18. Logan

18

LOGAN

"Xavier, where're you at?" I growl, barging into the basement. "You've got hell coming your way, dipshit!"

The others flood in behind me as I charge down the stairs. They're already well aware of what I'm about to do. Silver couldn't put his foot down on this even if he wanted to. The piece of shit not only gave us bad information about the Chosen Saints' location, he's the reason the shootout at the bookstore happened.

Had I never gone to Juan Cabello's house, he wouldn't have retaliated by tracking us down that morning. He wouldn't have opened fire on me and Teysha.

I stride across the basement room the second my boot touches the floor. Xavier barely has enough time to look up before my fist connects with his jaw.

It's the first of many as Silver, Mace, Cash, Ozzie, and Tito gather around. Xavier's strapped to the chair as he's forced to endure a barrage from my fists. Left hooks. Right hooks. Jabs and crosses.

I land an uppercut, snapping his jaw together with a brutal crunch . Plenty of blood and two teeth sputter past his lips once I'm through.

Except it's only the beginning. I head over toward the table that has the assortment of instruments. Ozzie takes in an excitable breath, his eyes gleaming at my selection. I've grabbed the power drill, my finger on the trigger to power it on. The basement fills with the motorized whir of the drill, the metal chuck rotating ominously.

I stop in front of Xavier, his face swollen and lumpy from all the hits he's taken.

"You really thought giving bad information would work out in your favor?"

"Bad info? I have no idea what you're talking about," he spits, more blood leaking out his mouth. "I have provided the info you asked for, Believer Logan."

"Don't fucking call me that! You piece of fucking shit, the only reason you're alive is 'cuz the info you've got. If you didn't know Abraham's location, I would've ripped you into pieces myself on day one."

"I have provided the info you asked for," he repeats defiantly. He peers up at me through black and blue eyes that can barely open.

But the challenge is there. It's unmistakable. He's antagonizing me. All of us.

I rev the power drill a second time and assess what body part I want to start with first. The others serve as a silent audience as they watch on, arms folded across their chests.

Xavier no longer serves a purpose for us. Which means he's fair game for revenge—and I've got plenty of reason to exact revenge.

"You had one reason to be kept alive. But now you've made it clear the info you give is no good," I say, stepping closer. "So now you're going to pay for all the shit you've done. All the times you asked how high when Abraham told you to jump. All the times you beat the people you held captive. All those times you took advantage 'cuz you thought you could get away with it."

He's clamped his bloody mouth shut as if refusing to beg for mercy.

But that's alright. Mercy wasn't coming anyway.

"Guess what, dipshit?" I ask. "You thought wrong. This is for Teysha."

Xavier can't hold off his screams anymore. Not when I've jammed the power drill against his crotch and the metal chuck begins boring into him. His jeans dampen with blood as his head falls back and he shakes with agony.

I savor every second, pressing harder the more he screams. Watching the pain clench his swollen face is a one-of-a-kind sight I'll never forget.

Teysha would be horrified if she knew what I'm doing. She'd probably cry and beg me to stop. Even after everything this piece of shit's done to her.

Exactly why I continue. I don't stop 'til his crotch is mangled and the jean fabric is oversaturated with his blood. As he sits slumped in the chair, I move onto other body parts. His thighs and then his chest. Eventually, his cheek.

The torture goes on for over an hour 'til he's barely alive. Then I step back and watch him bleed out.

Silver approaches me first. "I'll have Moses and Big Eddie dispose of him. We've got to move if we're going to follow this other lead."

"And if it's another dead end?" I ask, setting down the power drill. It drips with Xavier's blood. I'm covered in it too, a badge of honor more than anything.

"If it's a dead end, we'll keep looking. But Tate took photos when he came across it and it looked pretty damn convincing."

We leave the basement to go gear up.

I've got my reservations about this mission. After the shooting, Tate was able to track down an SUV belonging to Juan Cabello and break into it only to discover the vehicle registration didn't match his address. Instead of the address I had followed that led me to Juan's house, the SUV was registered to an abandoned warehouse two hours outside of town.

In the trunk, he found other incriminating evidence like a few duffle bags of cash, weapons, and drugs. But what was most telling of all was the set of robes. The exact kind Abraham and the Chosen Saints wore.

The more we've uncovered, the less things have made sense. If Juan Cabello wasn't a Chosen Saint, then what the hell was he doing with their robes and a truck registered to an abandoned warehouse that could be posing as their new compound?

Why would Xavier give his address when we were interrogating him?

These thoughts and more turn over in my head as we hit the road and I'm steering my bike in formation with the others. We're a pack of rumbling thunder making our way down the highway. Other cars smartly move out of our way and let us pass through.

We're not even sure what we'll encounter when we get there, but we'll handle it like we always do. The others are determined to come out on top. They won't quit 'til we've eliminated the threat.

I'm the same, though magnified by ten. I'll stop at nothing to make Abraham pay. I won't move on no matter how long it takes me to track him down and make sure he suffers for what he's done to us. It's more than personal. It's life or death.

The world can't go on if we're both allowed to live. He's got to go down once and for all.

We slow up, approaching the huge lot that the abandoned warehouse is located on. We've already worked out our plan, splitting up like we always do when conducting raids like this. The first team veers off with Silver as lead.

