CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Badger held Adrienne as close to his body as he could, tucked into his kutte, her feet off the ground, his face snug in the crook of her shoulder. He breathed her in, feeling the gossamer floss of her hair caress his face. She had him in the same grip, with her slender arms fastened around his neck, her face tucked likewise into his shoulder.
He pursed his lips and kissed the sweet flesh of her throat. “I love you,” he murmured, letting her feel his words.
“I love you, too. You have to come home. You have to.”
He leaned back a little, so that he could see her face, her deep blue eyes rimmed with long, amber lashes, the light spray of freckles that kissed her skin. “I will. I promise. I’ll come home, and we’ll get married, and things will be better. They’ll be good. I promise.”
She nodded, her eyes going wet. When he set her feet back on the gravel lot, she grabbed the placket of his kutte in both hands and gave it a shake. “You just made me a promise. No take-backs.”
He laughed and kissed her nose. “No take-backs. I’m coming back.” She stepped into him again and laid her cheek on his chest.
Holding her to him again, Badger looked over her head at the scene around the clubhouse parking lot. The Horde had been forthcoming enough with family that they all knew the men were leaving today for big trouble. Isaac, Show, and Len were all wrapped around their women the way he was wrapped around his. He’d made Adrienne a promise, and he meant to keep it, but there was no guarantee he would. To come out of what they were about to do—even with the Feds in their corner somehow—would require a kind of luck the Horde hadn’t had in years, if ever.
They were leaving Double A, Dom, and the Prospects home to take care of the town, in case their plan blew back on their loved ones again. It made them fewer in the fight they were headed to, but they couldn’t leave their home vulnerable. There was only so much Lilli could do on her own. The old ladies were locking down with the kids again—and the puppies, too. Isaac and Show had said goodbye to their children already; they were in the clubhouse playing innocently with the pups, being watched over by club girls while the Horde said goodbye to their women.
Badger had given Adrienne the most rudimentary shooting lesson, not having time to do more. But she knew how to make a handgun fire—and how to make sure it didn’t, unless she wanted it to. It was the best he could do, and he hoped with everything he had that she wouldn’t need to try out her scant skill while he was away.
“Okay, brothers. We need to be on the road.” Isaac stood with his arm still tight around Lilli’s shoulder. He kissed her temple, whispered something into her ear, and then stepped away from her. That was the sign for them all. Badger gave Adrienne a last, long squeeze and then lifted her chin up and kissed her, taking from her soft lips and tongue as much of their love as he could. His hand slid around her neck and down her spine to lightly brush her fresh ink. His ink. A badger pawprint, high between her shoulder blades. Still new, it was tender, and she winced subtly at his touch.
“Sorry, babe. Can’t keep my hands off it.” He spoke with his lips still on hers.
She pulled away a little and smiled up at him. “It’s okay. I love that you love it. I love it, too.”
Show’s shadow moved over them, and Badger stepped back. “I’m ready.”
Show nodded, then turned to Adrienne and cupped her cheek in his hand. “Love you, little one. You be strong. I’ll keep him safe for you.” Like Isaac, Show still bore the marks of their battle in the ring.
She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Thank you. Keep you safe, too.”
Show hugged her and kissed the top of her head. Then, looking at Badger, he nodded toward the bikes, and they headed over together.
Cory and Nolan were outside with the families. As the men headed to their bikes, they followed Isaac’s lead, each stopping to hug Havoc’s old lady and eldest son.
As the Horde rolled out of the lot, away from their home, Badger looked back to see all the women standing in a line, holding hands. Nolan was not with them.
~oOo~
Today was not the day that they would face the Perros, so Badger was able to relax a little on the ride. He used the time to think through the club’s situation and its immediate future.
They were riding to Tulsa, to meet with the full Brazen Bulls club and to finalize some details of their plan. They were staying the night in the Bulls clubhouse. Tomorrow, they would rise early and ride to Amarillo, where they would meet up with the Scorpions LA—such as they were, with their whole club in disarray. All told, there would be twenty men facing down a Perros crew in Amarillo. They would likely outnumber that crew and win the first skirmish. But Amarillo was Perros turf outright. And they were not turning back after taking out the Perros at the pick. They were riding deeper in. Going for Santaveria himself.
