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Thirty-Four
Aidan Sr
I flungopen the van door with a force that had the vehicle quivering.
Raising a leg, I heaved myself into the vehicle, not even taking in what I was seeing—a man, the lower half of his face covered in duct tape apart from two holes at his nostrils that breath whistled in and out of, lying huddled on his side.
A scream of fright had escaped the guy as I dragged open the door, which was music to my fucking ears, but I grabbed his foot by his bare toes, twisted the big one until it crunched and he howled, then jerked his ankle until that was broken too.
With that same foot, I hauled him off the back of the van, his cries of pain serenading the demons inside me as I jumped down to the gravel driveway once again, taking a moment to steady myself, before I dragged him out into the light of day.
His body collided with the ground in such a way that a dull cough escaped him, the shock of the move, of momentum and gravity making him land flat on his back had him choking for air seconds later, but I ignored that, and carried on dragging him by that broken foot.
It took me longer than if I’d asked my men to carry him inside, but where would the fun be in that?
His coughing came in handy—it shielded his screams of pain from the main house.
I didn’t even make it to the summer house before he passed out, which was more convenient for me in the long run too, so when he was in the room I called a garage—it only housed the golf carts we used to get around the estate faster—I had Aidan grab me a chair while Finn helped me put him on it, holding him up while I duct-taped him into place.
Chest heaving, heart pounding, lungs burning, I stared at this motherfucker who’d helped protect a predator shielded by a cassock.
My brain whirred with ideas, with plans and expectations, but all I knew was that this was the appetizer. The main event needed to be cataclysmic. Just like how this cocksucker had helped burn my boy’s childhood into ashes, I needed to make him feel that pain too.
I heard footsteps and from gait alone, knew it was my kids settling into place, readying themselves to watch their da at his most insane.
In the heat of the moment, I wasn’t sure if Junior had registered what Finn had called me, but I felt the label like it was a crown he placed on my head. A crown I didn’t deserve.
I was his da.
Not his dad or his father, his fucking da.
That was two of my kids I’d failed to protect now. Two boys that were molested by people I trusted. By people in whose care I’d placed them.
My thoughts turned red with rage. Aimed at myself. Aimed at the world. At the shit choices I’d made and the decisions that had failed them.
I let that fuel me because if I didn’t, then I’d just want to slam my head into the wall again, and that’d get us nowhere. I didn’t deserve the peace of a coma, of death by brain damage at my own fucking hand.
I deserved to burn too.
I deserved to suffer.
Just like this fucker did.
Picking up some pliers from the back wall where tools were stored to upkeep the golf carts, I walked over to him and held the jaws to his nose, then I pressed down, knowing that he’d either sink into unconsciousness or switch online fast as he struggled for air.
Within seconds, I had my answer. His eyes popped open. I smiled. The stench of shit soon made itself known to me, and my smile deepened.
As the struggle in his eyes, the desperation for air twisted into being, I leaned down and whispered, "You know who I am?"
He bopped his head forward, panic making it flip back and forth like a beach ball being hurled at a wall by kids.
"Then you should know that picking the Church over a man like me was a very stupid thing to do. God won’t protect you from me, and your death won’t be fast. He won’t shield you in his loving embrace. He’ll just watch over us as I make you pay for your sins."
Panicked squeaks escaped him, until they grew sluggish with oxygen deprivation, and finally, I released his nose, then I grabbed the duct tape at the side of his face, and tore it off, which split his cheek even more as I saw that Valentini had gotten to him first.
Ordinarily, I’d be pissed, but instead, I was grateful.
Grateful because if I didn’t have someone to release this rage on, then I was fucked, and I couldn’t be fucked yet.
