Page 66 of Bristol

“Mack said to meet her at this address,” she says, typing it into the GPS of my car.

“You ready?” I ask, raising my brows.

Kendra nods. “Fuck yeah.”

We are fifteen minutes from our destination. We drive down a few back roads and end up in the middle of nothing. The GPS says to turn into a driveway that I can hardly see and there are massive potholes that I have to drive around as we maneuver down this gravel driveway that is surrounded by woods on either side. We drive for about a mile before there’s a curve to the right that turns into an opening. Tucked away in the back of the driveway is an old, rundown house. It’s a shotgun style home that looks like it hasn’t been lived in for a very long time from what I can see in the little bit of daylight that’s left.

Mack is standing on the porch, leaned against one of the posts holding the house up. I wouldn’t lean too hard on that thing if I were her, it doesn’t look like a very sturdy place to begin with. The orange cherry of a cigarette dangles from her fingertips as she presses it to her mouth to take a drag. I didn’t realize she was a smoker. I guess that would make sense since I’ve never really been around her outside of a professional setting.

“Welcome, ladies,” she says with a smile as we approach the house.

Kendra walks up the rickety stairs a little too cheerfully and I giggle.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just that what we’re here for versus your energy are two very different entities.”

Kendra shrugs a shoulder. “I’m happy about it, what can I say? I’ve wanted to do this for literal years.”

“It’s only been a few months for me, but same. Let’s get this party started,” I say, pulling a pint of fireball whiskey from my back pocket. I twist the top and take a swig, scrunching my nose up before swallowing it and passing the bottle to Kendra.

“Oh, hell yeah. My favorite!” She takes two sips then passes the bottle to Mack. She takes a small sip and gives it back to me. I shove it back into my back pocket and Mack opens the door, leading us inside with an oil lantern. It feels like I’ve traveled back in time to the Salem witch trials or something.

We walk through the entire house straight to the very back room. There are chains hanging from the ceiling and hanging from them is none other than the little bitch who thought she could ruin my life.

Princess.

Chapter Twenty

SEBASTIAN

Bristol was so cute leaving tonight thinking that she’s off gallivanting doing secret shit when I, in fact, helped arrange her little fun outing this evening. I didn’t say anything to her though. She can feel like she’s keeping a secret if she wants to. No harm in that. I’m not sure if she thinks I wouldn’t approve or if she’s worried that I’ll look at her in a different light, but nonetheless, it’s harmless and I’ll let her keep her secret. That little bitch has earned every bit of what’s coming to her.

While Bristol was in the process of taking her driving class and working on getting her life together, I’ve been keeping secrets of my own. Patrick has been held captive in Reaper’s shop for the last three months. We’ve been having a grand time showing him what true torture is like. He thought raping someone against their will was torture? He doesn’t anymore. That’s fucking child’s play compared to what these guys have put him through.

The first night wasn’t the most satisfying. He was so cocky and arrogant, even being restrained. He had no idea who we were or why we wanted him at first. It didn’t take long before he understood exactly what the weight of his actions carried. Big George was first to get his hands on him. I would have never heard the end of it if he didn’t get an opportunity to inflict a little bit of damage on a man he has been dying to hurt since the moment he found out what he had done.

Slider located Patrick for Reaper. That motherfucker is too good at what he does. While I was in the hospital, he was busy single-handedly tearing down the sex trafficking ring while making them believe he was taking the whole damn thing over. I won’t admit it out loud, but he’s a scary fucking human. To be able to shift yourself into that kind of mindset and convince people who truly are that way that you think the same way they do, that takes a lot of mental shit I’m not even prepared to think about.

After Big George did a number on him and showed him what being raped was like, with the handle of a splintered broomstick among other items that I did not care to hear about, Mo got his turn. It was a little more personal for Mo. We did at least give the piece of shit some time in between. He had a whole day to recover before Mo got his hands on him. I’m not sure Mo did anything fucked up other than just beat the fuck out of him. He broke a few bones. We called in a favor to Doc who made a special trip down here to bandage him up and we gave him a few days to recover a bit.

Next was Reaper. Reaper has been carrying around some resentment and all of it came out of his fists. Reaper also likes to remove extremities. Patrick ended up four fingers short after it was all said and done. I think Reaper has watched one too many serial killer movies, because he cut up one of Patrick’s fingers and fed it to him with a spoon. That was even a little bit much for me and I had to leave in the midst of it or I was going to toss my cookies all over the floor. I couldn’t have that and look like a little bitch. I don’t know how Reaper did it, but he seemed extra-satisfied with himself afterward. He was proud and his chest was tall when he was done.

Doc ended up staying in town for two weeks, training Reaper on how to patch Patrick up and keep him alive so we could torture him a little more every day. Of course, Reaper paid Doc for his time plus some. Every member that was at our table, aside from Mikey and the prospects, on the day that we found out about this sick fucker and everything he had done, has had a turn at showing him exactly how they felt about it. Now…

Now it’s my turn. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this. A lot of time to build up hatred. Anger. Rage. We were blown up, for fucks sake. They say everything happens for a reason. And there’s a reason we didn’t find Patrick before I got burned. That reason is that it gave me all the drive to show Patrick exactly how bad pain can be. Going through the treatment I went through every single day made me realize that life is not that bad. For me. For Patrick, though? Life is about to be worse than he has ever imagined. Even after being raped with a broomstick and fed his own extremities.

I walk into Reaper’s shop with a little extra pep in my step. I’m not sure if it’s the way this day has laid out, with closing on our house and knowing my girl is getting the revenge she deserves, or if it’s because I am about to get the most satisfaction in my own revenge, but either way, it’s a good day.

I close the door to the sound-proof torture chamber behind me and turn on the dim lights. Patrick dangles from the heavy chains nailed into the roof. He’s covered in days old blood. His face has been beaten so many times that he’s almost permanently disfigured. And even seeing him like this can’t even make me feel an ounce of sympathy for him.

I grab the five-gallon can of gasoline that I brought in with me and my blow torch.

“When I got burned, I realized that fire is the most painful thing that’s ever happened to me. I got burned in a fire at one of your little sex-trafficking locations.”

Patrick lifts his head, his eyes empty and nearly lifeless. He doesn’t speak. He simply stares at me.

“So, now it’s time to show you how that feels.”

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