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The minute I park the car, Isla flies from it, already running into the building. “Fucking hell,” I mutter, chasing after her while seeing three more cars pulling up beside mine.
On the way here, I called my best friends because I had no idea what we would face here, and the idea of a child being trapped in this hellhole awakens everything evil in me. I’d seen the kid in the footage, but he was never bruised, so I assumed everything was fine.
I catch up with Isla right before she starts wildly knocking on the door, yelling, “Open up, you asshole!” She twists the knob, and I gently push her away before kicking it open, the door bouncing off the wall as we enter.
My anger turns into blazing rage at the picture greeting me.
The little boy hides in the corner, covering himself up as much as he can while a beefy man hovers over him, holding a belt in his hand and pointing at the other man sitting by the table and watching it all with a fucking smile. “Get up, and go to the room to earn your keep. At least there will be some usefulness from you.” He reaches for the child, and the kid opens his mouth, probably trying to scream, but just barely-audible sounds come.
My fists clench, and the monster permanently living inside me rears its head as my head pounds with one desire only.
Kill.
A woman sits on the couch, flipping through a magazine, and she glares at the kid when he looks at her, stretching his hands out toward her.
That tells me everything I need to know.
“Step away.” My voice booms in the apartment reeking of alcohol and cigarettes, the air polluted by it, and their heads swing my way.
They’re so fucking high and wasted they haven’t even noticed our arrival.
The beefy guy spits, “Who the fuck are you?” He glances at my wife. Big mistake. “This bitch again! I told you to stay away!” He dashes to her, but I block him, delivering a punch straight to his gut, twisting his arm as the boy stares at me. “Let me go.”
Instead of listening, I break his arm and the cracking sound echoes through the space mixing with his cry of pain. I punch him again, and he stumbles, his back hitting the wall while the other man jumps up ready to run away. “I had nothing to do with it.” He raises his hands. “It’s his stepson, not mine.”
A hit to his face comes, and I see my wife punching him straight in the nose, his head jerking to the side, blood pouring through his fingers as he holds on to it, and she kicks him in the nuts, his agonizing scream filling the space. “You perverted piece of shit!” she yells at him, going to the boy and kneeling in front of him. He jumps into her arms, tears streaming down his cheeks. “It’s okay. I’m here now.”
“You bitch,” the man mutters, lunging after my wife, but I grab him by the throat and slam his face straight into the wall, knocking out a few teeth.
The boy continues to stare at me as tears fall down his cheeks, and something inside my heart stirs.
We hear the sound of a toilet flushing, and in a second, one more asshole comes out, zipping his pants. “I don’t have all day, Rick. Either give me your wife or give the kid to Bob. Pay up your debts.” He pauses when his gaze lands on us. “What the fuck.” He grabs the nearby knife on the kitchen counter and waves it at us. “Stay the fuck away.”
Bob gets up too, pulling out a gun from his back pocket, and the stupid bitch screams.
“Not so brave now, huh?” the man with the knife asks, coming closer, and some people are just born stupid. “Keep the gun on him, Bob,” he orders, stepping even closer.
“Isla, take the kid and leave,” I tell her without turning around, watching my prey carefully, and she gets up. “Now.”
“She’s not going anywhere. This one was promised to me.” Bob points his gun at the kid, suddenly brave again. “Stay put.” He removes the safety on the gun, and the bitch screams even louder, so he hisses, “Shut your mouth!”
“Don’t kill me,” she begs, sitting up on the couch. “You can take my son. I never wanted him anyway.” A painful, harsh intake of breath rings in my ear, and my fist clenches tighter because I can relate to the hurt the boy is experiencing right now. “And he’s defective. Stupid mute boy who’s useless and just gets in the way.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Isla slap her hard, and she gasps, holding her cheek. “You’re the one who’s stupid and defective,” she seethes, rubbing the boy’s back as he wraps his arms even tighter around her. “You don’t deserve your son.”
Focusing back on the two men as one of them keeps advancing on me while Bob repeats, “Stay put,” I’ve had enough of this bullshit.
“Florian,” I call out, and he steps inside. The men look at him in confusion while I finally disarm the stupid idiot and pierce the knife right into his gut, covering his mouth.
“What the fuck,” Bob whispers as Florian kicks the gun from him and delivers several hits one after another until he falls on the ground, blood now coming from his mouth.
“What do you need?” my best friend asks me as Santiago and Remi enter, scanning the apartment. Judging by their faces, they’ve heard everything.
“Take Isla and the kid home. I’ll deal with this.”
I expect my wife to argue because she isn’t used to just sitting still while someone else deals with her stuff, but to my surprise, she rises on her tiptoes and kisses me on the cheek. “If you’re going to kill them…make it painful, please.” Her voice trembles. “He has a few bruises, and his pants are wet.” She sends a deadly glare the woman’s way, and Florian nods at me, ushering her outside, leaving us all alone with three groaning men on the ground.
Their deaths will be long, agonizing, and full of misery. Chopped limbs, poison, knives, and drills are just some of the things we will use on them.
