CHAPTER 5

Brock

Isobel Marcello.

The crazy turn of events over the last few hours still had my mind in a daze. How could one of the most notorious women in the state make my dick hard as a rock when she was as much of a bitch as I expected her to be, especially when I knew she wouldn’t live long after I got home? Under other circumstances, Malcolm would let her go. But Isobel had committed enough of her own atrocities that he’d see her just as guilty as her husband.

Pounding sounded from the back of the car. Marcello must have woken up. Too bad for him. I cranked the volume on the radio, not in the mood to listen to him all the way there. I had enough on my mind at the moment.

The sky was dark as I drove. Lights from the buildings still brightened the night. I’d only passed a few cars on the road when I turned into the parking lot at the club, which was packed. Parking in the garage behind the building, I noticed a handful of cars still in the lot. Two of them belonged to the Hawes family. I climbed from the vehicle, heading for the door. Still too many people in the club. I decided to grab a drink or two while I waited for the patrons and employees to clear out.

Noise surrounded me the moment I pulled the door open. Even in the dimly lit room, I could see a few couples on the dance floor. One looked like they were closer to fucking than dancing, but hell, to each their own.

I moved directly to the stairs leading up to the VIP section where I had no doubt I’d find Miller and Malcolm waiting for their chance at Marcello. Miller had the storage room in the basement designed specifically for these situations. To the innocent eye, the room looked like any other storage area; extra tables and chairs. A couple filing cabinets sat in the corner. Liquor sat on the shelves, next to the cork screws and knives for the bar. What they didn’t see was the soundproofing he’d installed in the walls and ceiling or the way the lack of ceiling tiles made it easy to anchor someone from the rails. The whole setup was ingenious.

At the top of the landing, the lights in Miller’s office were on. I walked up and knocked. When the door opened, Malcolm, Miller, Dean, and Charlie were seated around a table with a bottle of scotch and five glasses. Malcolm nodded to the seat across from him. I sat down, and he picked up the bottle, popping the top and filling the glasses. Malcolm lifted his glass, signaling the rest of us to do the same.

“To peace.” He tilted his glass back and drained it.

The words were simple, but his meaning very clear. The family would no longer have to keep looking over their shoulders for Marcello or his men. They’d be able to reduce the security on the women.

I let the liquid slide down my throat, the burn almost choking. Was I threatening that peace by letting Isobel Marcello live? What the fuck had I been thinking? I’d never let a hot ass or sad eyes get in the way of my job. And fuck if I would start that shit now. I’d created the problem by bringing her back to my place, but I’d sure as shit fix it when I got home. Miller set his glass on the table.

“Any problems?”

I thought about Isobel sitting in my basement. “No.”

And it wasn’t a lie since there wasn’t a problem. I’d handle that shit when I got home. Miller poured another.

“Good, then let’s relax and celebrate. Tess is home and healthy. The bastard who put her in the hospital will be in the ground soon. Life is good.”

I glanced over at Dean. “Thanks for the blackout tonight.”

“You’re welcome. I also set it on a recorded loop, so even if they watch the tape to find you, they’ll see nothing but an empty room and video of Marcello in another room.”

“I want business as usual tomorrow. Charlie, you have to worry about Rock Bottom. Dean will be in the office at the dealership, and, Brock, I want you at the game with Ashton on Thursday.”

Charlie nodded. “You got it, Malcolm.”

Miller laughed. “I bet you’ll be happy to be back in your own car.”

“Like you wouldn’t fucking believe.” I pushed the crazy bitch out of my head and crossed my legs at the ankles in front of me. A knock came from the door.

“Come in,” Miller called.

“All the customers are gone. I tallied out the bar and here’s the deposit.” The bartender, whose name I couldn’t remember for the life of me, handed the bank bag to Miller.

“Thanks, Adam.” Miller took the bag and placed it on the table.

“Do you guys need anything else before I leave?”

Miller shook his head. “No. We’re good. See you tomorrow.”

Adam glanced around the room. “Have a good night.”

The door shut behind him and I looked over at Miller. “Give him ten minutes to clear out, then I’ll bring him in.”

Malcolm set his glass on the table. “Everything is ready to go downstairs.”

“I’ll help,” Dean offered.

When we were sure no one was left in the building, Dean and I went out to the car. The rear hatch lifted, and Marcello bucked, trying to get out of his binds.

“Fuck you, asshole,” he spat.

