Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

SEBASTIAN

B ristol was so cute leaving tonight thinking that she's off gallivanting doing secret shit when I, in fact, helped arrange her little fun outing this evening. I didn't say anything to her though. She can feel like she's keeping a secret if she wants to. No harm in that. I'm not sure if she thinks I wouldn't approve or if she's worried that I'll look at her in a different light, but nonetheless, it's harmless and I'll let her keep her secret. That little bitch has earned every bit of what's coming to her.

While Bristol was in the process of taking her driving class and working on getting her life together, I've been keeping secrets of my own. Patrick has been held captive in Reaper's shop for the last three months. We've been having a grand time showing him what true torture is like. He thought raping someone against their will was torture? He doesn't anymore. That's fucking child's play compared to what these guys have put him through.

The first night wasn't the most satisfying. He was so cocky and arrogant, even being restrained. He had no idea who we were or why we wanted him at first. It didn't take long before he understood exactly what the weight of his actions carried. Big George was first to get his hands on him. I would have never heard the end of it if he didn't get an opportunity to inflict a little bit of damage on a man he has been dying to hurt since the moment he found out what he had done.

Slider located Patrick for Reaper. That motherfucker is too good at what he does. While I was in the hospital, he was busy single-handedly tearing down the sex trafficking ring while making them believe he was taking the whole damn thing over. I won't admit it out loud, but he's a scary fucking human. To be able to shift yourself into that kind of mindset and convince people who truly are that way that you think the same way they do, that takes a lot of mental shit I'm not even prepared to think about.

After Big George did a number on him and showed him what being raped was like, with the handle of a splintered broomstick among other items that I did not care to hear about, Mo got his turn. It was a little more personal for Mo. We did at least give the piece of shit some time in between. He had a whole day to recover before Mo got his hands on him. I'm not sure Mo did anything fucked up other than just beat the fuck out of him. He broke a few bones. We called in a favor to Doc who made a special trip down here to bandage him up and we gave him a few days to recover a bit.

Next was Reaper. Reaper has been carrying around some resentment and all of it came out of his fists. Reaper also likes to remove extremities. Patrick ended up four fingers short after it was all said and done. I think Reaper has watched one too many serial killer movies, because he cut up one of Patrick's fingers and fed it to him with a spoon. That was even a little bit much for me and I had to leave in the midst of it or I was going to toss my cookies all over the floor. I couldn't have that and look like a little bitch. I don't know how Reaper did it, but he seemed extra-satisfied with himself afterward. He was proud and his chest was tall when he was done.

Doc ended up staying in town for two weeks, training Reaper on how to patch Patrick up and keep him alive so we could torture him a little more every day. Of course, Reaper paid Doc for his time plus some. Every member that was at our table, aside from Mikey and the prospects, on the day that we found out about this sick fucker and everything he had done, has had a turn at showing him exactly how they felt about it. Now…

Now it's my turn. I've had a lot of time to think about this. A lot of time to build up hatred. Anger. Rage. We were blown up, for fucks sake. They say everything happens for a reason. And there's a reason we didn't find Patrick before I got burned. That reason is that it gave me all the drive to show Patrick exactly how bad pain can be. Going through the treatment I went through every single day made me realize that life is not that bad. For me. For Patrick, though? Life is about to be worse than he has ever imagined. Even after being raped with a broomstick and fed his own extremities.

I walk into Reaper's shop with a little extra pep in my step. I'm not sure if it's the way this day has laid out, with closing on our house and knowing my girl is getting the revenge she deserves, or if it's because I am about to get the most satisfaction in my own revenge, but either way, it's a good day.

I close the door to the sound-proof torture chamber behind me and turn on the dim lights. Patrick dangles from the heavy chains nailed into the roof. He's covered in days old blood. His face has been beaten so many times that he's almost permanently disfigured. And even seeing him like this can't even make me feel an ounce of sympathy for him.

I grab the five-gallon can of gasoline that I brought in with me and my blow torch.

"When I got burned, I realized that fire is the most painful thing that's ever happened to me. I got burned in a fire at one of your little sex-trafficking locations."

Patrick lifts his head, his eyes empty and nearly lifeless. He doesn't speak. He simply stares at me.

