“Thanks,” Maestro whispered. He opened the door cautiously. “The one to our left? In the sitting room?”
Steele nodded. He didn’t like any of the members of the Swords, but as far as he knew, they’d come to help protect a brother, which he understood. They weren’t there to hit his son or kill him. If he knew any differently, with a certainty, he would kill the bastards slowly. Instead, when Maestro pulled open the door, Steele stepped in and shot the Swords member three times, all kill shots.
Downstairs, another high-pitched scream told Steele that Savage had found another shooter and was taking care of him. The wail was cut off abruptly and then started again, a jagged piercing cry of agony.
“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.” Junk’s voice was raised. Shouting. Trembling. Fearful.
“Distraction,” Maestro said into his radio as they crept down the hall and positioned themselves on either side of the bathroom door.
At once a barrage of bullets tore through the window of the bathroom. Maestro and Steele counted. Five seconds later, Maestro tore open the door and Steele stepped into the bathroom and shot the Swords member three times, just as he had the one in the sitting room.
Steele reloaded as he made his way down the staircase to the main floor. He knew Junk and Bridges were at the back of the house, pinned down by heavy fire coming from Torpedo Ink members outside. Savage was in the house, killing the others who had been with the two men, and making certain neither Junk nor Bridges moved from that spot. They were all waiting for Steele.
Steele walked right up to the door of the kitchen and peered in. Bridges faced outward toward the pool. Most of the glass had been shattered, or shot out, but one big slab hung like a death trap, waiting for an unwary visitor. It swung macabrely, as if it were a living thing. Bridges occasionally lifted his gaze to it. When he did, he shuffled back involuntarily and then looked back over his shoulder to see if his son had witnessed his display of nerves.
Junk faced the open kitchen door. The door hung on two of the three hinges and looked as if someone had repeatedly kicked it in a fit of rage. Junk was hunkered down behind a table, gun in his hand, trembling so bad the gun shook. The more the man Savage had taken screamed, the more Junk closed his eyes, wincing.
Steele stepped right into the room and calmly shot Junk in the shoulder and, as Bridges was turning, did the same to him. Junk dropped his gun. Bridges somehow held on to his weapon. Bullets hit all around the man from behind as Torpedo Ink opened fire.
Bridges cried out, a hoarse shout of protest, and lifted his arms to cover his face. He still maintained possession of his gun, but it was in his hand, almost forgotten. Steele smashed the barrel of his gun against Junk’s head as he swept past. Maestro picked up Junk’s gun. Steele kept moving straight to Bridges, disregarding the barrage of bullets.
“Cease fire, cease fire,” Maestro instructed.
Steele brutally kicked the gun out of Bridges’s hand. “You think you can hit my woman and get away with it, you piece of shit?”
He had marked every bruise on Breezy’s body and he proceeded to use his steel-toed boots and his enormous strength to map every bruise right back on Bridges’s body. He did it fast and hard, giving the big man little time to react. He was careful to make it as painful as possible without letting him off the hook by killing him too soon.
“You took my son, Bridges. That was really stupid. You knew I’d come after you. You had to know that. You just stay right there while I have a talk with junior. Your father is dead. Boone wasn’t all that good of a man, so I doubt many will mourn. Certainly not his family. You won’t have time.”
He caught Junk by his hair and yanked him to his knees. Junk screamed as the movement wrenched his shoulder. “I didn’t do anything to Breezy,” Junk denied. “I didn’t do anything.”
Steele stared down into his eyes. It was the monster staring at Junk, not Steele, and he was grateful for that monster. “No, you didn’t do a thing to Breezy, not to help her. You stood a few feet away while your father hit and kicked the shit out of her. You watched, didn’t you?”
Junk didn’t answer, and Steele drove the toe of his boot into Junk’s bloody shoulder. Junk went sailing sideways, screaming to rival whatever was going on in the other room. Steele waited until Junk’s voice was dying down and the man was attempting to crawl toward the door before he caught him by the hair and lifted him back to his knees.
