Page 19
19
ELIJAH
“ T homas!”
It takes only seconds for him to poke his head into the garage where I am gathering supplies for this evening's playtime. His obedience is remarkable. I will give that old wench credit, she did one thing right training him.
“Yes, boss.” And he is eager, like a little puppy dog.
Keeping my focus on the wall before me, full of shiny toys ready to be used, “I have a gift for you, Thomas. A reward, really. Your reliability and trustworthiness has earned you this,” I praise him, as per the baby books I have been reading suggest I do. Allegedly, when one is given positive reinforcement, it makes them feel good, and they continue the good behavior. I have also tried this on my pigs when they are eating the bodies I feed them, and their curly little tails wag each time. This is one book that can be trusted.
Reaching forward, my hand wraps around the wooden handle as I lift the blade out of the wall mount. I had Rogers sharpen and shine it this morning, completely unaware at the time that this ceremony would be happening so soon.
“It would appear that my dad is displeased. The Ranch being burnt down is being blamed on us when it was clearly Dalton. So now, we get to play, and Thomas, you get to play with me this time.” Turning around, I hold out the machete and present it to him. Thomas’s face is one of shock, and I swear to fuck if he cries, I will throw it at him instead. I don’t care.
Stepping forward, his dress shoes click against the concrete flooring. The guy is always in a suit, and today he is wearing a black one with a white dress shirt underneath. I’ve told him he doesn’t need to wear this shit, but here we are. Another day, another suit.
“Your first weapon is not to be taken lightly. My dad gave me mine.” I nod my head toward my bat leaning against the wall. “And now I give you yours. It’s a classic, just like you, the machete. Out of all the options, I believe this one will serve you best.”
Thomas is still in complete disbelief. “If you cry or hug me, I will kill you with it,” I warn.
Shaking off any sign of emotion, he reassures me, “I won’t, don’t worry, boss.”
Placing the machete in his hands, he grips the handle and blows out a deep breath. His thumb runs along the sharp blade, cutting himself in the process because he is a dumbass. Hissing at the sting, Thomas brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks on the cut.
He still has so much to learn before the baby comes.
“We don’t have time for you to bleed or feel, do you understand? We have bodies to carve up, and you are pissing me off the longer I have to wait here,” I growl as I begin to lose my patience.
Bringing his thumb out of his mouth, he replies, “Yes, boss. I understand. I’m ready.”
“You did a fine job collecting Brad and assisting me in setting up the body farm. Now, let’s see what you do when they are still alive.” Warmth fills my chest as I close my eyes, visualizing warm blood on my hands, dripping off my fingers. They are still alive as it rapidly pumps out of them, I watch as the life leaves their eyes, satisfied in knowing my face was the last one they saw.
My cock hardens, but I do nothing to hide or stop it.
“May we reunite the father-son duo,” Thomas states confidently.
My eyes swiftly open, irritated.
“Greta is coming to stay with us,” Rain cheerfully interrupts me further. My head whips around to look at her sticking her head out of the house.
“The fuck she is.” Pleasure instantly turns to rage, and it wastes no time filling my body. The muscles in my hands twitch. I reach for my wooden bat with the intention to use it on the old hag.
Placing her tiny hands on her ever-growing belly, Rain’s tone changes and she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
Fuck.
That tummy has me on my knees every night, eating Rain’s pussy, and I fucking devour it. If I pull on her clit piercing with my tongue, it triggers a waterfall like nothing I had ever experienced before. So she knows, whenever she rubs her bump, I cannot resist and will do whatever she demands if it means I can feast on her later.
Greta will be our new roommate, but she never indicated if Greta had to stay alive during her stay. I grip my bat harder, my knuckles turning white, and it is taking every ounce of power I have to stop myself from playing with Denture Dolly.
Rain smirks in an effort to distract me further from my racing internal monologue. “Now go play,” is all she says before disappearing back inside.
A loud roar erupts from deep within, and I slam my bat down against the stainless countertop. “Get in the car.” My tone is toxic and would make that old cunt shit her pants if she were standing here.