David Vega had, so far, come through in every way he’d said he would. The Horde’s lawyer had gone through the paperwork and told Isaac and Len that it was a good deal, and that what Vega had told them—six to twelve years, at Marion, housed together—was what he’d delivered. He’d even added the bonus of an early January intake date, giving them the holidays with their family before they went in. Isaac had signed his deal as soon as the lawyer had cleared it. Len had signed his, too, over Isaac’s vehement protests. Seaver had not yet left office, though Vega still promised it would happen. Len wouldn’t wait, though; he did not want there to be any chance that Isaac would go in alone. Now, it was left to Vega’s sense of honor whether Seaver would be forced out.
Shortly after Isaac had signed his deal, Vega let him know that Santaveria would be in Amarillo. He’d convinced the Perro boss that, with the pipelines all in trouble, he needed to meet with his men and shore up morale. Vega had also told Isaac how many men they could expect between Santaveria and the Horde. Amarillo was a Perro Blanco hub, a nexus for several pipelines, where product brought up from Baja circled back into Perro hands for repackaging and distribution. They had a large plant, a repurposed factory, where workers who were essentially enslaved—probably delivered to the Perros in trucks with false walls—packaged drugs into decoys ranging from electronics to stuffed bears.
Over all that industry, inside and out, fifty men armed with high-caliber assault weapons kept watch.
Fifty. Against their twenty—assuming that everyone in the Horde, Bulls, and Scorps survived the first fight, and assuming that the Bulls and the Scorps stayed with them for the inward push.
Inside the factory, the Horde would find Santaveria and his four personal guards. If they could get that far. Luckily, one of those guards would be Vega himself. If they could dispatch that last line of defense between Santaveria and the Horde, then he would be at their mercy. Badger had no idea what Isaac had planned. But he wanted it to be slow, painful, and bloody.
Badger knew it was still basically a suicide mission they were on. So much had to go just right for them to have any chance at success, and nothing yet had gone right for them where the cartel was concerned. But it didn’t matter. If they didn’t get free of Santaveria’s claws, then they might as well be dead. And their women and children would never be safe.
Their children. Since a few nights ago, when Adrienne had not let him go and he’d come inside her, the thought that they might be making a child together danced always at the edges of his consciousness. Sometimes it took the spotlight. When he watched her with Millie and Joey, for instance. He’d seen it before, that innate mothering she seemed to have, the obvious bond she had with the twins. It was seriously hot. The thought the he—he—could be a father rang his bell.
He had to get home. He had to. The Horde was due for some luck. They had paid, were paying, for their mistakes and transgressions. They were not the bad guys. They had to win this time.
They had to.
~oOo~
The Brazen Bulls’ clubhouse was a lot different from the Horde’s—the Horde had a huge space that had once been the home of Signal Bend Construction. The Bulls had a red brick building that seemed like it had once held four small apartments and had been converted into a single, two story facility. They were located in a rough area near downtown Tulsa, with a vacant lot that they’d turned into parking lot and patio on one side, and the garage and gas station they owned on the other. Unused to the city, Badger found that his nerves jangled at the steady noise and traffic.
As soon as they arrived at the clubhouse, they all went into the Bulls chapel and met. Isaac and Show were offered seats at the table, near Becker and Eight Ball; the rest of the Horde, and the two displaced Bulls, stood on the periphery.
Spread on the table before the club leaders was a paper map of Amarillo and its surrounding area. Becker had marked the pickup point, where they collected the repackaged weed from the Perros and started their run from Texas to Missouri. It was clear to all in the room that Isaac, Becker, Show, and Eight Ball had been through this plan several times. As they explained it to the rest of the men, they fell into the easy rhythm of rote memory.
