“They had enough.”
“Looks like we’re redoing it completely.” Ghost steps forward and grabs Elijah’s wrist. He holds it down while bending all four fingers back, breaking them. The sound of bones snapping fills the shed. Only then do Ghost’s shoulders relax.
Steel nods, and Ghost steps back.
“Anyone else?” Steel offers.
Havoc, Ghost, and Legacy take their turns cutting and peeling flesh. It’s a long afternoon of blood and waterboarding. I sit back with Soul, like we usually do in situations like this, letting the guys have their fun. We’ll get him last, and we’ll be the ones to reap his soul.
We watch as they toy with him, until he’s missing an eye, a few fingers, a foot. Until his face is a bloody mess, and he can barely breathe or stay conscious.
Only then does Steel step back, covered in blood. But there’s peace in his eyes for the first time in months. He needed this.
“You good?”
Steel nods, wiping his hands on his dirty pants. “Clean this up so we can prepare to bury our brothers tomorrow.”
I nod, stepping forward with Soul. As fun as it is to torture someone, that’s not what really gets me going. I want to see the life leave their eyes. I want to be the one to do it. Soul is like me in that way. We get sent on the missions that make most other brothers squirm. There isn’t much we can’t stomach. If that makes me a bad guy, so be it.
There is no heaven for me at the end of this.
It’s why I’ll worship these moments with Willa. She’s the only peace I’m going to get before I burn alongside the men I set at the feet of the devil.
Steel hands me my hunting knife, and I grab Elijah’s wrist, looking him in the eyes. I shove it down, severing his hand while he spits blood.
“You took something that’s ours,” I remind him as I steal back that pound of flesh.
We all pay that way eventually; I just make sure it happens.
Elijah is bleeding too much to last any longer, so we stop wasting time, and I circle behind him.
The rest of my brothers stand by the door with their arms crossed, watching, waiting for this to be done. Part of me wishes it would never end. Our brothers deserved better than to die on our land. Elijah should have to suffer longer.
“You got in over your head.” I pull Elijah’s hair back as Soul drags the hose over. “Let’s remind you just how much.”
Elijah’s one eye widens as much as it can when Soul holds the hose right at his mouth, angling it so it’s going to fill his throat and nose. There’s no escaping, even though he fights against my grip so hard that I pull out some of his hair.
I hold him steady, preparing him for his death.
We do this on special occasions. When someone pisses us off enough to deserve it. After all, it’s a bit ironic, drowning in the middle of the Vegas desert. It’s a painful way to go.
Legacy walks over to the spout and turns it, letting the water fill the hose. It gurgles, drowned out only by Elijah’s cries.
The first spurt of water hits Elijah’s mouth, and he starts begging. But it’s quickly drowned out when that small splash turns to a steady stream.
It fills his mouth and nose. But he can’t shake free. He can’t do anything but drink it down. Breathe it in.
I hope it burns.
He struggles in my hold as he chokes and drowns. I feel no guilt as I hold Elijah’s hair and force him to take the full force of the water. I feel no guilt. No mercy. I offer retribution for my brothers who died because of him and his men.
For the club.
For Willa.
I hope he suffers. I hope he burns in hell. Even if I know at some point, I’ll be burning right beside him.
20