Thomas scurries around the Range and jumps into the passenger seat with his new prized possession.
“Let’s fucking play.”
It’s dark, we have been in the tree line for hours, watching and waiting. I don’t mind this part—the calm before the chaos. To sit in silence and just be, I like it. It’s what comforts me.
Dalton and his team will suspect an immediate retaliation. We parked a couple miles away and walked through the woods to get to his property line, which isn’t secure at all. The guy is power-hungry, a fucking joke. There is no way he would have remained King for long, even if this shit wasn’t all going on. His acumen for organized crime is at a staggering zero.
We have been sitting here for a couple hours, the sun has long since set and the moon is covered by overcast.
The last visible light in the house went off forty-five minutes ago, if my time estimate is correct. I can’t check my phone, it would be too much of a risk because they would see it shining, revealing our location.
Wearing all black, I blend perfectly in with the foliage surrounding us. Thomas still has a thing or two to learn, and in time he fucking better.
In preparation of go time, he removes his cuff links, rolls up his shirt sleeves, and reaches for his machete. He left his suit jacket in the Range, I told him he wasn’t bringing that shit with us. The thought of him wrapping the jacket around his waist while we infiltrate the estate disgusts me. I am a serial killer, a weapon, and my pet has a cape. Not a fucking chance.
It’s time.
The compound has remained at rest. Not a single person has done a security walk around the perimeter since we first arrived, so he suspects nothing will transpire this evening. He suspects we are plotting, planning revenge, when in fact we have had this planned for weeks. Him burning The Ranch down only escalated our timeline.
Gripping my bat, I rise. Thomas follows my lead, holding tightly on to his machete. We don’t speak, it’s silent communication from here on out. He is learning quickly, interpreting my body language is something he is becoming an expert in. Walking out of the tree line, I make no effort to hide myself; to be seen or not doesn’t matter as the same result will occur. I am not leaving here without Dalton.
Our shoes crunch against the long grass and twigs, and my bat rests perfectly on my shoulder as my eyes keep watch on the windows facing us. Still no movement, no security sensors—nothing here is stopping us. My teeth play with my lip ring. Something isn’t right. It shouldn’t be this easy.
Instinct follows, and the same feeling washes over me.
Could he be hiding out, not even here?
No, his ego is far too inflated to hide. If he had people watching us, watching them, I would have felt it and we would have been surrounded by now as we walk through the open field.
“Boss,” Thomas whispers
“Not now. I’m thinking,” I snap back.
“It’s too quiet.” The kid doesn’t listen, not now doesn’t mean keep talking.
Doing my best to resist the urge, my knuckles crack from squeezing my bat. “I know. Now let me think.”
An owl calls out overhead. Tilting my head, I watch it fly off Dalton’s roof and toward the woods behind us. Even this fucker knows something is afoot.
We reach the side of the house unscathed. Instead of tiptoeing around the place, I decide to make a grand entrance, taking away any element of surprise they may have on us.
“Follow my lead and do not hesitate to use that thing if you have to,” I snap at Thomas.
“Yes, boss.”
I find being firm with him is the best approach; it gets him all amped up.
We are nearing the front, the driveway lit with the help of the garden lights, the porch area dim, but not intricate enough to have anyone hiding on it. I take one last look around before hopping over the low-lying shrubs and hibernating flowers. Still no sign of anyone.
Thomas follows as I proceed, walking up the steps to the front door. A single floorboard creaks and I freeze in place, waiting for what I could have just triggered. But no traps or flying knives jump out. The door is thick wood, similar to my dad’s place, and as long as nothing is reinforcing it on the other side, we should be able to get in easily.
“Thomas, on three, we kick.”
He comes to stand next to me, ready for my sign. “One… Two… Three.”
On three, we both raise our feet and with all our force, kick in the door. A loud crack then a slam follows, and we nearly break it off the hinges before it crashes against the wall behind it.
Stepping in, it’s dark and silence welcomes us. I find comfort in it.