Becker spoke as his finger traced over the map. “There are blind areas to the south and west, where Horde and Scorps can come up on them unawares. You’ll have to stay low and keep quiet until the deal is going down, and then move your asses. From the south, here, you’ll be coming up almost behind them.
“There are always eight men,” Eight Ball cut in, his voice like tumbling rocks. “Four always keep back, in a row, guns on us. If you can move quiet, you can cut them down before they know they’re on their way to Hell.”
Isaac nodded. “The Horde will take the south. The Scorps will be good, but they’ll be coming in colder than the rest of us. They’ll run backup on this first fight. They can hang back a step from the west.”
“You’re sure we got that backup?” Becker asked, his eyes keen. “You trustin’ a Scorpions charter with the lives of all of us—after everything that’s gone down with them, everything they put on you?”
Isaac returned Becker’s look with calm heat. “I am. Bart is the Scorps’ point man on this run. I trust him like I trust any Horde in this room. They have our backs.”
“I don’t like it,” Eight Ball grumbled.
“Yeah, I know, Eight. But we had that fight. We had that vote.” Becker turned back to Isaac. “We’re in. We’re trusting you with all we got, but Santaveria’s up our ass, too, and we’ve lost a lot to his psycho bullshit. Fuck. He put a goddamn hit on our whole club. We need clear.”
“We’re pushing in past the pickup. That’s our fight. We could use the backup, but we won’t take it sour if you pull back at the pickup.” As he finished, Show met eyes with Isaac, who tipped his head once and turned back to Becker.
“Well, brothers, I gotta say I take some offense to that. The Brazen Bulls are not runt lambs to run back to mama’s teat. I know you got a special stake in Santaveria himself, but the Perros go down, or we fight to the last man tryin’ to make it happen. The fight at the pickup is just the shot across their bow. We’re in for the whole fuckin’ war.”
Becker gestured to Gil, a Bull soldier sitting at the far end of the table. Gil rose and made his way to the back of the chapel, then came back with a large, evidently heavy box. He set it on the table with a thud.
“Tell us more about your friend Vega.” Becker spoke with his eyes on the box, then turned to Isaac.
“He’s no threat to you. His interest is in taking down the Perros. Anybody who plays a part in that is clear of the Feds.”
“Except you.”
“That’s something else. Our shit.”
“I see it. It’s how you think you can get to Santaveria.”
Isaac nodded.
“Well, I got the sense that we didn’t have much to worry about from your new friend—”
“He’s not a friend.”
Becker cocked his head. “Yes. Apologies.” He cleared his throat. “This came. Law enforcement grade.”
At Becker’s sign, Gil opened the folded flaps on the box and pulled out a Kevlar vest. And another. Becker continued, “There are twenty.”
Isaac laughed, and Becker raised his eyebrows.
“It’s nothing. The last time we had a big fight and some help in law, we got a gift just like that. I’ve been seeing things turning full circle lately.”
Show’s voice was lower than usual when he said, “We won that fight. I think that was the last time we won.”
Eight Ball sat forward and asked, “You think it’s a sign?”
Show shook his head. “Don’t believe in signs. But I’m glad to have the vests.”
“I do believe. I think it’s a sign.” Eight Ball reached out and brushed a reverent hand over the vest Gil had laid on the table.
~oOo~
They were getting an early start in the morning, and they faced the fight of their lives against a bigger, stronger enemy. The Bulls also ran guns and had stockpiled a solid arsenal for this fight, calling in favors from suppliers and clients alike, so they would be well armed once guns started to blaze. But all the men knew they needed every ounce of strength, focus, wits, and energy they possessed to have a chance at victory.
They knew that for a certainty.
They also knew, however, that there was a very strong chance that they would not survive the next day. And they were not, as a rule, temperate men.
So the party that night was a riotous affair, with naked girls, loud music, and bottomless kegs, bottles, and bags. Zeke and Tommy were both neck deep in girls. But they were the only unattached Horde on this run, and none of the attached men took any notice of the ‘run rule.’ Isaac, Show, Len, and Badger sat in a row at the bar and drank.
