Had he been able to speak, there were no words to describe the depth of pain pulsating through Tazz’s body. It felt like every fucking bone was broken. He hung heavy on his arms, his legs useless, and struggled to breathe as foamy, bloody spit dribbled over his lips. It hurt too much to turn his head and look at Blade, and wondered if the man was dead. If not—he would be soon. And so will you.

The cowboy was hardly more than a bleary figure as he approached Blade, and Tazz only knew it was him by the blurred cowboy hat on his head. Blade must’ve still been alive because the cowboy spoke directly to him.

“Rumor has it you’re fond of weeny roasts,” the cowboy drawled, his words dripping with a southern brogue. Tazz’s cock quivered and shriveled at the mention of ‘weeny roasts’; he wasn’t so far gone that he wouldn’t experience the torture of such an event. The cowboy strolled around behind Blade. “I hear you were planning to roast us. How did Callum put it? You were going to shove sticks up our asses and burn us?”

Oh fuck…fuck. Tazz could hardly think amidst the mind-numbing pain erupting through his broken body, but such an imagery exploded through his head.

“Bragging how you raped the girl just makes a weeny roast sound all the more fun.”

Tazz shook his head, the movement resulting in a heavy lolling of his throbbing skull. He tried to open his eyes wider, but it didn’t help clear his vision. He flinched suddenly when the tip of the baseball bat dragged across his tense ass cheeks and the cowboy was standing right behind him.

“My Egyptian brother over there is real good at picking out weeny roasting sticks.” He stepped closer, shoving the fat tip of the bat between Tazz’s cheeks, grinding his hole. His shattered tail and hip bones screamed with the pressure. “Bet you’d like a real long, thick one, huh? Or maybe just a really hard one?”

Words refused to form as his throat worked and his head dropped back. Someone grabbed a handful of his hair from the front and pulled his head forward. Up close, he could make out Adrian’s face.

“If you had just let her and Jules go, you wouldn’t be here now.” The younger man’s voice strained with a concoction of anger and pain. “And maybe some part of me would still claim you as my brother.” His fist clenched, squeezing Tazz’s hair. “But you’re not my brother, you piece of shit. You’re nothing. These men here before you…they are my family now. They are Jules’ family.” Adrian leaned closer. “Stealing their precious Jules was a fatal mistake.” Tazz grunted as Adrian shoved his head away, releasing his hair. “Now, you’re fucked.”

 

♦

 

The Egyptian left the guest room and returned a few minutes later with a broom handle which he busted in half across his knee. He took out his knife and leaned against the wooden table and began shaving the jagged ends into smooth points.

Clint walked around and stood next to Adrian. “You sure you want to watch this?”

“They raped my sister and beat her to death,” Adrian said tonelessly, his emotions unaffected by the imminent torture about to befall their guests. “Jules’ little heart broke when he lost his mother.” He looked at Clint. “I meant what I said; this is my family now. Not that piece of shit.” His eyes shifted to the bloodied and beaten man hanging before them. “I feel nothing for him.”

Exchanging glances with Anthony and Angelo, Clint nodded. “Good enough.”

Angelo collected two metal gas cans from the corner of the room. “Open the vent,” he told Anthony as he placed the cans on the floor before the guests. Anthony walked over to where a large 55-gallon drum sat next to the brick wall. Above the drum was a closed vent with a lever at the side. Anthony cranked it open.

The metal cap of the first gas can spun loose from where Angelo squatted a couple feet in front of Blade. Adrian joined him and opened the second can.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a weeny roast,” Angelo said.

Blade whimpered in protest and was ignored.

“You’re going to have the boys with you for a couple weeks, right?” Anthony asked Clint when he rejoined them. “Noah and Noel?”

“Yeah.”

“We should have us an old-fashioned backyard barbeque out at your place,” Anthony said. “Invite Nolan and Rueben.” He smiled. “Jules keeps asking about Rueben, when can he come and play again.”

“Sounds good,” Clint murmured and asked Cochise, “What do you think?”

The Egyptian grunted and nodded without looking up from his task.

“I’ll take that as an affirmative,” Anthony chuckled low.

Cochise joined them a few moments later with the roasting sticks and handed one to Clint.

“Ready to fire things up?” Clint asked the other men.

Standing to his feet, Angelo nodded. “Ready.”

“Don’t…” Tazz’s bloodshot eyes bulged, his voice hardly audible as it cracked in his throat.

Blade’s chest heaved in panic. “No, please…fuck…”

“Do you know what I find detestable?” Angelo picked up the gas can and stepped toward Blade. “A merciless man who begs for mercy.” His face tightened and he doused the man’s crotch with gasoline.