I grabbed his ankle and pulled him from the car, his head slamming down on the bumper. His body went lax again. I didn’t bother bending over to pick him up. What was the point? Whatever Malcolm and Miller had planned, a few scratches from the parking lot would be the least of his worries. Holding on to his ankle, I dragged him across the pavement to the back door, which was already held open by Dean.

I nodded at him, and he shut the door behind us.

Marcello moaned on the floor. “Let’s get him downstairs.”

Dean grabbed his arms while I picked up his other foot. Dragging him down the stairs would cause too much damage before Miller got his hands on him. We reached the bottom, and I expected a chair to be set up in the middle of the room. Instead, there sat two large meat hooks and a metal chain. I should have known Miller would want something else.

“Finally.” Miller looked over at Charlie. “Hook him up.”

Charlie grabbed one of the meat hooks and shoved it into Marcello’s shoulder, right below the collarbone. Screams echoed off the walls. Marcello’s eyes snapped open, but Charlie didn’t waste any time shoving the other hook in. Cries and whimpers were the only thing leaving his lips as Charlie and I worked together to hoist the chain over the rafters, pulling him off the floor.

His body convulsed and writhed. Malcolm watched from a chair in the corner, his arm draped over the chair next to him, a full tumbler in his other hand. He watched Marcello hang, a smirk settling on his lips.

“We finally meet in person. I can’t say I’m impressed. It didn’t take long for me to get my hands on you.”

Marcello spat, spraying blood all over the floor. Thankfully, they’d had the sense to lay down plastic. “Fuck you.”

Miller stepped forward, his arms crossed over his chest. The outward display of calm belied the rage simmering in his eyes. “Ballsy, for a man who is hanging from my ceiling.”

“I’m . . . Nathan . . . Marcello,” he wheezed.

“And who gives a fuck about that?” Malcolm came to stand next to Miller. “I let you do business in this city for long enough. You’re a ruthless bastard, but I turned a blind eye to the harm you caused people who didn’t deserve it, but then you were dumb enough to go after my family. My fucking family. Did you actually think I’d let that go?”

Marcello spat at Malcolm, who took a simple step back to avoid being hit.

Malcolm scoffed. “You’re a pathetic motherfucker. Should’ve walked away when Miller told you to.”

Marcello’s eyes bounced to Miller then back to Malcolm.

“You see, I told Brock to deal with you, but Miller wants you to suffer first.”

“I told you to leave Tess alone,” Miller snarled.

“She begged . . . for them . . . to leave her alone.” Marcello tried to laugh, but the sound was hollow.

Miller surged forward but stopped when Malcolm lay a restraining hand on his arm. Miller sucked in a breath, the tension draining from his shoulders. He looked back up at Marcello, an evil smile curving his lips.

“There’s no need to rush. We have all night.”

“Even if you manage to kill me before my men find out where we are and destroy this place, my wife will hunt every one of your asses down.”

I almost told him there was no way his wife would hunt anything down when I placed her six feet underground, but Malcolm beat me to it.

“I’m against harming women, especially when they don’t deserve it, but your wife happens to be a vile cunt, and I will take great pleasure in watching her suffer.” He sat back down, studying the glass in his hand like he hadn’t just threatened to destroy Isobel.

Which would happen sooner than any of them thought. Bitch was gone as soon as I got back to my place.

“Get his shoes and socks off,” Miller demanded.

Charlie and Dean each took a foot. Marcello attempted to kick out of their grip, but every move he made only tugged harder on the meat hooks. They bared the soles of his feet, and I knew what was coming even before he spoke.

“Brock, I left you a present upstairs.”

I climbed the stairs and went directly for the kitchen. With a man like Marcello strung up in the basement, I had no doubt he’d already had a lead bar heating on the stove. Miller knew it was one of my favorite ways to get answers because it never took long to get what I wanted. On a night like tonight, I knew Miller wanted Marcello to suffer as much as humanly possible. Something I was more than happy to help make happen.

Sure enough, when I walked inside, a single bar lay on the stove, one end glowing a bright orange. Without a desire to fry my hands, I searched the room for something to pick the bar up with. After finding a few towels, I wrapped them around the cool end and brought the bar downstairs to Miller, who was standing just out of Marcello’s reach. Droplets of blood covered the floor where Marcello continued, in a vain attempt, to spit on Miller. I held the pole up in Marcello’s line of sight. His eyes widened, and he tried to move his feet away from my path.

“Brock.” Miller’s voice made me turn.

He held his hand out to me. I carefully handed the bar over to him. Miller sauntered over to Marcello, step by step, his gaze never leaving Marcello’s face.