"So, now it's time to show you how that feels."

I begin dousing one of his legs in gasoline. Then I move up to his lower stomach, letting it run down the entire front of his body. The fear in his eyes has grown as the smell of gasoline fills the room. I close the gas can and move it to the corner of the room, far from Patrick and the blow torch. The last thing I need is to burn the shop down. Reaper can get out of a lot of shit but I'm not sure even he can buy his way out of that.

Once I'm sure that I won't burn the whole place down, I grab the blowtorch and approach a gasoline-soaked Patrick.

"I hope you rot in hell when I'm done with you. If God is half the man I know he is, he wouldn't let you near heaven if you could pay with twenty thousand hail-Mary's, a priest's good faith, and your own penance."

"No," Patrick grits out. His voice is hoarse from screaming so much over the last few months and he's struggling to get his words out. He's lost a few pounds since he's been here, too. A little bit of food deprivation, sleep deprivation, and well, basically all deprivation.

"Too late."

I light the blowtorch and press it against his stomach. The front of his body lights up like a Christmas tree. The gasoline-soaked clothes burn fast and his screams are piercing as the fire eats at his skin. The smell of burning flesh makes my stomach turn but I swallow back the bile rising in my throat. I don't know what the appropriate time is for someone to burn, considering I've never done this, and I have no idea how long I was underneath a burning beam since the smoke in the air made me lose consciousness.

Patrick is still screaming so I take that as a good sign that I haven't killed him yet. I grab the fire extinguisher from the metal cabinet in the corner and spray him until the fire is out. His whole body is trembling, making the chains that bind him rattle together. The sound is irritating but I tune it out. Patrick whimpers, a sound that's even more irritating than the rattling chains.

"Shut the fuck up."

Patrick doesn't say anything. He does get quiet though, the only remaining sound the clinking and rattling of the chains. A knock on the door makes me jump. Reaper walks in with Agent McCreary behind him.

"Walter," I greet with a tight smile.

"Nice to see you again, Mr. Abbott."

He looks at Patrick hanging from the chains and smiles. "That's a good place for him."

"Thank you, again, for all your help in the matter," I say, wiping my hands off on a towel hanging on the wall.

"My pleasure. I was happy to let the bureau know that we were unable to locate Patrick. I will also be happy to let them know when his body is found burnt to a crisp inside of his little shop. He really should have been more careful when he was welding. The investigation will be open and closed."

Who would have known that the agent that caused so much grief was actually a paid associate of Reaper's? Sure as fuck not me. When he first came in the first night I was here, I almost killed him. I would have, too, especially if I would've had a pistol on me. Good thing I didn't because he's turned out to be a very valuable asset.

Having a fed on our side, working underneath the table for the greater good? It's fucking perfect. And with the way that he conducts himself, no one would ever guess that he is working for us. No way I would have ever seen it, either. Even with he and his wife showing up at the engagement party, I still didn't see it. I was pissed that Reaper was working with a fed's wife and it wasn't until the first night that we had Patrick here that I put it together and realized why they were there to begin with. Reaper and I haven't had a chance to talk about it, but I'm curious which relationship began first, Walter or his wife.

A low whine sounds from Patrick and I punch him in the chest, unable to stand the sounds he makes any longer. I should just kill him but that would be too merciful. And the last thing this sick bastard deserves is mercy. Death is too quick a feat for all the sins he has committed and the pain he has caused, not only to my girl but to every single human that he's ever had any involvement with as far as the transport, hiding, or exchange inside of this ring that he was so entrenched in.

I kill the lights in the shop and close and lock the door, leaving Patrick to suffer alone and in silence, something that he likely never gave Bristol. Reaper and Walter are sitting at the dining room table in Reaper's plantation house, sipping scotch from rocks glasses and smoking cigars like the ritzy fucking people they are.

There's an empty glass next to Reaper with an empty seat just for me. I sit down and Reaper pours me a finger, sliding the glass to me. I find that measurement oddly appropriate. It's odd seeing Walter outside of a suit and tie but being dressed down in khaki shorts and a polo shirt. I guess I can call him Walter now. If I can't, I don't know what to tell him. We're on a first name fucking basis.