“No!” The strangled cry wrenched out of Blade, his attempted struggles futile as his busted body hung heavy against his arms.

Anthony grabbed the other can and splashed Tazz. The man choked on his screams as the gasoline saturated his torn flesh, burning his open wounds.

Twisting the sharp stick in his fist, Clint walked around behind Tazz as Cochise circled Blade. The two victims jerked against the chains, their undivided attention now solely on the cowboy and Egyptian.

“Don’t—don’t…” Blade pleaded thickly.

Clint sighed. “I don’t believe you would have headed our pleas, were our roles reversed. Do you, my brother?”

Cochise huffed. “No fucking way.” He rammed the stick in and Blade screamed—screams that reduced to gagging wails as his body convulsed.

“Fuck…fuck…fuck!” Tazz cried—then screamed as he was skewered in a single thrust.

Plucking a lighter from his pocket, Angelo murmured, “Step back, boys.” Then lit up their guests.

Flames scurried up the men’s bodies like living creatures, licking and devouring their brutalized flesh. Screams echoed dully off the thick brick walls as Tazz and Blade flailed and convulsed.

The five gangsters stood back and watched them in silence until their wails died away, then walked out of the room, leaving their flaming carcasses swinging on the chains, charred bits of flesh drifting to the floor.

 

♦

 

The ringing phone pulled Axel from a restless sleep and he sat up on the sofa with a sudden jerk. He grabbed his cell off the coffee table, his heart racing. “Hello?” he answered with a groggy voice.

“Axel?” It was Cory.

Fear latched onto Axel’s heart with unexpected swiftness and force. “Cory…” he swallowed, sitting up straighter. “Is everything okay?” The slight hesitation at the other end of the line scared the shit out of him. “Cory?”

“Yeah.” Cory cleared his throat. “I mean, Jules is home, and Clint’s okay. And Cochise.” He went quiet and Axel felt he had more to say.

“Cory, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Cory mumbled. “Maybe nothing. It’s just…” Emotion strained his voice. “I’m kind of worried about the guys. I need you to do something for me. You, Kane, and the others.”

Axel trembled inside. “What?”

Another hesitation, then, “When the guys get home, they need to be reminded of who they are…what they have there at home…of their life apart from this.” Tears thickened his words. “You, and Kane and his family, you’re their anchors. You bring out the best in them, illuminate their human side.”

Feeling sick, Axel whispered, “What happened, Cory?”

Cory’s breath shuddered softly as he struggled with his tears. “I can’t go into it right now.”

Dampness stung Axel’s eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I will be,” Cory assured unsteadily. “Right now, I’m more concerned with Clint and Cochise. Just take care of them for us, okay?”

Axel slid his hand over his mouth and cleared his throat. “We will,” he said quietly. “Do you know when they’ll be heading home?”

“Soon,” Cory told him, but offered nothing else.

When the call ended, Axel sat still, staring at the phone. What ‘old wounds’ had been torn opened? Was Cory worried that Clint and Cochise would try to pull away again…even leave? Axel couldn’t imagine Clint doing that. They had gotten past that and Axel had “laid down the law” to Clint where leaving was concerned. The cowboy knew damn well that Axel wouldn’t stand back and let him walk away.

Don’t freak out. Cory didn’t say they wanted to leave. They just had a rough day and need some tender loving care. That’s all. Refresh their sense of family, how much they’re loved and needed by others.

“Yeah.” Axel released a slow breath and stood up. “Yeah. We can do that.” He called Donald as he walked into the kitchen and began preparing a fresh pot of coffee.

 

♦

 

The five men stood outside the exterior entrance to the basement. “We’ll clean up,” Clint told Anthony, Angelo, and Adrian. “You go on inside.”

“Maybe I should help with cleanup,” Adrian said. “This mess is because of me.”

Clint shook his head. “You did nothing to instigate this. Go inside with Jules.”

“What about Callum?” Cochise asked when the three men started to walk away. “Is he in or out?”

All eyes turned to Adrian. The younger man stared at them. “He made a big mistake that could have cost Jules his life,” he said. “But then he risked his own life to rectify that mistake and bring Jules home. In the bible, Jesus told the parable of the man with two sons who were instructed to go work in the field. The one said he would, but then didn’t do it. The other said he wouldn’t, but in the end, did the work. Jesus asked which one did the will of his father. And his disciples said, the latter.” He looked at the four men. “Callum is the latter. It isn’t how we begin that matters, but what we do in the end.”

Clint turned his eyes on Cochise. “Well said,” he murmured. The Egyptian stared at him as the three men left them and entered the house. “It’s what we do in the end,” Clint recapped and moved toward the basement entrance. “Let’s clean up this mess and go home.”