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I’m gentleman enough to give these little whores the chance to leave, but if they wanna stay and watch the show… I’ll sure as hell give ‘em one.
One of them heeds my warning, hopping out the water, picking up a towel, and scurrying away.
“There’s a kid over at Foresters Hill in pretty bad shape,” I tell him calmly.
Luke hangs his head back over the edge of the tub and laughs.
“And I suppose you’ve come here to give me another warning. Where’s the rest of your mob?” he responds cockily.
“The time for warnings has long passed.” I step forward, noticing how Luke shuffles uncomfortably. He wants to bolt, but he ain’t fast enough. I grip him by the front of his hair and drag his head under the water. The girl still beside him screams as he struggles beneath the surface, and I wink at her as she rushes to get out while I count to twenty in my head… slowly.
When I let him up, he’s a spluttering wreck, and I barely give him chance to take a breath before I smile darkly at him and dunk him under again. Water splashes and spills over the edge of the tub and the noise and chaos around me fades. No one's trying to save him, everyone has either left or is standing and watching. This time when I lift his head up, I smash his skull hard into the side of the hot tub, then throw a fist at his jaw.
The clear bubbling water turns red, and a toe-curling screech comes from one of the girls behind me.
“You were warned what would happen if you carried on.”
“Please, stop. Please,” the girl starts tugging on my arm, and I shrug her off.
“I got too much to live for to kill you,” I tell him. “So I’ll let all those fuckers on the inside enjoy playing with you. The men in there will break your soul, and weaken you from the inside out. And you may only have to suffer a few years of it, but the shit you’ll go through will torture you for the rest of your life. And I’ll be waiting for you on the outside.”
I go to take out my cell and dial this sorry son of a bitch into Roswell. There's enough supply out here on the patio alone to shop this fucker for supplying, and I suspect the girls here are barely legal. I’ll bet some forensic work could match the shit here to what the boy from the woods crashed out on. But my pockets are empty, and I suddenly realize I’ve left it at the studio.
“You’re scum, Robinson.” I swipe my bloody hand in my jeans and hold my hand out to the kid standing in shock beside me.
“Give me your cell,” I order, and he quickly fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a fancy new iPhone.
I dial up the precinct, and when the receptionist that fucked Squeal a few weeks ago picks up, she promises to send out a squad car right away.
“You see this shit,” I light up my smoke and gesture my head at the massacre surrounding us. The college kids that are still here nod, stunned, and rooted to the spot either from fear or the lack of brain cells they share.
“You weren’t here for it. The club don’t hurt women and kids, but that don't mean we haven't got ways to fuck you up. I got your license plates. I’m sure your folks would be interested to know how you spend your afternoons when you're skipping school.” I use my thumb to swipe away the tiny trace of blow the girl closest to me has under her nose, leaving a bloody trail in its place.
“Now get your asses out of here, and keep your mouths tight,” I tell them before focusing my attention back on the mess of a man in front of me.
Grabbing him by his throat, I lift him out of the tub and let him slump on the patio. He moans when he starts to come round. But by then, I’ve already got his hands tied behind his back with his belt.
The fucker slaps around like a salmon out of water, and I toss my smoke before crouching in front of him.
“See you in hell,” I tell him, before standing up and slamming my boot into his face, turning his lights out again.
I don’t bother waiting for the police to show up. He’s not going anywhere in a hurry, and I got a family to take care of.
I’m pulling the shutter down on the garage when Nyx’s old lady pulls up. Yeah, it’s still early, but me and Screw have done all we can until the parts turn up to fix the Dodger.
I watch her struggle out of the driver’s seat and waddle her way toward us.
“Are you guys packing up?” she asks, biting her lip and rubbing her hand over her lower back. Has Rogue seriously got her checking in on us? Skid letting her run this place while he was away has really gone to her head.
“Can’t do anything until a new exhaust comes in tomorrow,” I tell her, pulling the shutter the rest of the way down and leaving Screwy to bolt it. I clean my hands on the dirty rag in my pocket.
“There’s a maintenance light come on my car,” her head gestures toward it, where Dylan’s sitting in the back, struggling to get himself out of the seat he’s strapped in. “Nyx said you’d take a look at it for me.” She smiles awkwardly.
“Sure, let’s take a look.” I head over and squeeze myself into the driver's seat, adjusting it to accommodate me before I turn on the ignition. Sure enough, the orange engine management light comes straight on.
“Could just be a loose fuse, but best to check. You need to be anywhere?” I ask, craning my neck to wink at the little mischief-maker in the back.
Ella doesn’t answer me, and when I look back around at her, she's hunched over, with her hands resting on the hood.
