the dining room where they dragged both men and tied them up, Beckett shakes his head. He took the worst of the beatings, so Brock gives him full rein on this show.

“Nah, I don’t want money. How ‘bout you, Brock. You want money?”

“Not really. I do think I owe the warden here a little payback for the knifing in the yard that first week, though. I mean, let’s be honest. Bill does nothing without his boss’s say-so.”

The older man widens his eyes. “I didn’t do—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up. Your boy, here, was bragging about how untouchable he was because shit came down from you. And your orders came from an asshole who beats and threatens women,” Beckett says. “Specifically, my girlfriend.”

Brock just smirks as Beckett twirls the bat in his hand, a contemplative look on his face as he stares at it. It’s not a baton, but at least it won’t break.

“Just like Donald Ramsey, Scotty thinks he’s untouchable. Isn’t that right?” Brock says.

“I do feel bad for his wife, though. I doubt she knows about this little arrangement they have, and she’ll have to find out around the same time she learns she’s a widow. It almost doesn’t seem fair.”

Tilting his head, Brock gives it a shake. “Or maybe it’s a favor. I can’t imagine he’s a peach to be married to.”

“So that’s what this is about? You’re going to kill us because we were forced to carry out orders by a man who owned me?” Scott asks. “Look, I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Sure, you did, Scott,” Brock says.

“Did you know that people who start sentences with look usually feel as though they’re backed into a corner. That they have no power because it’s all been stripped away from them. Do you feel powerless, Scott? Is that why you’re so damn uncomfortable?” Beckett asks.

The change in the former Special Ops military man almost scares Brock. He’s typically very reserved unless it comes to Shannon. This became very personal on a level Brock doesn’t fully understand.

Deciding to stop the psychological torture Beckett’s more than happy to inflict, Brock grabs a knife from the buffet where they’d previously laid out the various knives found in Bill’s kitchen.

A chef’s knife. He plays with it in his hand before jabbing it into Scott’s side just like the men in the yard did to him.

Scott cries out, and Brock shoves a towel into his mouth. “Now, be a man, Scott. I didn’t cry like a little bitch when you ordered your boy to have me stabbed.”

“And I dropped all five of those punks like they were nothing,” Beckett says. “Did you tell your boss that, Billy Boy?”

Winding up, he hits his target in the head, drawing blood with a loud crack that makes Brock wince. “Stop, okay? You made your point. We won’t say anything,” Bill says, his eyes fluttering open and shut with the stun of the hit.

“Dead men can’t speak,” Brock says. “It’s one of the only things they’re good for.”

“At least you both got off before we killed you. The camera we set up beforehand caught all of it. If it would make things easier for you, we can play it while you die,” Beckett says.

Scott’s eyes widen, the towel still stuffed in his mouth. He mumbles something, and Brock just laughs.

“Sorry, man, I wasn’t able to catch that.” More mumbling, and he shakes his head again. “Yeah, I didn’t get that, either.”

“Take the fucking towel out of his mouth!” Bill shouts.

“Oh, that’s what he wants,” Brock says. “Okay. You just have to ask. Calm down.”

He rips the towel away, and Scott shouts, “You have to delete that!”

“You shouldn’t hide from who you truly are. It’s not healthy. And living a double life is so 1995. Seriously, no one gives a shit if you’re in love with Bill. Well, your wife might, but other than that, who gives a fuck?”

“That’s not true. You have a problem with men loving me,” Bill says. “That’s it, isn’t it? It’s because you think we’re gay.”

Shaking his head, Beckett looks confused.

“You aren’t good at listening, are you, Bill?

We don’t give a fuck who you fuck. The don’t ask don’t tell policy in the military was fucking stupid.

Let people be who they are. Someone’s sexuality didn’t bother me on the battlefield because when you’re in the trenches, it doesn’t fucking matter. Be a decent person and have my back.”

“The problem you have is the part about being a decent person. Besides, we have a guy in the club whose son is gay. We’ve never once discriminated against him, and if Joe wanted to join, we’d welcome him,” Brock says. “We really don’t care who you take to bed unless it happens be one of our women.”

“Who’s Joe?” Beckett asks.

“Ash’s son. You’d love him. He’s best friends with Tripp’s wife, Avery. And he married a doctor, which come to think of it, I can’t believe we haven’t tried to capitalize on it. Can you imagine the benefits of having someone with actual medical training on hand?”

“This little trip down memory lane is all cute and shit, but what’s the plan for us?” Scott asks.

Narrowing his eyes, Brock shoves the towel back into his mouth. “You lost your talking privileges. But I think this is exactly why your wife is cheating on you. There’s no compassion. Except when you’re fucking Bill.”

“You know she’s cheating, too?” Bill asks.

Scott’s head snaps to Bill, his eyes wide, as he pulls on his zip ties. Laughing, Brock points to the warden. “Wait, you knew your lover’s wife was fucking around on him, but you never told him? Did you worry he’d stop seeing you to fix his marriage?”

“No, I… I heard her with someone one day, but I never saw who. I thought it was Scott, but he was waiting for me in his office. But I never told him.”

“Because you thought this would come to an end?” Brock asks.

