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Annoyed, Butch turns around in his seat and hits him with the butt of his rifle again. “Stop bumping my seat,” he growls. Luca moans in pain.
“Easy, bro,” I warn. “I want the prick alert and knowing what’s coming.”
We come to a stop in the center of the road. Butch climbs out and opens the back doors, hauling Luca out by his shirt. Luca flops to the ground, screaming against the gag. But Butch keeps dragging him by the shirt into the tall brush with Herculean strength.
We’re a hair’s breadth away from the cliff’s edge overlooking the quarry—the perfect spot for our plans. “This will do,” I order.
Butch releases Luca’s collar, and he falls to the ground.
Nodding at Butch, I say, “Release his legs. I don’t enjoy beating a man when he’s down.”
With a snarl, Butch flicks open his switchblade and slices the tape away from Luca’s legs. The mobster immediately scrambles to his feet with his hands still bound behind his back. He’s snorting like a hog, his clothes rumpled.
We raise our masks to our foreheads, letting Luca get a good fucking look. We want him knowing it’s the Mercy Ravens who are sending him to hell.
With a shake of my head, I tut. “You did the club wrong, Luca. You fucked up when you touched Simone and Candy. Atlas was kind enough to grant us free rein.”
Jonesing to cause some pain, my fist swings out, connecting with his pudgy jaw. Luca’s head whips to the side, throwing him off balance. He falls to the ground, groaning. My fist connecting with his flesh is a welcoming sting because the pain in my knuckles is nowhere near as bad as the pain Lucas received. The more I ache, the worse he hurts.
By nature, I’m not a violent man—if I can come up with a solution to avoid violence, I will choose the path of peace. But I’m a retired SEAL; this isn’t my first rodeo beating someone.
Butch fidgets side to side, his chest puffing out with anticipation.
Regrettably, I step back and give Butch his fill. “Candy needs justice.”
My brother wastes no time. He kicks Luca over with his boot ‘till he’s belly up. “For Leslie,” Butch says in a low voice, using the name that Luca would recognize as the woman he abused and raped. Butch backs up a step and swings his foot into Lucas’s side. The prick rolls in on himself, fleeing the abuse, but Butch keeps on kicking.
When that isn’t enough, Butch grabs him by the front of his shirt, releasing a series of punches to his face.
After several blows to the head, I hold up a hand, and Butch stops—an obedient soldier. He releases his hold on the mobster’s shirt. Luca slumps to the ground, blood spilling from his nose.
It’s not enough. There’s no beating that can expunge Luca’s years of flesh trade and violating women for sport.
I rip the tape from his face. More blood spews from his mouth, along with a few of his teeth. He coughs and sobs, all music to my ears.
Bored, I stare at the bloody mess of a monster as I attach the silencer to my gun. “Any last words, Luca? Or are you feeling lucky?”
Butch chuckles.
“Stop. Please,” he begs, sputtering blood.
“Not an option,” I say.
Luca looks up, an eye swollen shut. “Wait! I have information. Intel Lorenzo only shared with me. Not even Paulo was in on it.”
I sigh. “Bianchi’s no longer an issue. He’s dead and his inner circle is in custody.”
Luca coughs and sputters. “Not knowledge on Bianchi or his dealings. I’m sure Paulo is squealing that shit off to the FBI already. I’m talking info on Atlas’s number one most wanted—Esteban Moreno.”
Butch and I freeze.
Luca notices he’s gotten our attention, quickly bobbing his bleeding head. “Yes, you’ll want these juicy details, I promise.”
My brother looks at me. “I don’t believe him.”
I shrug and shoot Luca in the shin, the shot muffled by the silence. The mobster screams like a banshee.
“What the fuck?! You fucking shot me!”