“You crazy fucker!” Marcello screamed, trying to lift his feet from the ground.

“Hold him.” Miller sneered up at him and waited until Charlie and Dean took hold of both his feet to stop him from struggling.

The acrid scent of burning flesh hit my nose at the same time cries of pain echoed through my ears. Marcello tried to free himself from their grip, but the bastard was trapped as blood and pain continued to sap his strength.

“Now that I have your attention, I’m going to let Brock take over.” He walked toward me, carefully handing over the bar. “Feel free to leave one mark on his feet for every mark he left on Tess’s body.”

I held Marcello’s gaze as I placed the rod against his other foot, red welts and blisters forming instantly on his skin. I didn’t stop until his leg jerked every time the hot metal connected with his skin. Sweat ran down his face, which was taut with pain.

Hours later, with Marcello no longer hanging from the ceiling, but strapped to a chair in the middle of the room, the burns and loss of blood from multiple punctures to his body took their toll. Each breath was a tortured rasp as it sawed in and out of his lungs. I dropped the drill to the floor and walked over to where Miller and Malcolm sat, a half empty bottle of Scotch on the floor between them. Dean and Charlie reached their limit an hour or so ago and were currently ‘drinking the nightmares away’ upstairs at the bar.

I walked over and grabbed a hatchet from the firebox. Miller kept the box when he remodeled the building, knowing the contents would come in handy. I picked up Marcello’s left hand. The egotistical bastard had his name surrounded by some type of crest tattooed across his arm. A gurgled moan left Marcello and I slammed the hatchet into his arm right below the elbow. Blood dribbled from the wound when I finally separated Marcello’s arm from his body.

“That should send a clear message.” Miller nodded toward the severed arm I dropped on the floor.

I sank into the chair next to Miller. He was right. No way Marcello’s goons were dumb enough to involve the cops, not if they wanted to keep their business dealings away from the spotlight. They’d seek their revenge, which we’d be ready for, but they’d wait for the cops to find the rest of him. He handed me a rag with one hand and a full glass of bourbon with the other. I tipped it back, draining the glass dry.

“Thank you,” Miller said.

I looked over at Marcello and back at him. “It’s not over yet.”

He scoffed. “Close enough. I’ll deal with cleanup tonight. You’ve dealt with this bullshit long enough.”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

Malcolm pointed to the filing cabinet. “There’s a set of clothes inside for you.”

I stood. A rattled sound filled the air as Marcello took his last breath. Honestly, I hadn’t expected him to last as long as he had. I made sure to stand on the plastic before stripping down to my boxers and dropping my clothes right there on the floor. Once I was dressed in the simple T-shirt and jeans, I climbed the stairs to tell Charlie and Dean that it was done.

With Miller handling cleanup and disposal, I left to deal with the mess I still had at home. Maybe I’d been in this business too long. I hadn’t even flinched with each bit of damage I’d done to Marcello. That had to say something about the person I’d become, not that I would have done much better before Malcolm pulled me out of that fighting ring. I’d spent the years after high school fighting in underground rings. With my size and speed, I won enough money to keep my ass from living on the streets and help take care of my parents. It wasn’t a good life, but it was the best I had at the time. My dad worked his ass off to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table, but my mom’s medical bills kept stacking up. The MS had taken its toll, leaving her wheelchair bound and unable to work.

Miller had shown up on a night when I knocked out three guys in a row. At the time, I hadn’t known anything about him, but his last name had caught my attention when he’d walked up and introduced himself. There were always rich kids coming up and introducing themselves to me, like I gave a shit that daddy’s money paid for me to beat the piss out of someone. But something about that interaction felt different. The week after, I saw Miller again. This time he was flanked by another man. The fights that night hadn’t gone as easily as the first time Miller had showed up, but Malcolm hadn’t cared. All he wanted to know was why I fought so hard. I told him about my mom and dad. He asked me if I would fight to protect his family as if they were my own. If I could do that, he’d pay me enough money that my father would no longer have to work his ass off, and he’d find the best doctors to treat my mother. How could I say no?

That night I agreed to Malcolm’s request and the Hawes family became part of my own. I’d do anything to protect them. Sometimes, I did things I never expected, but then I’d remind myself it was no different than beating some guy’s ass in the ring for money. The difference—I didn’t always have to fight. Most times a show of strength was enough. My mom had in home care and the best doctors. And my dad refused to stop working, even though I could provide for him, but he no longer had to work crazy ass hours to pay for my mom’s doctors.

