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Forrest snickered. "He shat himself early on."
My brow furrowed as I recalled exactly why I loathed wet work.
For Savannah, however... well, I’d make an exception.
And itwasfor Savannah. It had nothing to do with the Five Points’ need to get rid of the Sparrows. To eradicate them not only from our city but from the country, it was for her.
The thought had me gritting my teeth because I had enough weaknesses without adding some more to the list.
Coming face to face with the fucker who’d thought he could hurt her,kill her, I stepped between the crates that were scattered around the floor, and made my way to the area he was standing in.
"You work fast," I muttered at Brennan when I took in the state of the guy who was at the top of my shit list.
Hanging from a meat hook, he had duct tape over his mouth, but it wasn’t enough that I couldn’t see the thick scar running down one side of his face. His eyes were wild amid the bruises, and with every step I’d taken toward my brother, he’d wriggled and writhed like he could worm his way free.
Not a chance.
Still dressed all in black from his attempt at hiding in plain sight amid the shadows, I could nevertheless see the patches of wet where he’d pissed himself thanks to the spotlight that was focused on him.
"Baggy warmed him up for me first," Brennan discounted.
I eyed my younger brother, took note of the way he’d rolled his sleeves up, how the once-pristine white of his shirt was now spotted with blood, and murmured, "If you say so."
On top of the crate nearest to Bren, there was an array of tools that had me itching to touch them. Finding some shears, I picked them up, then drifted nearer to the fucker.
As I did, he tensed up, and though he carried on wriggling and writhing around, I prepared myself for him to kick out, for him to target my weak side.
Only, he didn’t.
Maybe he saw my resolve, but whatever it was that had made him shit himself, made a reappearance. The fucker didn’t fight. He engaged in flight. Only, pity for him, he was skewered in place.
As I plucked at the neckline of his tee, I dragged it away from his body then pressed the shears to the fabric. Cutting it, trying to touch him as little as possible, I managed to part his shirt in two. I cut along his shoulders as well, leaving him in rags. Then, I did the same with his belt, before starting on his jeans. Brennan headed over, well aware I was getting the fucker naked, and helped by taking the shears from me and going all the way to the floor.
When I stepped back, he was still covered. Barely.
I turned to Brennan. "You got a power washer?"
My brother laughed. "I do. Forrest!" he hollered.
"On it," his crew man declared, a giddy tone to his voice.
Within minutes, I had a Karcher in my hand and it was rumbling, the system working as I raised the nozzle and power washed the fucker clean.
As icy cold water pummeled his skin, the high pressure had him screeching as his clothes were ripped away. I moved all the way around too, cleaning up his shitty ass—clearing that up for my benefit not his—and I didn’t stop until he was as pink as a shrimp.
By the time I was done, the water had made abrasions on his flesh. Not only that, but the cuts and tears that came from his original beating, had been torn wide open. His face was a spider’s web of cuts that told me he’d gone head to head with some glass and had lost.
Eying those wounds, I turned to Brennan and asked, "Salt?"
He hummed, but Forrest was already scampering away. He returned with a bag of what looked like sand.
"This is all we got, Aid."
As he placed it on the crate in front of me, I used one of the knives laid out to tear the plastic apart. "You got any vinegar?" I asked as I picked up a handful of the gritty sand.
"Nah, but I can head out and get some."
"I think that would be a good idea." Then, I turned to the cocksucker, and I smiled as I began rubbing it all over his face, into the hundreds of tiny cuts.
Once he started screaming, Brennan cackled. "I forgot how good you were at this, Aid."
Because wet work really was like riding a bike, I shot him a look. "I just don’t like getting my shirts dirty."
Both he and Forrest grinned, but I didn’t stop until the fucker’s entire body was covered in sand. Having copiously poured it into his open wounds, the salt within it had him howling in agony, and I made sure that I rubbed it in hard so the abrasion would triple his pain.
I stepped back when he looked like some kind of weird art project, then I reached up and pulled on the duct tape covering his mouth.
His screams came louder, as did his pleas, but I ignored them.
I just had one thing on my mind. "If you want me to wash the sand away, you’ll tell me who sent you."
