21. CAL

Surrounded by dead bodies. The echo of gunshot vibrated through my eardrums. As the cocaine dust from the bags that had been shot at settled, I could finally see what had happened. I was the one standing with a rifle in my hands, pointing it at Grant as he laid on the ground, screaming in pain from where I'd shot him several times in the leg.

"Fuck you," I said, jamming the end of the rifle into the bloodied hole in his leg. "You did this to me. You did this. Not me." Inhaling deep, I was probably getting a second-hand high from the cocaine still in the air.

"You don't have to. I told you. It's going to be different this time," he said, trying his best to scoot himself back against the living room wall. Although it was barely a living room, there was a single old sofa that had been ripped up to get the cocaine blocks from inside it. "Come on, Cal. We're basically meant to be together. Look at us. We can barely keep from hurting each other."

My eyes stung. I told myself not to cry, but there they were. Tears danced on the waterline, trying to force my hand. "I want to make you suffer every single day for the rest of your life." I aimed the gun at his head, pressing the tip of his between his eyes. "But I think that would just take up more of my time."

Grant looked off to the side.

"Don't make me turn this around on you," I said.

"Cal," Frankie's voice spoke. "It's just me. What did you do?"

My arm became limp, dropping the rifle from his head. I turned and dragged it on the floor as I made my way over to Frankie. "I—I—I—"

"You've got—" he pressed a finger against my face. "Cocaine all over you." He rubbed it against his gums. "I'm not a chemist, but I'd say this matches that sample we found. Wouldn't you?"

I tried some of it, but I didn't know the difference. "It just makes my tongue feel dry."

He kissed me. "Mind the nose," he said. It felt like I'd been waiting a long time to kiss him again, but it had only been a few hours. "It kinda helps numb the pain. I might need a little more." He took the tip of his tongue and pressed it against my cheek.

"Kill me then," Grant sputtered in the corner of the room, ruining our perfect moment together. "Go on. K—Kill me."

I stared into Frankie's bloodshot eyes. "What do I do?"

"What were you going to do before I came in?"

I didn't know. I shrugged. "I don't want to just kill him and then he gets to just fuck off out of existence. I want him to feel pain. Real pain."

"You could always do what he did to you," he said.

"Ew," I said, sticking my tongue out. "I don't ever want to go near him again like that."

"No. Not you. But I saw something in the kitchen that could do some damage. Just a thought."

I sucked back a deep breath and wondered if I had it in me to do what he'd done to me. And I didn't. I wanted him to feel pain like I did, but nothing could compare, even the idea that Frankie floated about sodomizing him couldn't do what had happened to me any justice. However, I was willing to let it happen just to see if it did.

"Can you do it?" I asked.

He chuckled. "Me?"

"What—are—" Grant sputtered.

I nodded to Frankie. "But I don't want to see, I just want to know it happened."

He wrapped his arms around me in a nice, warm embrace. "Mine the nose," he chuckled again. "I'll do it. I'll do one worse. I'll break it off inside him."

"I still want to deliver the final blow though," I said, turning my head slightly to see his disgusting face looking up at us.

"I can—I can tell you where the other places are, there's more cocaine," he said.

Frankie cleared his throat. "I've already got those addresses, and I'm also pretty sure that your cousins inside the family are probably about to face a firing squad." He looked at me. "Sorry. There was nothing I could do about that one."

"It's ok. He was the only one who touched me. He's the only one I need closed. Then we can start our new chapter together," I said, touching at his cheek and chin. This wasn't the worst I'd seen his face. It didn't matter how messed up he got, I could always look into his eyes, whether they were bloodshot or surrounded by bruising, his eyes were the same, and they gave me peace.

I let out a sigh and headed to the kitchen to grab a large wooden stick used on the outdoor brush. I knew what was going to happen to Grant, and part of me had wished for it to be done by my own hand, however I knew that if I did it, I'd be just as bad as him.

"Ok," I said, handing him the outdoor brush. "I'm gonna listen. Tell me when I can come in and finish it." In some way, this was also just as sick as what he did to me. Him, being helpless on the floor while others talked around him, talking about what they were going to do with him.

Frankie snapped the end of the stick to remove the brush. "Oh. I wonder which end we'll go in with," he said, flipping the stick in his hand to reveal the splintered pointy end. "You know, this is all quite poetic. You ruined Cal's life, and you tried to ruin mine with whatever crazy cracked out ideas you were thinking up," he said, prodding Grant's side with the stick. "Let's roll you over."

This was the part I needed to leave, but my curiosity had been piqued. I watched, but only for a moment as Frankie rolled him over onto his stomach. He screamed out in pain. Then he pulled down his slacks and his briefs to reveal his ass.