From examining the blueprints prior, I know Dalton’s room is upstairs and that the staircase welcomes us almost immediately upon entry. Walking to the right, I nod my head, inviting Thomas to follow. Using my bat, I reach it out to feel what’s in front of me, so I don't walk into anything. What I don’t anticipate is tripping, which is what I do straight away. I can hear Thomas patting at the wall once he hears my “ouf” from falling.
Before I can tell him to stop, he has already done it. The lights are on and instead of a cool white marble floor below me, it’s warm, wet, and bloodied.
Thomas begins to stutter, “B-boss…”
Looking over my shoulder once I rise, shock radiates from him. Confused, I look to see where his eyes are looking and follow his line of vision while I shift my body.
“Fuck me,” is all I can get out.
The main entrance opens to the living space, the stairs, just as I remembered, are in fact on the right side. But before me is a level of carnage I thought I was only capable of. This is worse than any Hell Fire Night in recent memory.
KING is written over and over again on every inch of surrounding walls and windows. At minimum five bodies are hung upside down, similar to how we found Cecilia, with nails in their hands and feet, naked. Faces are blue from all the blood that rushed to their heads and some trickle from the wounds. A couple are beaten; their ribs are bruised, with handprints around their wrists. My feet move closer to one, and I lift one female’s head. She has a similar build and features to Cecilia, which I find most interesting, but I don’t recognize her from The Exiled.
“Thomas, check them,” I frantically demand.
I think these are civilians.
He lifts the head of an older lady, with hair like Greta’s but with a less saggy body. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asks.
“Check them all,” I respond, knowing we are both on the same page.
Another looks like Darian, my dad, and Rain. She is even pregnant like her. Nails are hammered around the perimeter of her stomach; I only notice because the light bounces off them.
Rage. Black fills my vision.
He knew I was coming.
He planned this. He baited me.
Or he is more sadistic than I am, didn’t plan this, and did it for his own enjoyment in order to get his dick hard.
Seething, I growl, “Find him!”
My boots stomp across the floor back to the staircase, where I see what I tripped over. Another body; this one is slit at the neck and doesn’t resemble anyone of importance. Maybe he was a commoner from The Exiled that Dalton recruited then decided to kill. Blood stains the steps leading upstairs. I follow them.
Midway up, I look behind me. Thomas is not there. Instead, he is frozen in place, shaking.
“Yes, it looks like Greta. Now get the fuck over here,” I snarl.
Startled, his head nods and his mouth moves, but I have no idea what he is saying as he rushes over.
Reaching the top, I peek around the corner. Two tall and burly older men are guarding Dalton’s door. This is going to be fun. Dim hallway lights give us sight for when I step out from around the corner and start swinging my bat with my wrist. A slight smirk adorns my face, and neither of them move. “Bravery will not reward you,” I inform them.
Both raise their hands in surrender, declaring, “He’s yours. We won’t stop you.” Traitors, how interesting. I was hoping for more of a fight.
“Betrayal won't be rewarded either.” I smirk, showing off my sharp fangs, hungry for blood.
Stepping forward, I crack my bat against the face of one. Their head swings backward, and their body follows from the momentum of my hit. From the corner of my eye, I see the other trying to escape, but Thomas takes one swing, slicing him from skull to mouth. Loud screams erupt down the dark hall, and blood splatters across my face as I take another swing. This one lands the guy on the ground. I can hear Thomas still going behind me as, “Die, motherfucker!” is being shouted, and I burst into hysterical laughter while bashing in the skull of my guy.
This feels so fucking good. My eyes hood in ecstasy. This is my drug, killing will never not feel this good.
A couple more hits, and I start to feel the floor against my bat instead of a skull and brain; that’s when I know he’s dead. Spinning around, I see if Thomas needs help, my chest still heaving from the rush. And to my surprise, the kid is absolutely covered in blood; his bright white shirt that could be seen in the dark is barely noticeable now as crimson drips down his chest. Then I see not only is the guy's face sliced in half but so is his torso, which is carved into an X.
The sight fills me with pride. “Well done, Pet!” I praise, patting him on the back. And hopefully this teaches him that wearing a suit to playtime is a really stupid fucking idea.
