Page 35 of Ruthless Lord

Stefano

T here is nothing worse on God’s green earth than sitting around in a car for hours.

Every time a new set of headlights appears on the horizon, I keep thinking, thank the Almighty, finally there’s salvation.

Except the cars keep whizzing past and the truck remains where it is, the bright orange safety cones placed around the back and side, its four-way lights blinking yellow.

The driver sits on the back gate smoking cigarettes and looking almost as bored as I feel.

I’m set back from the road on a gravel path. My car’s hidden by trees. I can’t start the engine or turn on the lights, so I have all the windows cracked. Cool evening air blows through as I thumb mindlessly at my phone, waiting for something to happen.

Stefano: This is even worse than you said it would be.

Charlie: Aren’t you used to this sort of thing?

Stefano: When I worked on the street, I was never the most patient crew leader. We didn’t do stakeouts.

Charlie: It’s a miracle you got this far.

Stefano: Not really. I’m very good at hurting people.

Charlie: When everything’s a nail, you should just be a hammer, right?

Stefano: Now you’re getting it.

Charlie: Just stay patient. He’ll show up. Would it help if I told you that I’m waiting back in our bed for you?

Stefano: Not really.

Charlie: Well, then I won’t mention how I’m wearing this new lacy bra with these very transparent cups…

Stefano: Better if you didn’t.

Charlie: And how I was wondering when you’d follow through with that punishment you promised… you know, the one involving my filthy mouth?

Stefano: I’m about to drive out of here.

Charlie: Don’t do that. I’m just teasing! I’m in sweats and completely uninterested in your dick entering my mouth.

Stefano: You’re lying. You’re always interested in my dick and your mouth.

Charlie: Conceited!

Stefano: Realistic.

Charlie: Tell you what. You stick to the plan… and I’ll reward you.

Stefano: Sounds like you’re going to reward yourself, but I accept.

Charlie: Stop texting me now.

Stefano: I’m in agony over here.

Charlie: Get over it, you baby!

I toss my phone aside with a snarl. It’s been two hours and I’m not the sitting and waiting type. I want to get out and pace around like a tiger prowling a cage. Instead, Charlie made me swear I’d sit tight, just on the off chance that her family is being extra cautious and has eyes on the area.

I can’t blame her. From what I’ve seen, her father’s been hiring some serious professionals. Only a real skilled burglar would be able to get into the depot without getting caught, even though they have triggered the alarms and sensors. Still, whoever it is, they’re good.

It’s around one in the morning when I notice movement near the truck.

The driver’s in the cab, probably asleep.

I lean forward, squinting into the darkness, not sure if I’m making something up just because I’m so goddamn bored, but no, it’s real.

There’s a person creeping along the side closest to the forest, right in my sightline, heading to the passenger door.

Whoever it is looks like barely more than a shadow.

I slip from the car and move at a very slow crouch, inching my way across the heavily wooded area.

The shadow slips open the cab door and disappears inside. I swear, they’re like ink. I reach the back of the truck and listen, but I don’t hear a thing. I have no clue if they’re still in the front or if they snuck out back. All this creeping shit isn’t my thing.

I draw my gun and move to the front door.

The passenger side is still left slightly ajar.

I’m thinking I can wait here and ambush whoever’s inside, but fucking hell, my back hurts and my knees are like jelly.

My spine’s a mess of aches and pains, and my neck is on the edge of giving out.

I’m too old to sneak around. I need to start playing to my strengths.

I tap the side of the door with the barrel of my gun. The sound is deafening in the tense quiet.

“I know you’re in there. Come out and let’s have a conversation.”

Silence. Nothing from inside. I tap again, harder this time. If the driver was asleep, he should be up by now. But there’s still nothing.

“If you make me come in there, you won’t like it.” I edge the door open wider. “Come out. We can resolve this peacefully.”

Still nothing. I curse to myself and decide to take a risk. I drop to my knees and throw myself sideways until I can see up into the cab.

Nobody’s there.

I slowly push myself up and climb inside, gun first. It takes a beat for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I keep waiting for that shadow to attack.

There’s only a shape on the pull-out bed in the very back. I lean forward and yank the blankets away.

It’s the driver.

His throat’s cut wide open.

Blood coats the mattress beneath him, black in the dim light.

“Motherfucker,” I mutter, turning to get out.

A fist catches me in the face as I drop to the ground. The shadow’s on me, attacking like a maniac. He knocks my gun away expertly, damn near breaking my wrist with a clean strike, and throws a series of blows into my midsection and face.

I drop to one knee. Any sane and normal human would be on the ground, bleeding, coughing, and wheezing. Instead, I cross my arms as the shadow tries to kick me in the face and grunt at the pain as I push back up to my feet.

“Bad call,” I snarl, grabbing for him. “Should’ve fucking stabbed me.”

“Good idea.” The voice is low and rumbling.

I twist as a knife shoots forward, gripped in the shadow’s right fist. He’s younger than me, dark skin, dark eyes.

I bring a knee up, catching his arm in a grab and sweeping his elbow hard enough to make it pop.

He screams in agony as his arm dislocates and the knife clatters to the ground.

“Dumb asshole,” I growl, whipping my forehead forward. I bash it straight into the fucker’s face. “Took that bait too easy.”

He groans, backing away, his arm hanging limp. He tries to draw another knife, but this one’s easy to knock away. I hammer him with more blows until he’s on the ground, cowering with fear.

I kneel on his stomach. I’m breathing hard and hurting. “You hit hard.”

“Fuck… you do too.” He shows me bloody white teeth. “What now?”

“You killed my driver.”

He shifts himself into a ground guard. “Just doing my job.”

“Who sent you? What are you after?”

“Just the cargo.”

“Didn’t have to kill my man for that.”

“He was sleeping. It was too convenient.”

I bash two fists down into his arms. He grimaces as he absorbs the hit. “Who hired you?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He twists and bucks, trying to throw me off balance, but this is classic fighting shit. This is what I was built for. I shrug off his movements and keep him pinned.

“Last chance.” I smash into his guard again. I can tell he’s softening. “If you don’t start talking, I’m going to keep hitting you until you beg me to stop.”

“We’ll see who lasts longer, old man.”

I laugh, a low, ugly rumble. “I don’t stop.

I never fucking stop.” I hit him again, and again, and again.

I hit him so hard it breaks a finger in my hand.

I don’t stop. I hammer down into his guard until I feel his forearms give in, slipping apart, and my fist finds the meat of his ugly fucking face.

I smash it, hitting him gleefully, honestly enjoying myself for the first time all evening.

“Enough,” he moans, barely conscious. His face is a wreck. He’ll never look the same again after this.

“Who hired you.” I drop sweat into his mouth. I snarl in his face. “Tell me who sent you.”

“Westbrook… it was Westbrook…”

“The old man?”

“No, his son.”

Charlie’s father. Not unexpected, but a little frustrating. We’d both hoped that it would be her grandfather sending over the thieves, but I wasn’t surprised.

Men like him keep their hands clean and their circles small. Let others take the real risks.

“I appreciate the confession.” I hit him again. He groans, head lolling.

“Please… enough… I talked…”

“You did.” I hit him again. “But you also killed my driver.” I hit him again. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

I beat him until he stops moving. I beat him until he stops breathing. I beat him until he’s an ugly smear on the pavement, and only when it’s clear his brains are oozing from his ears do I finally get to my feet, breathing hard.

I take my phone from my pocket and stop the recording.

“Two minutes of talking… ten minutes of brutality.” I smile to myself. “Exactly how I like it.”

I limp slowly back to my car. Somebody else will come out and clean this shit up.

I have a wife waiting for me back home.