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His eyes flashed open and widened, just as the Kings grabbed Jonas’s mother and she screamed. They immediately jammed a rag into her mouth and hauled her from the bed. She struggled, but it didn’t take them much effort to drag her out of the bedroom.
Jonas’s dad pushed against me, and I sat on his chest with my knee, holding him in place as the liquid took effect. Slowly, his eyelids drooped, and while he fought to stay awake, it didn’t work, and he fell asleep.
Shifting away from the bed, I dragged him off the mattress and onto the floor, and he landed with a hardthump. I smirked and maneuvered his body around until I was able to lift him over my shoulder, but my knees shook under his weight. Luckily, Scar came back and laughed.
“Give him to me.” Scar took Jonas’s dad from me and threw the bastard around like he was as light as a feather, and I glared, making Scar laugh harder. “Come on, Sheep.”
We walked down the stairs and quietly opened the front door. After checking to make sure we were clear, we took the bastard to the van and opened the back, allowing Scar to throw him inside and shut the doors as quietly as he could.
A few moments later, the others came out, and we all got back into the vehicle.
“Now where?” I couldn’t remember us talking about the next part of the plan, but I’d been pretty hyped up.
King chuckled. “We have an acquaintance back in New Gothenburg with a lot of properties. He has one out here, and I texted him back at the clubhouse. He offered the location to us for a price.”
“I don’t have money,” I murmured, shame and irritation heating my cheeks.
King waved his hand. “Don’t you worry about it, kid. You can work it off later.”
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know what that meant, but if I got to torture the fuck out of Jonas’s dad, I was okay with that.
I settled into the seat and took my ski mask off as the other guys got in. Wherever we were going wasn’t far away because after about ten minutes, King turned down a dirt road and we traveled for a while longer before we came to a small abandoned looking farmhouse. There were no lights on, and the wooden exterior appeared worn down.
“Where are we?” I asked.
King shrugged. “Somewhere easy to clean and where no one will hear him scream.”
“Hah.” That was the only answer I needed.
Scar dragged the bastard out of the back and toward the house as I took a moment beside the van to steel myself. I was ready for this. Torture. Murder. I’d thought about it before and had decided I could do it if necessary, but there was no better reason than this—for Jonas.
Someone slapped me on the back, and I winced when Undertaker stepped up beside me. Behind our van were the other two, and most of the guys were standing around talking, as though we weren’t about to kill a guy. I guess they were probably used to it.
“Want some pointers?” Undertaker grinned at me as light filled the inside of the farmhouse. Someone had obviously flipped some switches. His smile had a vicious edge to it. “Start with his fingers. He can still talk if you cut them off or break them. There’s no artistry in something like that, but in a situation where time is a factor, we must be pragmatic.” He frowned.
“You’re scary, you know that?” I said honestly.
Undertaker laughed and tapped his cheek with one finger. “You don’t even know me yet, little boy. Settle in because I’m a font of information. You’ll learn a lot.”
Eyeing him with the hair on my arms rising, I left him there as I walked up two rickety steps and into the farmhouse.
Scar had Jonas’s dad tied up to a chair in the middle of an empty space that looked like it’d been a dining room once. The windows were rectangular while arched at the top and the curtains that fluttered in the wind were threadbare and old.
Scar slapped Jonas’s dad across the face, and the man groaned as he slowly came to. “Come on, man, wake up. Sheep’s gonna have some fun with you. Tell me your name.”
Jonas’s dad muttered something, and Scar leaned his ear toward the fucker before he grinned.
“Well, John, welcome back to the world. You’ll wish you hadn’t woken up.” Scar cackled as he stepped back and waved his hand at Jonas’s dad—John. “He’s all yours, kid.”
I stared as I tugged out the gun in my pants, laying it on the sole piece of furniture in the room, which happened to be a table near the entrance. Behind me, Undertaker dropped the duffel bags from the back of our van.
He whistled a happy tune as he crouched and unzipped the bags, bringing out all sorts of contraptions. Some I knew, like pliers and knives, but others were new to me, and I wasn’t sure I was quite ready to use them yet.
“What’s going on?” John grumbled drowsily. “Wha....” He tried to lift his head, but it only bobbed. He blinked, managing to stare at me. “You’re.... You’re that boy from across the river.”
“Ethan,” I said, aware that if he was smart, he would remember Jonas telling him my name. And sure enough, after a few seconds his face went red.
His eyes widened and he struggled, but he was weak and useless. “No.... No.”