"Did you burn him?" Walter asks.

"Yeah. I wasn't sure what I was going to do to him until a few months ago when I got burned pretty bad in an explosion trying to locate him. It wasn't until I went through weeks of torture having my burns cleaned and scraped every single day that I decided that was what I was going to do to him."

"Well that's symbolic, isn't it?"

"Seemed fitting. So, does anyone else in the club know about this little union?" I ask, signaling between Reaper and Walter.

Reaper shakes his head. " Nah . I didn't see a reason in filling anyone in. It's new, so Walter's still in a probationary period."

I chuckle and dip a finger into my glass, swirling the scotch around. "Probationary?"

"Yeah, Reaper is still making sure I'm a do the right thing kind of guy and I'm still making sure he isn't going to kill me and put me in his torture chamber."

Walter's words hold no amusement. Good.

"So you're learning that the possibilities are endless then, yes?"

Walter nods. "Seems to be so."

"He's good people. If Mack hadn't have vouched for him, though, we wouldn't be sitting here. And we wouldn't have gotten our hands on Patrick so quickly, either. Walter located him. Single-handedly."

"Really?" I ask, looking at Walter.

"Really. Fuck that piece of shit. There's nothing in my system that could give him the type of justice that he deserves. But your ways? Your ways come close. "

"Speaking of our ways, have either of you heard from the ladies?" I ask, realizing I haven't even checked my phone to know if Bristol has sent a text or not.

Reaper waves his phone in the air. "They're right where they're supposed to be."

The map on his phone has a blue dot blinking in the middle of the woods with Kendra's face in a bubble above it.

"That was also arranged by yours truly," Walter grins.

"Kendra and Bristol don't know that anyone knows about this. Mack, well, she's a little more experienced in keeping secrets and being a bad bitch on top of being one of the baddest damn lawyers in the county. She's letting the girls feel like they have a big secret," Reaper adds.

I finish off the last of the scotch in my glass and call it a night. I say my goodbyes and hop on my bike to head home. The roads are quiet. It's nearly three in the morning and the only people out right now are people leaving the casino and a few random travelers. Beach boulevard is dead and the feel of the nighttime summer air makes me wish Bristol was on the back with me. She loves the beach and the air here just as much as I do.

I pull into our new driveway and type in the gate code. It opens and I see that Bristol's car still isn't back here yet. It doesn't raise cause for concern, though. Reaper has their location and I think they just got a little carried away in their own extravaganzas. I walk inside and the house feels empty. Our things are all over the place, but it doesn't quite feel like home yet.

My phone chimes with a text from Bristol.

Bristol: Just dropped Kendra off. Be home soon.

I smile and shove my phone in my pocket, heading upstairs to our bedroom. I open the door to the balcony, letting the night air in. The breeze blows the curtains back and forth across the open door and I opt to leave the lights off. The illumination coming in from the moonlight gives the room a nice romantic feel.

I slip into the bathroom and shower off, wanting to remove every bit of what I did tonight from my body. I look at my healed burns and the scars that replace the ink I had on my arm and ribs. My tattoos are missing some vital pieces but the scars remind me that, just like my girl, I have conquered and overcome something that I thought would kill me.

While the hot water trickles down my body, I feel a sense of pride. I did everything that I said I was going to. And nothing in my world means more than being a man of your word. Bristol's headlights shining through the bedroom windows and doors have me feeling like a teenager sneaking out at night to see my crush. A wave of excitement rushes over me and I hurry to dry off. I can't wait to see her and hear all about her night, if she's up for telling me. If not, I'll just devour her on the kitchen counter as promised.

I wrap my damp towel around my waist and walk down the stairs, greeting a dirty, grimy Bristol in the kitchen. She's standing at the sink filling up a cup with water from the refrigerator. She takes a few big gulps before her head snaps in my direction. She jumps, dropping the cup and spilling the rest of her water all over the floor.

"Sebastian!" she chastises.

"I know I have scars now, but I didn't think I was that scary."

She laughs and I drop the towel that's draped around my waist, throwing it on the spilled water. Bristol's eyes rake up my body, lingering for a moment on my growing erection.