Stepping away from Thomas, I open the closed door and step inside the room. A single bedroom lamp is turned on, illuminating the space, and confusion washes over me. Why didn’t we see this light on from outside? Looking up to the windows, I now see why. Blackout electric shades cover each one. Stepping closer to the bed, I take in the barbaric and pathetic sight before us. Dalton and his shaggy brown hair fill the space. He is basically starfished on top of the blankets in only his underwear. Drool runs down his chin, and the rush raging through my body dwindles then completely dies once I see pill bottles on his bedside table.
“Thomas, what was in them?” I ask.
“Ambien, boss.”
He didn’t do this to himself. He wanted a fight, he has been begging for it since Hell Fire Night. No, his team drugged him.
Rats. Traitors. Disloyal servants.
They deserved to die. And any other I find that was once a part of his merry men will die too.
I grip Dalton’s hair at the base and drag him off the bed and pull him behind me past his old friends and all the way down the stairs. His body thumps along each step, but nothing is going to wake him up at this point until the Ambien wears off and whatever else they may have slipped him. As we hit the last stair, a grunt follows. I shout back, “Shut up,” as if he can hear me.
I drag him to the front door, dropping his head, and it bounces on the floor before settling in place. I wonder if he’s even alive.
Bending down, I place two fingers on his neck in an effort to locate his pulse.
Nothing.
Not good.
I try his wrist instead, feeling around. I press as hard as I can until I find one. It’s faint, but he is alive. Which is a relief. I would hate for him to miss his own death. I definitely need him awake for what I have planned.
Looking around the room once more, I walk to one of the many KING’s written in blood and touch it.
Still wet.
These were done today and recently. I spot a couple holes in the wall and figure he must have been losing it. Obsessed with the idea of something he could never obtain. Obsessed with anyone who wasn’t an ally or who he was promised. He was hoping we would find these and know what he had planned for us, one by one.
There is one more female. Long black hair hanging down, nipple covers, and a set of metal handcuffs hanging from her wrists. This has to be Rylee. He fucking knew who she was to him; why else would her lookalike be up here?
Calling my dad, he answers on the first ring. “We got him. But you need to see this, Dad. Innocents, blood… it’s everywhere. Like he knew this would be his last chance or wanted to show us what to expect. Dad, that old lady from the bakery, who looks like Greta but less old…” I am not one to be shocked by anything gruesome and gory, but I wasn’t expecting this when we entered his home. I wasn’t expecting to see someone who resembled my little bat and our unborn child dead on his wall. He knew I was coming and that this would set me off. So, call how I feel disbelief from this idiot actually pulling off a mass slaughter.
One thing he didn't plan for was his own team turning against him.
I can hear my dad slam his hand down against his desk. “Dammit. Send pictures. I’ll get Greta’s team to start identifying and contacting families. We will pay for the funerals. And anything else they want. Get the cleanup crew over there ASAP. Contact the morgue, let them know we have bodies coming in. This shit ends today, Elijah.” My dad has always had the empathy I lacked.
“Understood.”
“You know what to do next, son. We will meet you there.”
Hanging up, I take the photos and send the messages. I also advise the cleaning crew that the three not on the wall go to my house for my pigs.
Taking one more picture, I quickly send it to Dad, showing him how similar this is to the other two venues. Dalton used the blood as paint, KING dripping along the walls of his home and the upside-down human crucifix.
“Anyone who needs to remind people of their status this often doesn’t really have a status at all,” I tell Thomas, who is now looking green in the face.
“It was your first kill. It will sit with you for a day or two, then you will get over it. And if you can’t get over it, pretend like you have, because I couldn’t give a fuck,” I advise casually, while walking back to the front door. I don’t hear footsteps behind me, again. Loyal fucking servant, my ass. And if he's waiting for coddling, those dead bodies nailed to the wall are the closest he’ll get to that.
Annoyed, I shout, “Let’s go!” over my shoulder while looking down at Dalton. I’ve decided that I’ll have to carve a reminder into his forehead just before he dies, so he never forgets what he is. The King of Failure.