ACE
I place the joint between my lips and look down to see red covering my knuckles. It gets my adrenaline pumping once again, making me very aware of what happened less than five minutes ago.
My hands are busted up, covered in blood, but I don’t feel shit.
Nada.
No pain and definitely no motherfucking remorse for almost taking a man’s last breath.
This motherfucker should’ve known better than to cross an angry, homicidal Locke.
It’s obvious he was very unaware of who was sitting across the bar from him when he decided to punch his woman in the face and then proceed to grab her by the hair and drag her across the bar as if she was a fucking ragdoll.
The fact that he felt the need, had the fucking balls to do that in a roomful of people, told me he did even worse things to her when no one was around.
He barely made it out the door before I was on his ass, pulling him from her and showing him what it’s like to be the fucking ragdoll.
I wanted to make sure he knew what it felt like to be the helpless one and I have no doubt he’s still feeling it this very moment.
It feels so fucking good to know that some son of a bitch is suffering right this very second, because they chose to make someone weaker than them suffer first.
I’ll never get over that feeling . . . the high it brings me to crush a motherfucker even harder than they crushed someone’s world.
To leave that permanent scar they deserve.
I’m barely halfway through smoking my joint before I pass it to the woman beside me with the busted-up, swollen face.
“Here. Finish that while I take care of this prick.” I slap the trunk and a twisted ass grin crosses my face when I hear a few desperate pounds come from the inside.
He should’ve thought about his actions. If he had he wouldn’t be shoved in some stranger’s trunk like a little bitch right now.
Good thing I decided to take the old Dynasty out of the garage tonight.
“Are you going to kill him?” she says, the pain on her face clear as she places the joint between her busted-up lips. She takes a long hit, holding the smoke in.
“Probably not. It depends on him.”
My response has the noise coming from the trunk getting louder and more desperate.
“Shut up in there you, fucking asshole!” Her whole body is shaking in anger as she slaps the trunk repeatedly. “Fuck you! I hate you! I fucking hate you so much! You’re done hurting me. Done! Do you hear me?”
Next thing I know she falls to her knees and bursts into tears.
There’s nothing I hate more than seeing a woman hurting and her tears are just enough to set me off again.
“Fucking piece of shit!” I growl out, reaching into the backseat for my hammer.
Before I can even think about what I’m doing, I’m popping the trunk and dragging the sorry motherfucker out by his neck.
“Get up on your hands and knees.” I give him a shove in her direction. I help the woman up so she’s not kneeling any longer. “In front of her, bastard!” I yell, losing my damn patience. “Now!”
“I’m sorry.” He looks up at me, snot covering his pathetic, beat-up face as he does what he’s told. “I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll never lay a finger on Amanda again. I swear. I fucking swear.”
Stepping up behind him, I grab his hair and force him to look straight across so he can get a good view of the damage he did to her. “Look what the fuck you did!” I bend down beside him to make sure he’s actually looking. “Do you see the fucking damage you caused?” I slap the back of his head before grabbing his hair again and tilting his head up. “Do you?”
“Yes,” he whines. “Yes. I see it.”
His woman is backing up and crying so hard now that her whole body is convulsing as she attempts to catch her breath.
“You were damn right when you said you’d never lay a finger on her again. You wanna know why, Frankie?”
He shakes his head back and forth. “No. No. Please!”
“Too motherfucking bad. Place your hands flat on the ground.”
Now he’s the one shaking.
Good. He should be.
“Now!” I scream and kick him over when he doesn’t listen. “Be a man and get this over with, Frankie. Do this for her!” I point my hammer at Amanda, who still looks scared shitless at him being near her.
From the old bruises on her face and arms, it looks as though he’s been hurting her for a while now. This shit ends here and now.
“It’s either going to be your hands or . . .” I place my hammer to the back of his skull, which has him immediately splaying his hands out on the ground in front of him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck . . .” he cries to himself, while squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry . . .”
“Well, I’m not.”
Gripping my hammer, I take one hard swing at his right hand, hearing the bones crack as he screams out in pain.
I barely give him a moment to really feel the pain before I take a swing at his left hand, causing him to scream out again before he falls over and begins crying.
Keeping my eyes on him, I reach for a smoke and place it between my lips before bending down beside him. “Just be lucky you’re not fucking dead. You’ll heal.”
He doesn’t say anything and from the excruciating pain he’s clearly in, I don’t expect him to be able to.
I take a few seconds to enjoy my handiwork before I pat his back and walk over to check on Amanda.
She almost looks relieved as she watches him suffer on the ground, as I’m sure she’s done plenty of times since she’s met this piece of shit.
“I should take him to the emergency room.” Her voice is void of any emotion. “He may be hurting for a while.”
I honestly don’t give a fuck if he writhes in pain on the ground, but Amanda seems worried, and I feel for her. If this will make her feel better, getting this piece of shit to a doctor, then so be it.
“Yeah,” I say between drags. “Pull your car up and I’ll shove him into the backseat.”
She backs up, keeping her eyes on Frankie the whole time. “Yeah . . . okay. I’ll be right back.”
A black ’95 Corvette pulls up a few moments later and I can’t help but to laugh to myself. He’s going to be real comfortable shoved into the backseat of that thing.
Not my problem and not my damn concern.
“Come on, asshole.” I flick my cigarette across the mostly empty parking lot and reach underneath Frankie’s arms to lift him to his feet.
Amanda already has the car door open and the seat pushed forward, so I give him a shove toward the car and stuff him into the backseat.
It may seem a little fucking twisted, but I get pleasure from hearing him whine and cry like a little bitch.
I guess that’s why I’m the twisted one.
Hurting others brings me pleasure and I’m the first one to admit that I enjoy doing what we do.
It’s because of me that my brothers are the way they are. All it took was years of abuse from our sorry ass excuse for parents and seeing the secret lifestyle that our uncle Killian lived.
I did this. I brought my brothers into this lifestyle and twisted is what I do best . . .