Isaac was struggling with pain; as the night aged, that became more evident, and before midnight, he finished his tequila and pushed his glass away. “I’m gonna call Lilli and turn in.” He clapped his hand on Show’s shoulder. “See you in a few hours, brothers.” Then he limped down the hall toward the stairs that would take him up to the sleeping quarters.
They all watched him leave, then Show turned back to Len and Badger. As one, they nodded, finished their drinks, and followed their President up to bed.
The Bulls’ dorm rooms were narrow and utilitarian, barely enough room for a double bed and a chest, and no private bathroom. The Horde’s dorm rooms had twice the space at least, and each had a small bathroom with a toilet, sink, and shower. Badger had never thought of the room he’d lived in for years as ‘nice’ until now. But all he needed was a place to crash. Which he did. Before he slept, though, he called Adrienne. She answered on the first ring, but he could tell from the tone of her voice that she was lying down. He could visualize her in the very room he’d just been thinking fondly about, under the covers, in one of his t-shirts. His cock filled out and lifted the sheet.
“Are you okay?”
He laughed. “Yeah. No danger today. Just a ride. Didn’t want you to go to sleep without me telling you I love you one more time.”
“I love you. I love you so much.” There were tears in her words, and he didn’t want her sad.
“How was your day?”
“Okay. Boring, really. We just sat around, made food, ate food, talked, watched the kids. Tried to stay busy. We put a movie in and everybody watched that.”
“What movie?”
“We started to watch Harry Potter, but Gia thought it was boring, and you know how she gets, so pretty soon Bo thought it was boring, too, and they were both being drama queens. We ended up watching The Matrix.”
“With Gia and Bo?”
She laughed—he liked that sound much better than the tears. “They loved it. I know they couldn’t have understood it, but they were transfixed. The scene when Neo and Trinity go through the metal detectors to rescue Morpheus? Gia was literally jumping up and down and clapping her hands. That little girl is something else. She looks like a china doll, but she’s all tiger underneath.”
“Like her mom.”
Again, she laughed. “Yeah. Exactly.” She yawned. He was glad to hear it—a normal sound. Peaceful.
“You sound tired, babe. Get some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow night.” With everything he had, he hoped he hadn’t just told her a lie.
“Okay. You, too. Rest. I love you, Badge. Come home to me.”
~oOo~
They made the three hundred and fifty miles or so to Amarillo in just about four hours. Traffic was light, law was absent, and they booked. But when Isaac dismounted at their meet-up with the Scorps, it took him three tries to get his leg over the seat. Badger caught Len’s eye; they said all they needed to in that look. Riding hard two days in a row was difficult but possible for Isaac when the end of that second day was home. This time, it was the beginning of the fight of their lives.
None of them was surprised by this. They’d had it all out in the Keep. Isaac would have to find deeper reserves of strength and endurance to get through this day. But no one had expected him to stay home. He was their President. They were fighting their worst enemy. Isaac was the vanguard. No question. But they would need to be right at his side.
Isaac stood still at his bike for a few minutes, but by the time the men were gathering up, and Bart was walking toward them with his men, he had buried all signs of pain or weakness. He met Bart in the center of the cluster of men, and they hugged long and hard, a weighty, almost violent embrace. Then Bart clasped the rest of the Horde likewise. When he backed away from Badger, he gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Damn, kid. You filled the fuck out!”
Badger shrugged. He’d never be the behemoth of muscle that Isaac and Show were—or even Len or Bart or Tommy. He was built lean. But he worked hard, and through pain, to build all the mass that he could. He smiled a little, thinking of Adrienne’s fascination with the muscles that ran at an angle from his hips to his cock. She’d often lie on him, just tracing the line of one of those ridges over and over until he couldn’t take it anymore and rolled on top of her.
Bart gave him an odd look, and Badger realized that he’d been daydreaming. He grinned and shrugged again.