And where did that leave me? Was I supposed to be bothered by what happened to Marcello?

Fuck no.

He’d hurt a member of my family. Sometimes family was more than the people you were related to by blood. But tonight? Tonight, I betrayed that family by leaving Isobel Marcello alive. Something I’d rectify the moment I got home, at least once I fucked her out of my head. A bitch like her didn’t deserve much more than that. The Haweses had given me everything when I had nothing. That was something I could only pay back with my loyalty.

I pulled into the drive, shutting the garage door behind me. Silence engulfed me when I stepped into the kitchen. Either the sound proofing in the basement was better than I thought, or Isobel had given up her fight. Wanting all of this over and done with, I went to the basement door. Opening it, I heard the rustling. I turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs and stopped. Isobel was sitting calmly on the bench, watching me.

“He’s dead, right?” The cold, detached way in which she asked the question made me realize how perfect the two of them had been for each other.

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the wall. Even after resolving to get rid of the bitch, I found myself unable to let it go. “You already know the answer to that question. My question is, why don’t you seem upset by that?”

She crossed her legs and leaned back on the bench. “Because Nathan was a sociopathic, narcissistic bastard.”

The woman was a heartless bitch. Her husband may have been a piece of shit, but she seemed almost happy he was dead. Most likely she had dreams of taking over his empire. Any questions that lingered about keeping her alive vanished in the face of the reality before me. No matter how hard she made me, one quick fuck was not worth letting her live for another moment.

Fuck that.

I was done with bullshit. I pulled a knife from my pocket and stalked forward to cut the bands. The relaxed, contented smile dropped from her face the moment my intentions became clear. She moved back, trying to keep the bands out of my reach.

“Please, Brock. Don’t do this.” For the first time all night, there was a tremor in her voice. She could give Elena a run for her money with her acting skills.

“Why not? So you can take over his business and continue to wreak havoc all over the city? Have the Haweses worry about you coming after them for revenge?”

She opened her mouth to speak. I didn’t give her a chance, slamming my mouth down on hers. The kiss was hard, designed to punish. I had no idea what possessed me to do it, but I didn’t get the reaction I was expecting. Instead of fighting the kiss and jerking her head away, she leaned into me. Her lips parted and her tongue snaked out to run across my lower lip.

I jumped back, my eyes never straying from her gaze. She didn’t move. Need like I hadn’t felt in years obliterated any thoughts of what I was supposed to be doing. I sank my fingers into her hair and yanked her head back, taking her lips in a bruising kiss. With my free hand, I popped the button on my jeans and slipped my hand inside to free my cock.

I’d never force myself onto a woman. If Isobel Marcello was inviting me in, I wouldn’t say no. Testing the waters, I grazed my hand across the inside of her thigh. I expected her to close her legs when the creamy skin opened to my exploring hand and I pushed up the short material of her skirt.

Her tongue plunged into my mouth, as my fingers reached the thin material of her thong. I easily slipped one inside, her body ready for mine.

I lifted my head, giving her one last chance to protest. Her gaze bored into mine, daring me.

“Think you can conquer the big, bad Isobel Marcello?”

“I know I can.” Without another word, I plunged deep inside.

She threw her head back and a low moan left her lips. Pleasure like I hadn’t known in years tore through me. I pulled out and thrust back in. It wasn’t enough. I gripped the top of the bench, capturing her lips with mine. I pounded into her until the muscles in my legs burned. Her body began to tighten around mine and I held on for dear life as she screamed out her release. My fingers bit into the vinyl as I reached my own peak.

The fog surrounding my brain slowly dissipated and I wondered what the hell I was doing. Why was I standing balls deep in Isobel Marcello only hours after killing her husband? I hadn’t even thought about a condom. Fucking stupid. Everything about her posed a threat to the people I cared about. I pulled my body from hers, tucking myself back into my jeans.

I glanced down and saw her relaxed, post-fuck expression morph into fear. Taking the knife from my ankle, I cut through the bands and held on to the end, watching as she struggled to free herself from my grip.

“Brock, please. You don’t want to do this. I may be guilty of a lot, but not all the horrible shit you think I am. It was all Nathan.”

Ignoring her pleas, I started to drag her backward toward the stairs.

“Wait, Brock. You know me. You know I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

I stopped, yanking her around to face me. “The only thing I know about you is that you’re a conniving, heartless bitch. But that’s all I need to know.”

“My name’s Amanda Renville,” she shouted.