I'm heading up the second team. My group follows me as we ride along the back of the property and then prepare to breech the fencing. From the reconnaissance Tate did when he checked out the address, we're aware of the security cameras.

We keep to the outskirts, our skull ski masks concealing our faces.

The fence poses no challenge to get over. We pause once we've climbed onto the other side, watchful for any Saints that might be on guard. Though not much has changed since my time held captive by the Chosen Saints—once the sun's down, Abraham and his so-called family are more about their ceremonies and celebrations than they are about security.

Guards like Brody, Amos, and Xavier were more personal security than anything. They were around to make sure the believers kept in line. Quick to slam the butt of their rifles into our guts if we so much as looked at them the wrong way, but they rarely did property checks. One or two a night was the most they bothered.

Little has changed as we jog across the barren land coming up on the warehouse. We're footsteps away from reaching one of the back doors when a gunshot rings out in the night. Several more promptly follow .

"Shit!" Cash grumbles from behind me. "Not what we had planned. Somebody must've been seen!"

"No time like now," I reply, my assault rifle ready as I swing my head at Bush.

He gets what I'm signaling and we tag team the door. Our body weight collides against the barrier and breaks it down.

The night spirals into violence and chaos like the night we invaded the first Chosen Saints compound. From the moment we barge through the door, we're confronted with members of the family. Some of them innocents I recognize, like a gaunt and frightened Isadora who throws her hands up and begs us not to hurt her.

Then there's others like Brody who I shoot point blank in the face. We make it room to room clearing the place, shooting anybody affiliated with Abraham and anybody that's got a weapon who tries to fire on us.

Another man I don't recognize but who dawns the robes of a saint shoots at us from where he's taken cover behind a wall.

"Lay down your weapons and put your fucking hands up," I command. "This is a raid and we're here to shut this shit down. Tell us where Abraham is."

"Or let's skip the words altogether. Smoke bomb!" Ozzie unclips one of the many grenades he's brought with him and tosses it toward the entryway where the guard is taking cover.

The grenade hisses as it rolls onto the ground and explodes into a thick cloud of smoke.

We press forward with our rifles trained to shoot first, ask questions later. The guy who shot at us from behind the wall meets a grisly fate as Cash takes him out with a single bullet. I'm still in the lead, scanning the area for the any sign of Abraham.

"I'll clear the second floor, Cash."

He nods and steps to follow me while the other two finish raiding our half of the first floor.

We dash up the steps and run into more terrified believers who tremble and sob as soon as they see us. I order them to kneel and keep their hands up.

Time is limited and the longer we take parsing through who's a saint and who's a believer, the greater the chance Abraham'll escape or we'll suffer a casualty. We're still on his turf.

My heart pounds faster as I look toward the end of the hall and finally spot him. His white robe flicks out of view as he flees out of sight.

"Motherfucker!" I grunt, springing after him.

Not again.

I won't let him escape a second time.

A couple hurried strides later, I chase him down another hall that's lined with doors on either side. The instant he's back in my line of sight, I'm firing off more bullets, narrowly missing.

He pivots into a room toward the end of the hall with a howl of pain.

Got him!

I close the gap, barreling down the rest of the hall and following him through the doorway.

The room's small and cramped, clearly being used as a bedroom. The living conditions are almost as squalid as the cabins we'd been forced to live in, with a piss bucket in the corner and bedsheets so dirty, streaks of filth cover the fabric.

The window's wide open on the far wall. I rush over to spot Abraham climbing down the fire escape, clutching at his thigh where I've shot him.

At the bottom, an unmarked SUV waits for him. Their emergency escape vehicle.

"Get the fuck back here!" I roar, squeezing the trigger of my rifle.

My shots land on the iron bars, inches away from Abraham. He glances up at me for a fleeting second, a glimmer in his icy eyes as he reaches the bottom rung and then drops. He lands on the roof of the SUV, rolling down along the front of the vehicle.

I open fire some more, half climbing out the window to leap down and follow.

But it's too late—the SUV floors it as soon as he's thrown himself through the rear passenger door. It blasts off across the barren field 'til it's nothing but a blip on the radar, shrinking smaller and smaller.

"FUCK!"

I slam the rifle against the iron cage that's the fire escape.

The others regroup outside the warehouse when it's all said and done. We've slaughtered most of the saints and released the few believers still captive. I approach Silver and Mace to discover their group fared slightly worse. They've sustained some injuries, including a bullet graze for Tate.

"But we got her this time," Mace says, jerking Mandy toward him. Her wrists are bound, her white robes mucked up. "She tried to make a break for that SUV that got away, but I snatched her up before she could."

Mandy grits her scummy teeth at us, squirming in her binds.

My insides pull tight at the sight of her. Maybe the only other person beside Abraham I hate most and would love to make pay. For years she made my life a living hell, calling upon me for her every whim.

"It's a start," I say. "We can get info out of her. She's his most loyal follower."

She throws her head back in a cackle. "My stallion, you've come back to me, have you?"

I grip her chin roughly and growl at her, "Careful what you wish for, bitch. You're about to suffer, and I'm about to enjoy every second of it. Take her away."