Bart introduced the men he’d brought with him: Connor, Lakota, Sherlock, Demon, Diaz, and Jesse. They already knew P.B. “We are at your service, Isaac. Boss. Tell us what you need. We are in for it all.” He stepped closer, limiting his next words to the audience of the Horde. “And I’d like to join you when you face Santaveria. I know I don’t have a claim, because I’m not Horde…now. But Hav…I’d like to be in on that.”
Isaac glanced at the Horde. Badger knew none of them had any qualms about Bart joining them, and not just because they could use another gun. Isaac dropped his hand on Bart’s shoulder. “Of course, Bartholomew. Wouldn’t want it any other way.”
Bart blinked a few times and nodded. “Thank you. When we’re done—when we come through this, I need to talk.” He gestured at the Scorpions behind him. “We all need to talk to the Horde.”
Isaac raised an eyebrow. “Trouble?”
“Not at all. But it’s not for now. Now we kick some cartel ass.”
Eight Scorpions. Six Bulls. Six Horde. Twenty men. Against a drug cartel.
Well, Badger thought, at least it’ll be epic.
~oOo~
The fight at the pickup went exactly as planned. The Perros were, as Vega had promised, unaware of any trouble, and though they had hair triggers all of them, it was quickly apparent that routine had dulled their edges. Isaac, Len, Show, and Badger were able to sneak up behind the second line of men and kill them. Zeke and Tommy were at the ready behind them, but were unnecessary. Badger sliced open his guy’s throat—his first premeditated human kill, and he didn’t even blink. Adrenaline was making his heart sing and soar, but it wasn’t that keeping qualms at bay.
He didn’t really think a Perro counted as a human kill.
Len shoved his vicious hunting blade vertically through his target’s chin and twisted. Isaac and Show both simply snapped necks with their huge, bare hands. Before the remaining four Perros, who’d been engaged in the business of the exchange, knew what was going on, the Bulls were on them, and then all the Perros on site were dead.
Not a single gun had been fired.
Isaac looked around. “Fuck. That was…that was easy.” For full, tense minutes, everyone held, guns at the ready, waiting to be ambushed.
But it didn’t come. Len put his fingers in his mouth and whistled, and the Scorpions came from the west.
“Okay, brothers,” Isaac swung to his back the AK he’d had ready. “Next part won’t be so easy. We ride south.
Becker nodded. “’Bout fifteen miles.”
~oOo~
The factory or plant or whatever it was sat in a low valley in a miles-wide expanse of beige dirt. The building itself was also beige and nearly windowless except for the front and for twenty feet back—where the offices had been when this had been some kind of legitimate business.
There were men patrolling around the whole perimeter, but there was no fencing—probably it would have drawn too much attention to enclose a non-descript factory in concertina wire. The few vehicles were parked at some distance from the building, making them useless as cover.
The Horde, Bulls, and Scorpions had come up from a two-mile walk and were at cover behind a dusty rise, about fifty yards from the front door.
Lying on his belly between Isaac and Badger, Becker leaned toward Isaac. His voice just loud enough to carry to the ears that needed to hear, he said, “Okay, last call. We’re trying to take as many men out as we can. There’s no way to that building under cover. Gil is going to ride straight up to the door—our van’s got some armor—then him, Terry, D.C., and Fitz will jump out shooting. Only cover will be that fucking van and the building itself, so we have to hightail it, firing as we go. We are trying to take every motherfucker down and get the Horde into the building.”
Isaac added, “Don’t think about how many men are down there. Think about the man in your sights. Every one you take down hard is one you don’t have to fight again. Shoot to kill.”
Becker pulled his phone and dialed. “On my mark, Gil.” He paused; Badger tasted the adrenaline in his mouth—like burning rubber. “Mark.” He put his phone away. “When they turn in, we go.”
The Bulls’ grey van pulled down the empty road. A couple of guards noticed and watched but did not raise their weapons. Then Gil gunned it and turned hard, running both guards right over before they could do more than aim.
“NOW!” Isaac yelled, and everybody ran, over the rise and down toward likely doom.