“I asked you a question, Junk.” As always, Steele’s voice was low. Mild. In complete contrast to the steady, wicked blows he’d visited on Bridges and the kick to Junk’s shoulder. “You watched your father beat your sister up, didn’t you?”
Junk nodded. “Yes. Yes, I watched,” he said, desperation in the pitch of his voice.
“What were you doing while your father punched and kicked your sister?”
Junk’s eyes widened in terror. He began shaking his head wildly. “I kept the boy safe. I held the boy.”
“How were you holding my son, Junk? Like this?”
Steele released the vicious grip he had on Junk’s hair and walked behind him. Junk fell forward to his hands and knees. Again, he let out an agonized scream as his hand touched the floor, jarring his shoulder. Steele caught him from behind, wrapping his hand around his nose and mouth, his arm around his neck, cutting off all air.
“Is this what you did to my son, Junk?” Steele asked in the same mild tone. “Bridges? You recognize this hold? You teach him this is what you do to your own flesh and blood?”
He ignored Junk’s wild thrashing, keeping his eyes on Bridges. His hands never wavered. He had completely cut off Junk’s air supply. His enormous strength allowed him to hold the man there while he stared at Bridges.
Bridges shook his head and tried to get up. He was too broken and fell back down, but he didn’t look away. “Let him go,” he ordered hoarsely.
“It’s not going to happen, Bridges,” Steele said. “I don’t feel in the least bit sympathetic. Not at all. The two of you hurt Breezy. Not just physically, but with the things you did to her. You would have sold my boy or killed him. Same with her. This piece of shit doesn’t deserve to live, and neither do you. The problem you have isn’t how you’re going to die, it’s when you’re going to die. Because both of you are going to die right here, today.”
His tone suggested a conversation, nothing more, nothing controversial. He was merely explaining facts to Bridges. He waited until Junk quit fighting and went limp before he released him. Junk fell forward onto his face, gasping, wheezing and choking. Steele walked around him and then kicked him hard in the ribs. Junk shrieked.
“It isn’t over for you, Junk,” Steele said. “You made her suffer. Both of you. I’m not okay with that.” He looked at Bridges. “Did you think I would be? Did you really think I wouldn’t come after you?”
Bridges tried to spit. Blood and spittle trickled down his chin. “Thought I could get her to kill you.”
“You were wrong. Breezy’s got more loyalty in her than the entire Swords chapter you belonged to. You chose your son because he was male. He’s weak.”
Very casually, Steele walked right up to Bridges and started on him a second time, beating him, this time attacking his internal organs. He was thorough and systematic.
“You’re going to get tired a hell of a long time before I am,” Steele said.
A few minutes later, he left Bridges sobbing on the floor and started back over to Junk. Savage appeared in the frame of the broken door. “Thought I’d join the main event. The house is cleared. All cameras are removed, inside and out of the house.”
Savage walked right up to Bridges, who was moaning and writhing on the floor. “Nice to see you again, Bridges,” Savage said.
He crouched down beside him, caught him by his hair and turned his head to face him. “Steele was nice enough to allow me to join the party. He doesn’t mind beating the
shit out of you, but he can take it or leave it. Me? I love that fucking shit. I love to hurt bullshit men like you. Pussies. Crybabies. You kidnap little kids and sell them to perverts and you rape and beat young girls. I take that into consideration when I’m planning the proper retaliation. I like to see you suffer. It gets me off, you know. I’m already high as a kite from hackin’ Obe in the other room to pieces.” He took out his knife and slowly, one by one, flicked the buttons off the shirt Bridges was wearing. “Hold still. This blade is sharp. Wouldn’t want to cut you too soon.”
Bridges shook his head in horror. Steele had always been the steady one. Savage was unpredictable. And he liked to hurt people. Everyone knew that. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was high from it. He got off on that shit. Steele was bad enough, with his dead eyes and ice-cold rage. Savage was a demon from hell.
Bridges’s entire body shuddered. “Just kill me, you bastard. Get it over with.”