Page 33 of Mob Queen

“She’s a fucking whore,” he spits with vigor.

“She said no to you?” I repeat.

“I fucking paid.”

“Frank?” G asks as he advances toward the asshole. I shake my head, not giving G the okay to hurt this fucker. “Fine,” G mumbles and takes a few steps back.

“You paid for sex, not to rape my girl.”

“She doesn’t get to say no once I’ve paid.”

He has a death wish. “She doesn’t get to say no, huh?” I turn away and walk over to the table that’s holding an array of implements to cause pain. Simple things, a piece of wood, a steel pipe, fuck, there’s even a skillet. Of course, there are a couple of guns, knives, barbed wire, knuckle dusters, all kinds of fun things.

I pick the metal pipe up and walk toward him. His eyes are large and hyper focused on the metal in my hands. “Wh-what are you going to do with that?”

I smash it across his knees with all my force. His high-pitched, soul-piercing scream tells me I’ve shattered his kneecaps. “Did she say no?”

“Fu-fuck, man,” he screams as spittle drips out of his mouth. His eyes are red from the tears streaming down his cheeks.

With all my strength I smash the pipe again, this time over his thighs. His cry is echoing throughout the warehouse. “She said no?” He’s trying to catch his breath, while the guy next to him is attempting to jimmy the chair away from the one I’m coolly working over. “You’re not going anywhere, because your turn is coming.” The fear in his eyes sends a flutter of power down to my very core. Both of these fuckers are terrified, and I’m feeding off of their fear. I turn to the first guy and say, “I asked you a question.”

It takes him a few seconds to regain his composure, but he finally nods. “She said no.”

“And you thought you’d take what you paid for, plus more. Right?”

“She’s a fucking whore,” he repeats as if that’s a valid reason.

“I’m not even going to ask you how many women you’ve raped.”

“They’re just whores.” He bursts into tears.

I smash the pipe down over the top of his thighs making sure I’ve caught his crotch. His face pales and his eyes bulge. He turns his head and vomits to the side before passing out.

“Fuck,” G says as he straightens and winces.

“Now, you.” I look to the second guy, who’s already trembling. “You came to my club, and you beat one of my girls.”

“I’m so-sorry,” the sniveling asshole pleads. “I won’t do it again. I’m sorry.”

I place the pipe on the table and pick the heavy skillet up. “Better believe it.” I walk over to him and swing the iron skillet with everything I have, smashing him on the back of the head. The popping sound of his skull breaking makes the two soldiers suck in a deep breath.

I look over my shoulder at them and both have their heads down. I can see Rome is struggling, but he’s holding it together. “You two, clean that shit up,” Rome says to the two soldiers. They hesitantly step forward and startle backward when the guy I’ve killed twitches as all the life leaves his body. “Now!” Rome demands.

I’m proud of my brother for taking charge. The two soldiers move toward the dead-twitchy guy and are balking as they see blood oozing from his open skull. “I hear you two have a problem with management,” I say as they make quick work of untying Twitchy.

“No, Don DeLuca. Not us. Never,” they say almost in unison.

“Good to hear.” I keep watching them as they lift his limp body and begin to drag him out.

“Leave him there, and go back to work,” G says.

The two soldiers drop the body and leave the warehouse. Though I can tell, I’m sure they want to run like their asses are on fire.

Rome approaches me and takes the skillet. “We have to get rid of this.”

“You did good, I’m proud of you,” I say to Rome. He nods once, but the tightness in his jaw and his refusal to look at me tells me he’s processing. “G,” I call.

“Yeah?” G glances over to the other guy who’s still passed out. “What do you need?”

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