Badger went away somehow—totally alert, totally alive, in sync with the plan, his senses firing faster than they ever had before, but also like he wasn’t there. Like he was watching this all play out from somewhere else. Not from above, not like he was hovering over the scene like some kind of angel or ghost, but like he was in another place entirely, watching a movie.
The air was so dense with gunfire that Badger was nearly deaf, and he now understood the phrase ‘hail of bullets’ vividly, because bullets were landing everywhere, making round puffs and divots in the dust. He aimed and fired, aimed and fired, aimed and fired, with a clinical interest in everything that was happening. A tally ran in the back of his head. Five kills. Six.
When he was punched so hard in the back he lost all breath and slammed to the ground, he was merely interested. But from a foggy distance he heard Show shouting, “Badge! Badge! Fuck!” And then Show was dragging him to the side of the building and standing over him, firing.
He looked down. “You okay, little brother?”
Badger tried to talk and had no breath. He inhaled—and that hurt. The pain brought him back. “What happened?”
Show fired again. “You got hit. Can you get up yet? Shoot?”
Badger lifted his gun and discovered that his arms worked. Thank God for Kevlar. Burned like fire to breathe, but he was not unused to working through pain. “Yeah. I’m good.”
“Good. We need you up. Time to take the building.”
~oOo~
They got an unexpected and powerful boon in the form of an uprising from the people who were working, under duress, in the plant. Those workers took down nearly half the men inside, and then Zeke and Tommy covered them as they led them outside. When the building seemed to be clear, the Horde, together again, took a precious beat for a status check. Isaac called Bart—no Scorpions deaths. Diaz was down but not mortally. Isaac told Bart to join them and then called Becker.
There was no answer.
Isaac was about to hang up and then brought the phone quickly back to his ear. “Beck?...Eight B—oh fuck. Fuck me. Who else?...Okay. Okay. Yeah. Hold the perimeter. Yeah.”
He closed his phone. “Becker’s dead. Terry and D.C., too.”
There was a moment of shocked quiet, and then Bart came in through the front doors, the glass of which had been shot out.
He scanned the Horde’s faces. “Fuck. Who’d we lose?”
Show answered. “Becker, Terry, D.C.”
“Damn.”
Isaac shook it off them all. “Let’s make it count. We got three more goons and Vega between us and justice. Vega walks from this. We need him to walk from this.”
“You said he was the one who emptied Hav.” Bart’s tone was acidic.
“He walks from this. He gave us this. He gave us Santaveria.”
“For you and Len doing hard time.”
“Bart, you fuck with this and you don’t walk away. We were there. We make the call. And it’s made.”
Bart stared Isaac down in a way Badger had never seen him do before, but then he nodded and took one step back.
~oOo~
Now they were the ones doing the outnumbering, and the three remaining guards—all three as tall as Show and probably twice as heavy—went down fast and hard. And then they were standing in front of a steel door hidden behind a regular set of double doors. A panic room. Isaac lifted the landline phone from the desk and keyed in a number. A few seconds later, there was a metallic clunk, and Isaac walked to the steel door and swung it open.
Inside was a man Badger assumed must be Julio Santaveria, gagged and tied to a chair. From the fierce expressions of his brothers, there was no doubt. David Vega leaned against the wall near the door, a handgun held loosely at his side.
“I believe you had an appointment with Señor Santaveria.”
Isaac nodded. “I did.”
Vega stepped out of the panic room and into the office. Len stepped forward, training his AK on Santaveria.
Nodding toward a rolling, wood-grain cabinet, Vega told Isaac, “I think you’ll find a good selection of tools for whatever you have planned next. I can guarantee you six hours without any attention from law enforcement. I need to be able to identify what’s left.”
Isaac nodded, but he didn’t thank the agent.
Vega continued. “Leon Seaver announced his resignation this afternoon. He will be out of office on the first of November. He will not seek another public sector job of any kind. He will not be a problem for you again. I won’t give you details.”
“I don’t want details. Just want him gone.”
“Done, then.”
Isaac nodded. Vega paused, waiting for something more, but Badger knew if he was waiting for gratitude, he wouldn’t get more than he already had. He was breathing. Thanks enough.
