Blood spurts from his nose where the brass knuckles shredded his skin, and he flails against the side of his truck. I land a succession of savage punches to his torso and kick his legs out from under him while Jase parks the car in front. O’Sullivan goes down like a sack of potatoes, and I jump on him, quickly cuffing his hands so he can’t retaliate. Stuffing a smelly rag in his mouth, I meet his enraged eyes just as Jase looms over us. “Yes, asshole,” I hiss. “Bet you regret spouting that shit about our girl now.”
Together we drag the asshole deep into the park, tossing him down on the ground just inside a small, forested area. We don’t give him the opportunity to defend himself. We go at him immediately, channeling all our pent-up rage as we kick, punch, and beat him with bats.
He doesn’t get to spew that poison about Ash without consequences. How dare he threaten to put his hands anywhere near her. That will be the last time he insinuates Jase and I can’t keep our woman satisfied.
We hold nothing back, beating him to a pulp, showing no remorse, only stopping when we reach the point of no return.
As much as I hate this prick, I’m not doing jail time for him.
The smell of urine filters in the air as he pisses himself. Sweat plasters my shirt to my back, and I wipe my arm across my clammy brow. Both of us are covered in blood, panting and sweating as adrenaline continues to course through our veins.
“Hold his leg up at the knee,” I instruct Jase as I kneel on the ground beside the slimy motherfucker. He’s moaning behind the rag in his mouth, but it’s not enough. I want him to really suffer. I want to hear his piercing cries ring out in the desolate still night air. We’re far enough away from the nearest house not to worry about drawing attention.
Removing the saliva-coated rag from his mouth, I use it to rub some of the blood from his eyes. I want to see the look on his face when I shatter his dreams. “If you ever talk shit about our girl again, I will kill you.”
“Ashley is a fucking queen,” Jase adds, “and you won’t ever disrespect her again.”
Climbing to my feet, I watch as O’Sullivan struggles to form words through his busted lips, blood-soaked mouth, and cracked teeth. “You really should’ve minded your own business,” I say before slamming my foot repeatedly down on his leg. Jase joins me when O’Sullivan’s leg crumples, flopping to the muddy ground. O’Sullivan’s strangled wails echo in the silent night air, and it’s music to my ears. We slam our feet down on his leg until it’s well and truly shattered. Never mind about playing ball. He’ll be lucky if he ever walks on two legs again.
Jase rips his shirt over his head, using it to mop up the blood and sweat on his face. “In case it’s not clear, we’re not to be messed with.” His sharp lethal tone conveys considerable warning. Jase crouches down, rifling through O’Sullivan’s pockets. Keeping his wallet and his keys, he tosses receipts, coins, and condom packets on the ground around him, making it look like a mugging gone wrong.
When I remove O’Sullivan’s cell from the front pocket of his jeans, it’s already destroyed. The screen is completely shattered from our bats. The device isn’t even powering on. Still, you can never be too sure. Throwing it to the ground, I stomp on it with my foot, ensuring it’s well and truly fucked.
“You tell the cops—and anyone who asks—that you don’t know who attacked you,” Jase says, kicking him in the ribs for good measure. I’m pretty sure at least a few of them are broken. “If you breathe our names to anyone, ever, at any time for the rest of your life, I will hunt down every person you love and kill them. Slowly and painfully. Starting with that pretty blonde fiancée carrying your baby.”
I shield my surprise better than O’Sullivan. Even all bloodied and beaten, shock and fear are evident on his swollen face.
“Then I’ll move on to your beaten-down mother,” Jase continues. “How many affairs has your father had by now? Does your mom know about the son he has with the neighbor at the end of the block? Do your parents know your sweet sixteen-year-old sister gave her virginity to the local priest? Or how about that time you drove drunk and high and you knocked a middle-aged man down with your car?” Jase kicks him in the balls, and an inhuman sound trickles from O’Sullivan’s lips. “Do your parents know what a shitty human you are and how you drove away from the scene of the crime?”
Jase glares at the asshole on the ground as he hovers over him, revealing all the secrets in his family closet. “That’s still an open case, you know. All it would take is a call to the cops to give them your name, and they’d turn their attention to you. Plenty of witnesses saw you leave that party drunk and get behind the wheel of your truck. Your parents only live three blocks from the scene of the accident. And CSI discovered shards from your truck at the scene, enough to connect it to the burned-out remains you left at the bottom of Lowell Lake.”
O’Sullivan spits out words as he writhes in agony on the ground, but his speech is muffled, slurred, and indecipherable. We don’t need to hear it to know he’s promising us a vow of silence.
Jase is a scary motherfucker at the best of times. I know he’s well-connected, but when he comes out with this stuff, I’m reminded of just how powerful his family is. I have no idea how he gets this intel, but it’s an effective incentive. O’Sullivan won’t say a word to anyone because he values breathing.
Jase drills the point home when he says, “After I have finished killing your loved ones, I’ll hand you on a silver platter to the police, and you’ll spend the rest of your miserable life behind bars.” He bends down over our ex-teammate. “Have I made myself clear?”
This time, a nod accompanies the litany of slurred words leaking from O’ Sullivan’s mouth.
Jase pats him on the head. “Good dog.”
“The vow of silence extends to Wentworth too,” I add. We know Wentworth will point the finger of blame at us first, which is why we are sending him an anonymous copy of the video we took tonight to purposely lead him off our track. The tape plus the location of O’Sullivan’s attack should convince him Coach is behind this. He won’t say anything because he won’t want to risk his place on the team.
I would have loved to teach that asshole a lesson too, but both of them being beaten up so soon after our altercation in the locker room would be too suspicious. Jase managed to talk me down from that ledge. Besides, I got a nice right hook in. The dick will be sporting a nasty bruise for days.
Without his partner in crime, we expect him to keep his head down and not start any shit. If he does, all bets are off, and we’ll handle him in a similar manner.
“Especially him,” Jase adds, spearing O’Sullivan with a pointed look.
The defeated man on the ground simply nods, all the fight permanently gone from his body.
We leave him there, sauntering back to the SUV with matching grins.
We slash O’Sullivan’s tires and beat up his truck, careful not to smash the windows fully and risk someone hearing. Satisfied we have done enough to make it look like a robbery gone wrong, we strip out of our bloody clothes and boots, shoving them in a plastic bag in the trunk. Jase will dispose of them later.
My buddy insists we sit in our boxers on towels so we don’t leave any evidence on his leather seats, and then we hightail it out of there.
I make an anonymous call to the cops when we are far enough away, giving them O’Sullivan’s location, and then our work here is done.
