Page 55 of Lord of Debauchery

Even if I had to beat the information out of him.

Twenty minutes later, we’d reached our destination. I hadn’t been here in long enough I was forced to face the fact that something needed to be done. I definitely didn’t want the buildings to be condemned by the city. That would cause us unneeded problems when I had enough to deal with.

As he pulled the car in front of the smallest building, I scanned the area to ensure we didn’t have any unwanted campers using the area as their safety grounds.

Camden pulled up beside us, climbing out before I did. I took a few seconds to button my jacket before pulling out my keys and heading to the door. Once inside, I was greeted with the same musty odor as always but with the slight humidity in the air, the stench of blood lingered in the aging concrete. I flicked on the single hanging fluorescent light fixture, taking a serious look at the bloodstains imbedded in the walls.

My father had used the place long before it had been passed down to me. I’d heard brutal stories, acts of torture so heinous I was surprised he’d been able to come home easily, washing the blood from his hands before sitting down with the family for dinner. My mother had always insisted on saying grace, which I found hysterical to this day.

We were all going to burn in hell.

There was something about going inside that reminded me all over again why we were considered brutal bastards. Although neither one of my two brothers had truly been indoctrinated into the criminal world where the bad guys got rich, the good guys got… Well, I wasn’t really certain. What I did know was that those pretending to never have walked that fine line between good versus evil were often liars. And damn good ones.

That had certainly taken away what little guilt I had from being born into the Kennedy household.

But days like today when Camden, the man in charge of my special interrogation bag, reminded me that we weren’t entirely that far removed from barbarians using spiked clubs to beat a man senseless for a leg of lamb. While I honestly wasn’t in the mood to kill the guy, I would do what was necessary if required.

The way of our people.

We were a special breed. The Five Families of the mafia world had expanded into dozens, perhaps hundreds if you counted the violent cartels and smaller Bratva organizations across the world. Where there used to be respect amongst the various organizations, there was now nothing but contempt. Like bullies on a school ground.

My days of being a philosopher had gotten much longer.

“You okay, boss?” Jeff asked as he flanked my side, his upper lip curling from the disgusting stench.

“As okay as I can be. What is the man’s name, or did you not bother to find that out?”

“Get this. Bob Barker.” He laughed hysterically as if telling the funniest joke in the world.

I looked in his direction, narrowing my eyes. I appreciated most things about Jeff, but there were times he honestly got on my nerves.

“You know, the dude from television? The former game show host that lived to like two hundred?”

Sighing, I took a few steps further into the shadows as I heard muffled screams coming from behind me. I turned slightly, noticing Camden’s grin first. For a decorated Marine, a man who’d once given his oath of honor, he loved this part of his job. He had the interrogation bag slung over his shoulder, easily dragging our special guest with no exertion.

“Chain him to the wall. Strip off his clothes first.”

I didn’t watch as Camden and my other soldier handled my order. I was lost in thought, curious as to what my dad had come up with. Pops was perfectly capable of going off on a tangent but I’d seen the odd look in his eyes. He knew more, or at least suspected more than he’d wanted to tell me. That was so like him. I used to call it his treasure chest. He was masterful at keeping secrets even from those closest to him.

At least I had an inkling about the assassins, but that didn’t mean the knowledge of their expansive existence answered any questions.

When I’d once asked Pops about why, he told me an elaborate story about his father and the single betrayal that had changed everything in our past, our present, and our future. Although he’d yet to explain why or how. He’d said he’d allowed himself to be duped for years, slowly learning to trust someone, even providing carefully guarded secrets.

The trusted man had then disappeared, leaving behind an open door for some horrible enemy to swoop in. Thoughts of my grandfather slipped into the back of my mind. I’d been a little boy when this situation had occurred. He’d never been the same, ultimately losing his mind. Some said it had been to Alzheimer’s, but I knew better. It was as if his soul had been sucked out from his system.

Pops had said be careful loving a woman because they could be the most treacherous creatures of all. Of course, he issued the warning when my brothers and I knew our mother really captained the ship. It was hysterical to see how she had him wrapped around her little finger.

I’d been disgusted as a teenager. Now I envied what they still had, their love growing even stronger. Great. Now my thoughts had returned to the beautiful, yet problematic woman locked inside my house like Goldilocks.

“He’s ready, boss,” Camden said, dragging me out of my thoughtful mood. Or maybe a ridiculous haze. I didn’t bother looking at the guy, spreading my wealth of terrible anticipation as I headed to my special bag. I had various implements inside, most handed down from Pops and Grandpops. They’d truly been sadistic bastards when running the regime.

A set of old crates was being used as a table and I placed one item after another on the surface, ensuring the bastard got a good look at every one of them. Of course it helped that I was positioned directly under the glaring light. He was already whimpering, jerking at the chains. They were steel, the posts imbedded a solid six inches into the concrete wall. Even Hercules would have trouble getting free.

I’d almost had the building torn down like ten times. I daresay some DNA could be found if a pesky FBI agent or forensics examiner looked closely enough. Maybe it really was time. I had an architect on standby who’d prepared a couple of sets of drawings with ideas for use of the site. Maybe I’d give him a call when this shit was all said and done.

Icepick—check.

Small battery-operated saw—check.

---