He took two steps toward the door and stopped. “Maybe this won’t help, but I’ll tell you anyway. My cover’s blown, and I’m called back to Washington. I leave behind a woman and three children. I’ll never see them again. That’s the price I pay for the things I did for my job.”
All the Horde, and Bart, looked at Vega now, but he returned only Isaac’s gaze. Then Isaac nodded and turned away. And Vega left.
Isaac walked into the panic room and removed Santaveria’s gag. He began to speak at once. “I’m sure we can come to an arrangement, Isaac. My power and resources are vast, and this is only a small—”
Isaac punched him, and his nose crunched and flattened. “Badge, bring me a chair, would ya? My back is fucked all to shit today.”
Badger brought him a leather-upholstered side chair, and Isaac sat with a groan. “Damn, I’m gettin’ old and broken down.”
Through his shattered face, Santaveria tried again, “Isaac. We are men of—”
Isaac punched him again. “Now that I’m sitting, I can go all night. Shut up, asshole. You aren’t a man at all. Don’t speak again unless I ask you a fucking question. I’ve been thinking about how this meet would go. How we should take what you owe. I had some really good ideas.”
He looked around the room. It was whitewashed concrete, with a sofa, a low table in front of it, stores of food and water, and a locked gun cabinet. Isaac looked back at Len. “You see a way we can string him up? Arms out?”
Len examined the room, his gun still trained on Santaveria. He reached out and tested a shelf near him. “Yeah. If we have chains long enough, I can rig them from there to there.” He pointed from one back corner to the other, where the shelving supports could provide grounding for the chains.
“Show, check that cabinet, see what Vega left us.”
Show did.
“Yeah. Chains. Bungees. Cuffs. Smelling salts. A full kit of knives and another of woodworking gouges. Bolt cutters. Pliers. Scalpels. Hammer. Hatchet. A blowtorch.” There was a pause. “And a bullwhip.”
Santaveria’s eyes were bugged out behind the blooming, bloody mass of his nose, but he kept his mouth shut.
“Nice.” Isaac practically purred. “Excellent. So, Julio. I was thinking. We Horde, we’re Northmen. We come from Viking stock. You probably knew that. Did you?”
Santaveria nodded.
“Vikings were visceral people. Physical. Quicker to fight than to talk. Rather fuck than woo. You know?”
Again, Santaveria nodded. Badger thought he seemed very small. Unequal to Isaac in every way.
“The Vikings had a kind of execution ritual. The Blood Eagle. Ever heard of it?”
Santaveria shook his head slowly.
“It’s a thing of beauty, really. The condemned is strung up with his arms out, and his back is opened—one cut, to the bone, up the spine.”
Santaveria began to pant.
Isaac leaned forward. “Then the ribs are hacked away from the spine and pulled out through the back, splaying them wide.”
Santaveria swallowed loudly and made some kind of attempt to calm himself. He failed.
“And then, the lungs are pulled out and laid over the shoulders. The condemned lives through all that and dies when his breath and blood give out.” Isaac spread his long arms wide. “The body looks like a bloody eagle.”
“Por favor. Please,” Santaveria whispered. The room stank with the smell of his sweat.
“It’s said that if the condemned withstood all that and died without crying out, he would retain his place in Valhalla. The Valkyrie would sweep him up to a warrior’s reward.”
Isaac leaned back and stretched awkwardly. Badger could tell, and he could see in his brothers’ eyes that they, too, could tell, that Isaac was really struggling with his own pain, but he was focused. “And that’s where I hang up. I thought that would be a good, painful death for you. A death that honored our Viking heritage. But you know what? That’s an execution of respect. For an equal. That’s a warrior’s death. And you, Julio, are No. Fucking. Warrior. You wave your flaccid hand and have other people fight your battles for you. You are a vile piece of excrement who thinks he’s strong because he doesn’t care about anything. That doesn’t make you strong, Julio. That just makes you an asshole. So no Blood Eagle for you. You are unworthy of that death.”
