Page 88 of Disturbed Lucidity

I didn’t know.

I also didn’t fucking care.

“Last lesson, Vic. Actions have consequences.”

Before the kid could reply, I fired my gun.

My brothers moved quickly, gathering the remaining idiots and tying them to the barrels of crystal meth. I didn’t want a single trace of anything left behind, and when the cops showed up, they would need dental records to identify the bodies.

Frost walked over, shaking his head. “Got the crates of guns loaded back up in the van. Alias is heading back to the clubhouse now.”

“Where’s Agony and Trash?”

“Getting the gasoline.”

“Need to find Miguel Chavarria and Raul. Fuckers got away.”

“Will put Slash and Logic on it.” Frost nodded when Agony and Trash walked in, each carrying two ten-gallon tanks of gasoline.

A smile on their disturbing faces.

Fuckers weren’t happy unless they got some fun too.

Not the most badass thing my brothers had ever done, but in a pinch, it worked.

Watching Trash and Agony slosh gallon after gallon all over the crystal meth containers and then the crying, begging men, I felt nothing.

Reaching for another cigarette, I walked out of the warehouse with Frost before lighting my smoke, when I heard the whoosh of the accelerant ignite. Shaking my head, I blew out a puff of smoke just as Trash and Agony vacated the burning building.

Standing next to our bikes, Frost asked, “Think they learned their lesson?”

Watching as the flames crackled, leaped and danced, striving to break into the sky, I shook my head.

“Can’t teach stupid.”

Later that same night, in some hellhole in Costa Rica.

In the middle of a dimly lit room, I found myself seated on a chair, completely devoid of any clothing. Leather straps tightly bound my wrists and ankles to the chair. To be precise, it was someone else who took the initiative and strapped me down onto the chair.

Apparently, they didn’t trust me to stay put.

Looking around the room, I wondered how long I had been here. Every time the steel door opened, a faint glow would illuminate the room, offering a brief glimpse of what lay beyond. A pungent smell of urine hung in the air, accompanied by the unsettling sound of rats scurrying about, creating an uncomfortable atmosphere.

I fucking hated rats.

Vile creatures.

My disheveled brown hair and overgrown beard gave me a rugged and untamed appearance. Judging by the unruly length of my hair, I estimated I had been here for several months. Since I’d been here, my green eyes had sunken back into my head, a visible testament to the weight I had lost. I gazed at my reflection, dismayed to see my once chiseled physique now replaced by a feeble and wrinkled frame.

I looked horrible, for sure.

But I was anything but weak.

The sight of my skin, marred by lacerations and burn marks, served as a constant reminder of the torment I had endured at the hands of my captors. The unsettling experience of slipping in and out of consciousness, all the while plagued by the lingering uncertainty of when they would finally execute their intention to kill me. Because of the multitude of drugs they had administered into my system in their quest for information, my dreams had become even more vivid and terrifying. Right when I was on the verge of slipping away unnoticed, the abrupt opening of the steel door halted my escape, emitting a jarring metallic sound that made me grimace in discomfort. As he walked into the room, my eyes strained to adapt to the sudden brightness, yet before I could even fully see him, his voice reached my ears, announcing the piece of shit I’d come to see.

It was game time.

“You asked to see me?” the man asked.

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