Page 94

Creed

I crouch behind a bush, Chester at my side. After Jolie told me her foster brother would creep into her room, guilt hit me so fucking hard. I wanted to tell her our brothers were not dead and blow our cover. Instead, I picked a fight with Chester. When I told him what she told me, he stormed down into the morgue, crawled through the bunker, and demanded that Marlow hack her records. Marlow delivered, and we went through her records with a fine-tooth comb. We found there was one foster home that didn’t want her anymore because she had made false allegations against their son.

The sun has long set, and we watch as his parents reverse down the driveway, leaving our target alone. Once they are out of sight, we head around the side of the house. Guys like this never fully lock their houses. There is always a way in, and if there isn’t, picking locks is something we mastered in primary school.

Chester creeps up the back steps and onto the darkened porch. His gloved hand reaches out and tries the handle, and just as we expected, the door is open. He turns to me and smirks. We enter the house and look around. The back door leads into the kitchen, where the lights are off, and the low hum of music comes from down the hallway.

Chester pops his head around the corner and nods that it’s safe to move. We don’t bother being sneaky. If he catches us now, it won’t matter.

The music is coming from the bathroom, and the door is pulled closed. We quickly check the bedrooms, finding the one that is most likely his. The light is on, but we switch it off on our way inside. Chester moves across the room, and I slip in behind the door to block his exit when he enters.

We don’t have to wait long. After a few minutes, the music stops, and the sound of footsteps gets closer to the room. Excitement radiates through my bones. It’s been a while since I have dealt with the living, preferring corpses over murder these days.

He walks into the room, flicking the light on. It takes him a few steps before he notices Chester leaning against the wall.

“Hello, Tony,” he says in his deep voice. It’s chilling enough to scare grown men, and this guy is no different, even if he tries to put on a brave face.

“Who the fuck are you?” Tony demands.

I close the door with a bang, and poor Tony jumps, looking behind his back to see me smiling at him.

“Who the fuck are we?” I ask. “We are your worst nightmare.”

Chester is on him before he can even muster up another sentence, pinning him against the far wall with his hands pulled behind his back. I move in closer, using some cable ties to secure his wrists together. Then Chester knocks him to his knees.

“What do you want?” he cries, tears filling his eyes. Fuck crying when faced with death—just take it like a man.

“I hear you like to get handsy with your foster sisters,” Chester drawls in his low tone. “Touching them when they don’t want it.”

“I don’t know what that bitch told you, but she wanted it. Begged for it, actually.”

I laugh, coming around to face him. “Now that I find amusing. A girl like her doesn’t need to beg, does she?”

“She wouldn’t have to beg me. I would worship a woman like her,” Chester replies.

“We really can’t hurt you here. Can’t have Mummy and Daddy coming home to find you dead on the floor. I think we need to take you on a little field trip.”

“Please, no. I will do whatever you want,” he begs.

Chester, having had enough of his begging, punches him in the temple, knocking him out cold, and his lifeless body falls to the floor.

It doesn’t take us long to move his naked ass into our van. We don’t even bother dressing him; there will be no need for clothes where he is going. Once we get back to the house, we bring him into the morgue through the side entrance.

For times like this, I have a thick chain that can be attached to the ceiling, right above the drain on the floor. It’s been a hot minute since I have had a use for it.

Chester dumps his body on the floor while I set up the chain. Once I’m done, it takes the both of us to lift and attach him.

I sit back and watch as Chester walks over to the small fridge and pulls out a bottle of water. He unscrews the lid and takes a mouthful before tipping the contents of the bottle over our new friend, who wakes with an almighty scream. I slip from my stool and turn on my Bluetooth speaker, attaching it to my phone. It is set to play my most recent playlist and “Sweet Dreams” by Marilyn Manson fills the room. What can I say? I like to slice bodies open to 90s rock anthems. I crank it up in case anyone else comes home. When the music is up, no one bothers me.

Chester rubs his hands together as he moves over to one of my drawers and pulls out a scalpel. I smirk at him when he looks at me and then towards the guy’s limp dick.

“Please, don’t hurt me,” Tony begs.

“Don’t hurt me. I didn’t do anything. I will do whatever you want,” Chester mocks. “The problem is you touched what didn’t belong to you. She belongs to us, and I’m not a forgiving man.”

Chester doesn’t waste any time. He runs the razor-sharp metal across the top of the guy’s dick, making me wince. I don’t even think I could stomach that, and I love this stuff. Tony screams and momentarily passes out, but that doesn’t stop Chester. He grabs the guy’s dick, blood pouring to the floor and down Chester’s hand as he chops it clean off.

“Now I make him eat it.” He laughs like a maniac as he forces the guy’s mouth open, bringing him back to the land of the living again. He struggles against Chester’s hand, trying to shake his head.

At some point, the guy must realise he has his own cock in his mouth, making him gag. His vomit and dick fall to the floor in front of him.

“Do you want to do the honours, or would you like me to?” I ask him, picking up a gun that I left here earlier in the day, one that came off a dead body.

“Please let me,” he says, and I nod, throwing it in his direction. He shoots me a killer glare once he catches it. I’m sure the number one rule of firearms is not to throw them at people. Well, maybe after not shooting them at innocent people, but this pitiful excuse for a human isn’t innocent.

One thing about Chester, he doesn’t beat around the bush—he usually isn’t this messy either. He gets in and does the job he set out to do as quickly as possible. Torture isn’t his forte. I prefer to slice and dice a little, but the result would be the same. I step back on the chance that he misses, and a rogue bullet accidentally hits me. That would suck. Chester pulls the trigger, and our hostage gets a bullet straight between his eyes, exactly what he deserved. I don’t know about Chester, but I feel a whole lot better knowing this scum can never hurt our girl again.

“Want me to finish that tat on the back of your leg?” he asks me, and I find myself nodding. We can deal with the body later. It’s not like he is going anywhere.