I walked into the hallway and stepped over the bodies I'd shot. My mind went to Frankie and how he'd taken me to target practice many times, and how I probably wouldn't have managed to get so many clean shots if he hadn't remade me, even if it did seem like he'd remade me in his image. After what I'd been through, I couldn't be built back up into that Cal again.

Grant screamed and begged for him not to continue.

I must've said those words a thousand times to him in that month he'd kept me locked away. Telling him no and to stop, almost like he thought I was in on the game. A tear, in all its solitary drop collected on my eyelash before dribbling down my chin. I was stronger than the tears I'd already cried from what had happened.

"It's ok," I said, looking at the ring and bracelet on my hand. "Daddy said we're going to begin a new adventure after this." It was often that self-talk which pulled me through the darkest of times. But this wasn't a dark time for me. This was my empowerment.

"I'm done," Frankie called out.

Grant was still on his belly. The stick was probably halfway inside his ass. He wheezed out in agony and his complaints and begs had turned raspy and delated. It surprised me to see him so weak after his showy God complex.

And just like that, I grabbed the rifle from the floor as Frankie turned him over. I shot him once in his exposed cock and a second in his head, making sure the last thing he saw was me.

I'd been planning this in my head for so long, that I didn't even know how I was going to feel once it was done. I'd told myself it would've been a weight lifted off my shoulders. But the moment he was gone, my body felt unbalanced, like the weight of the trauma I'd been carrying was still there, but now with additional spice from what had happened.

"It's done," he said with a big smile to me.

I dropped the rifle and turned to him. "Now you can propose."

"I already did, and you said yes."

"Again." I pushed the ring off my finger and handed it him.

Frankie got down on one knee and presented me with the ring. "Will you Cal William Drake, marry me?"

"I do."

"Save that one for the wedding day," he said, slipping the ring back on my finger. "I guess we have to consummate the engagement again then."

I clicked my tongue in my mouth. "Damn, I think you're right. And I need to get out of these clothes." I shuddered just thinking about wearing something he'd picked out for me. I would've stripped out of them there and then if I had something else to wear.

As Frankie started to collect the bricks of cocaine that were only lightly damaged, I walked around the house, trying to figure out what was going on inside me. Everything should've changed. He was dead. The chapter was closed. But my brain wasn't taking that for an answer.

Startled by the sound of police sirens, I ran to Frankie. "Cops are coming."

With his arms filled with cocaine, he glared at me and shook his head. "No. What? Sutton would've told me."

"Sutton?"

"Yeah. He's been in my—fuck. I took the earpiece out and my cell is on silent." He handed the cocaine off into my arms and grabbed his cellphone. "Ok, well, we're leaving through the back."

"Did Sutton say anything?"

He grumbled, mumbling something to himself.

"What did he say?" I asked, leaving through the back toward the fence at the bottom of the yard.

"He texted ten minutes ago about the address and police scrambling from the first address," he said. "He diverted them a bunch, but—fuck. I'm parked down the block, we need to climb this fence and walk that way to the end."

I handed the cocaine back to him as I climbed the fence first. There was his bag and inside, the clothes I'd been made to take off. Now wasn't the time to be thinking about getting changed. Once I was in position, Frankie gave me the bricks back to put into the bag.

And as he climbed over the fence, I could see someone walking through the house. They hadn't clocked us yet.

We dipped down. I spied through a space between the wooden slats. It was the police. The sirens stopped, finally.

"Stay down, walk fast," Frankie instructed, taking the heavy bag. "Once we're in the car, I'm never letting you out of my sight, ever again."

"Good," I said, "because I was actually thinking about getting us handcuffed together so that we can't leave each other."

He snickered. "Not those fluffy ones in the bedroom?"

"Yes, those fluffy ones."

We made it to the end of the path. I could see the car. And right beside it there was a police car. It looked empty, which meant they could've been anywhere.

"Ok," he said in a hushed tone. "Here's what we're gonna do. There are two non-toxic smoke grenades. I'm going to throw one of them as far as I can into the yard of that house. You're going to throw the other in the direction of the car. We're gonna have a short window to get out of here, get to the car, and leave."

It was a big responsibility; I had the one aimed at our getaway vehicle.

And it worked like a charm.

He threw one. I threw the other.

Smoke immediately plumed up into the air, consuming enough space for any onlooker to think there was a fire nearby.

We got to the car without anyone spotting us.

We were free.

Frankie drove like a maniac, which was his usual driving speed.

"Drive," a voice spoke from the backseat.

Flinching, I turned to see Sandro, his face looked worse than Frankie's.

"What happened?"

Sandro held a handgun to the back of Frankie's head. "I said drive."

"You chose one hell of a time to fuck with me, again," Frankie said. "Where are we going?"

"Drive!" he shouted.