The blood from his temple drips down his face, and he looks at the floor. Nothing. Which confirms it.

“You know,” he says, “when Scott’s dead, they’ll probably promote Tony to warden. Then his wife can marry the guy who’s actually pleasing her, and she’ll be the warden’s wife again.”

“Wait, Tony’s banging the warden’s wife?” Beckett asks.

Nodding, Brock laughs. “He’s pretty much doing all the women out there. Even Nurse Ratchet. That one I can’t figure out.”

“Good for him.”

Bill gapes, and the bat hits him in the mouth, blood covering the teeth left intact before he can say a word. Watching Beckett, it’s clear something isn’t right. He doesn’t look like he’s getting any satisfaction from it.

“What’s wrong?”

Beckett sighs and drops the bat. “Only a bitch ties someone down and beats them with a weapon.”

“You want to—”

His fist connects with Bill’s jaw, and the crack as he breaks it brings a smile to Beckett’s face. And Bill’s moans of pain make it grow wider.

“Never mind.” Brock turns back to Scott. “Ramsey never mentioned how Beckett was Special Ops, did he? I know Tony left that out of the dossier he gave you. Beckett may not be the biggest motherfucker around, but he can take out pretty much anyone. You two are nothing.”

More mumbling. It annoys him, and he sighs. Removing the towel, he waits for whatever it is Scott needs to say.

“Stop it!” he cries. “Stop it, okay? We get it. You’re tougher than we are. You win. I’m stabbed and bleeding, and he’s got a broken… face.”

“Don’t like watching your boy toy getting the same treatment he dished out?” Brock asks.

“Would you like watching someone you care about getting beaten like this?”

Shaking his head, he shrugs. “No, but I also know how to get out of zip ties. If you strapped me down and beat my wife, I’d have you on the floor and gutted like a pig before you could do half this amount of damage.”

“You know what your problem is, guys?” Beckett asks, his breathing heavy as he runs his hand over his head to pull his hair from his face. “You get by on intimidation. Never learned how to actually defend yourselves because you believed you’d always have someone else there to take care of you.”

“You really should’ve learned to fight back and not rely solely on your position of power to get by,” Brock agrees.

“Help! Someone! Anyone! They’re going to kill us!” Scott shouts.

Shoving the towel into Scott’s mouth with a little more force than necessary, Brock breaks a couple of teeth, but he doesn’t care. It’s not going to matter in the end anyway.

“Such a little bitch. Just so you know, this is from Tony. And if everything continues according to plan, he’ll have your job, too.”

“And your kids will probably call him Dad. Does that sting?” Beckett asks.

He mumbles, and Brock just laughs. “I’d take the towel out again, but I don’t think you can stop yourself from whining and crying. Besides, I’m getting kind of bored.”

Reaching for another knife, he moves behind the warden and grabs his head by the hair. He pulls it back to extend it as far as it’ll go, and he slices cleanly against the exposed flesh across his throat.

Blood spurts as his eyes widen with panic, and he tries to gasp for air. The sound has never been one to satisfy Brock much, but knowing how much pleasure this asshole got at sitting on a throne and barking out orders just because he could makes it easier to tolerate.

“No!” Bill cries as he stares at his lover in horror. “Scott!”

“Don’t worry. You’ll be together again very soon,” Beckett says before delivering three more punches.

The last one stills all movement and fight in him, and Brock stares at him in impressed shock. “He’s dead?”

“Yeah, bones pushing into your brain usually doesn’t give you any type of real chance,” Beckett says. “This is probably the most ungratifying revenge I’ve ever experienced. How do people feel accomplished when their opponent is strapped down?”

Laughing, he nods and looks around. “Okay, so here’s the plan. We ransack the place and take anything that looks valuable. Leave the video camera, and it’ll confuse the hell out of the cops who find it.”

“Wait, are you telling me that the Griffin’s Beach Police aren’t top notch?” he asks as he rummages through a few drawers and pulls out a gold pocket watch. “Who the fuck carries one of these around anymore?”

Brock shrugs. “No idea. I wouldn’t be surprised if somehow the cops try and link this to the De-Identifier. Even though the only thing we know about his victims is that they’re female.”

They both laugh and slip out of the house the same way they came in. Hats, gloves, and boots they plan to get rid of in Riverview should protect them from being found.

“What do we do with the pathetic amount of loot?”

“Throw it into ditches on the way out to Riverview,” Brock says. “Let some lucky person find it and pawn it.”

“And the camera can’t be traced back to us?”

Brock shakes his head as he hops into the passenger side of the stolen car they picked up that morning.

“It’s part of the stash I bought with cash at various pawn shops in Tacoma over a year ago.

If the cops do get a copy of the surveillance, I had a mustache and a wig on. Plus, the name I used was Mark Hill.”

“How did I miss you having a mustache?”

“Don’t ask me. I looked ridiculous. I’ll give Tony a call and let him know it’s done when we get back to the clubhouse. The debt’s paid.”

Repaying Tony for helping them get out of prison was the least he could do.

Now, Brock can focus on his pregnant wife and help her deal with the morning sickness while they wait to find out whether she carries a boy or a girl.

As much as he wants a boy, he hopes it’s another girl.

One who looks just like her mama like their first.