Santaveria sighed. “Gracias a Dios!”
Isaac laughed and stood. “Show, Len—strip him bare and string him up—face to the wall. Badge, bring that cart in. Bart—keep a gun on him.”
Isaac’s brothers did as he instructed. When Santaveria was naked and chained to the wall, his arms outstretched and slightly raised, his head turned sharply to the side, his feet barely touching the floor, his bladder went. Badger enjoyed watching the skinny little worm he’d seen between Santaveria’s legs ooze dark piss down the wall.
Again, Isaac laughed. “Something tells me you wouldn’t have made it to Valhalla anyway, Julio. Your piss is rank, by the way. I’d suggest you get that checked out, but we’re gonna cure you right up right here.”
He opened the rolling cart. “This isn’t an execution. This is a debt collection. That’s our way, too. So here’s how the rest of today is gonna play out for you, Julio. The men in this room—the ones that can be here—you owe them. And they are going to take what you owe.”
He turned, “Show, you want to start?”
Show stared. “This was the plan?”
“Not until you told me what Vega left us. He understands our way. This is right. This is justice.” He looked at Bart. “You can stand in for Hav. You want that?”
“Yes. I do.”
“I want the kill.”
Bart nodded. Badger didn’t think anyone would have disputed that Isaac should have the kill.
Show took off his bulletproof vest and picked up the bullwhip. The Horde backed out of the room and gave him the space he needed. He unwound the whip and cocked his arm. It cracked viciously against Santaveria’s back, and the king of the Perro Blanco drug cartel yelped.
By the time Show was finished, Santaveria had stopped screaming, the sound coming from his mouth a pathetic mewl instead. His back and legs were bloody, raw meat. And Show was dripping sweat.
Santaveria was fading into unconsciousness. Without being asked, Bart brought Isaac an ampule of smelling salts, and Isaac snapped it and waved it under Santaveria’s nose until he was fully alert.
“Len. Your turn.” Show and Badger turned Santaveria around and chained him again. When his back hit the wall, he howled. Len chose a thick gouge. As he came on, Santaveria’s scream became an undulating siren that hit an earsplitting pitch when Len got to work. When he turned away, his hands and face were bloody. He tossed the eyeball to the ground and stepped on it as if it were a cockroach.
“Badge.”
Badger didn’t move. He could not believe the horror of this day, this year. He was sick and exhausted. He harbored hatred for Julio Santaveria in his every atom, but this…this freakshow that made him relive his nightmares—made him perpetrate them—he couldn’t make it right in his head. He couldn’t. He understood the debt. He understood that this was the Horde way. He did not judge his brothers. He understood. This was their justice.
But it was not his.
“Badge?” Isaac’s voice was gentle.
“No.”
Isaac came over to him. “Brother?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t. It feels—I can’t. I’m sorry, Isaac. I don’t mean to let you down.”
Isaac looked down at him for a terrifying moment. Badger could not read his eyes. Then his President pulled him into an embrace. “Don’t be sorry for following what you know in your heart is right. There’s never shame in that. You can take ten, little brother.”
“No. I want to stay. I just…can’t do that. Not even to him.” He rubbed his chest. Even through the Kevlar vest he was still wearing, it seemed he could feel the ragged flesh of his scars.
Isaac nodded. “Bart?”
“Yeah. I can.” He walked to the cart and took a large pair of bolt cutters. When Santaveria’s fingers and thumbs were scattered on the floor at their feet, Bart went for the blowtorch.
By the time Isaac walked up to the thing that Julio Santaveria had become, the Horde’s great enemy had lost the ability to make any sound other than a hoarse, halfhearted keen. But, with the help of the ampules Vega had left them, he was conscious. With a silent plea in his one remaining eye, he watched Isaac approach.
Using the long blade he’d worn tied to his thigh, Isaac sliced Santaveria from hip to hip. He did not reach in for his intestines, but they fell out anyway. As the man who had made the orders to perpetrate unspeakable horrors on the Horde and untold others faded from this life, Isaac leaned in and growled, “Paid in full.”