"I think I promised to fuck you right here on this counter," I whisper, closing the distance between us. I frame her face between my hands and press my lips to hers. She's got a wild look in her eyes, making me fucking crazy. I need this. I need her. Right now. I tear at her shirt, needing her to be just as exposed to me as I am to her. She tugs at her leggings, pulling her legs out of them one at a time until she's standing in front of me wearing nothing but a fucking smile.

I pull back and press my hands on the counter, giving myself some leverage to jump up there.

"What are you doing?" She asks.

I grip her wrist, tugging her between my legs and lift her up, onto my lap. Realization dances in her eyes and she straddles me, placing her feet on either side of my hips. I angle my hips, pressing the head of my cock against her clit. Her mouth parts. Fingers sink into my shoulders. Nails digging in as I slide it softly back and forth. She begins to move her hips. Forward. Backward. Gliding effortlessly over my slick head. Slick with my need for her and her need for me.

" Ugh !" she grunts, sliding down onto me.

She starts moving faster than I expected, using my shoulders as leverage. My hands pull at her hips, trying to get deeper inside of her. Bristol's head tilts back, her eyes shut tight, mouth hanging open with the most pained yet pleasured look on her face.

"Don't… stop…" she pants, grinding against me harder with every movement of my hips. "Fucking harder!" she demands. I grip the back of her neck, making her eyes flicker open.

If I thought there was a wildness there before, it's nothing compared the crazed look that is there now. Those pretty ocean blue eyes are wide and zeroed in on me. I know exactly what she needs. I wrap my hands around her back.

"Wrap your legs around me," I command.

She does as she's told. I slide us off of the counter and bring her to the oversized chair and ottoman in the living room, still inside her.

"Kneel," I command again.

I swear she just gushed all over me with just my words. She kneels on the ottoman like the good fucking girl that she is. I kneel behind her, pressing my palm to the center of her back, guiding her forward. She presses her elbows into the ottoman, her ass in the air for me.

I lean down and run my tongue through her silky wetness. The taste of her sweet cunt drives me fucking wild. She whimpers as I flick my tongue over her clit, moving so slowly up her slit then back down to her clit.

Her fist beats down on the ottoman as I continue lashing my tongue back and forth. I dip my middle finger inside of her, slow and soft until I can feel that sweet little rough spot that she likes so much. I ease out and then begin going in at a slow pace again. Her little pussy tightens around my finger.

"Don't fucking come yet," I grit out.

She tightens more, squeezing my finger. I curve it then drag it out. When I push it back in, her legs begin to tremble. I swipe my tongue over her clit and that's all it takes for her to lose all the control she thought she had. She cries out as her orgasm shakes her. Back arched. Pressing her sweet pussy back as hard as she can onto my hand and mouth.

Once her orgasm is done, I tsk her.

" Tsk. Tsk. Tsk ." I remove my fingers .

She takes a deep breath and I allow it before burying myself inside her. I pump hard, the sound of our bodies slapping together echoing through the living room. When I feel her building again, I pull out and stop.

She huffs, breathless. I rub a circle on her ass cheek with my palm. Her body shivers beneath my touch, knowing what's coming.

"Do you know what happens when you come when I told you not to?" I ask, still rubbing my palm in a circle.

"Yes," she breathes.

I rear back and deliver a blow to the area that I just rubbed.

" Ahh !" she groans, pressing her ass toward me.

I drive into her again, gripping her thigh with one hand and slapping her perfect, reddening cheek with the other. With every smack, I drive harder. Bristol is about to come again and I can't hold out through her orgasm, especially when she's bent over like this. Her perfect tattoo. Her red ass. The sounds she's making.

"Fuck, baby!" I shout as her pussy clamps down around me. Her orgasm draws mine from me. I've stopped smacking her and grip for her hair. I know she needs this. I know she needs the pain but I can't fucking concentrate on much of anything while I empty myself inside of her. I grip down on the fistful of hair in my hand and the wicked grin on her face tells me that it was enough for her, and that's fucking good enough for me. I'm panting and trying to catch my breath, but I still pump in and out of her.

"You're fucking perfect, Bristol."