Page 4 of Absolution

Present

“You done bullshitting me?” I whisper into the ear of the semi-conscious man tied up in front of me. His hair is matted, while blood drips from the laceration above his eye and broken nose. Just a few shorts months ago, I would have called him my brother, but today the only word I could use to describe him is traitor. A traitor to our club, and to those who lay dead because of guys like him.

He mumbles a garbled response, but it’s completely unintelligible.

“What’s that?” I antagonize. “You ready to tell me the truth, Hog?”

“Go to hell,” he forces out just before spitting blood onto my black, leather-riding boots.

“Pushing my buttons isn’t the best idea, Hog. You could make this so much easier on yourself if you just spit it out. There’s no use in stalling since the result will be the same.”

“Fuck You!” he screams.

It’s the puff up my chest like I’m a total badass move that only makes me work harder for the truth. Maybe he thinks it will change my mind, but he’d be dead fucking wrong. When the shit hits the fan, I am the one who laces up my boots and wades in head first for my brothers. Maybe it’s my lack of an emotional connection to the consequences of death or the fact that I have a strong stomach, but it’s my job and one that I do well.

“Wrong fucking answer, asshole,” I seethe. A demented smile forms on his face, as my hand balls into a fist, at my side.

Keep on taunting me, motherfucker. It’ll only make the end more painful for you.

“Raze is a fucking pussy for sending you to do his dirty work, while he plays house with that old lady cast-off,” Hog fires back, seeming more coherent than before. “That’s the difference between me and him. I can handle the dirty work myself. How do you feel about being the puppet of a coward?”

I laugh in his face, and he remains stagnant in his glare.

“A puppet? You were working for the fucking cartel, Hog. The cartel that is dust in the Mexican wind. If anyone is the puppet, it’s you. You chose money over your own fucking brothers.”

Hog forces himself to lift his head, weak from the beatings and starvation over the last few days.

“The only loser here is you, Ratchet. First your sister, and now your woman. Been gone six months now, and I hear that you haven’t even tried to find her,” Hog chides me as my blood begins to boil. “Seems to me that you’d be more careful with the women in your life.”

It’s one thing to try to spout off at the mouth in situational anger, but bringing my personal shit into this? That’s crossing the fucking line. My sister made her choice, but Ricca is an entirely different story. A story that’s been put on hold, until I found Hog. He’s the last fucking loose end, and his end is so near that I can taste his death on my tongue. As soon as he breathes his last ragged breath, she’s my next target.

“I’m guessing from your silence that I hit a nerve,” Hog continues to prod. “If you find that piece of Tribe ass, you should just hand her over to me. Even though she’s been well used, I’d love to hear her scream underneath me.”

Before his mouth can spew any more bullshit, my fist is in the air and connects with his temple. The impact knocks the fight out of him, and I hope he is just unconscious and not dead. The rising and falling of his chest tells me he’s still breathing, which is perfect because I want him to feel every agonizing second of what’s to come next.

“My sister and Ricca are none of your fucking business,” I scream at him, before pulling my knife from its sheath on my hip and plunging it right into his groin. He screams as I twist the knife, severing his favorite appendage from his body. Pulling my knife from his flesh, blood spurts as his cock and balls fall a little bit lower than normal.

“How does it feel to be spineless and dickless, Hog?”

He writhes and wails in pain as I smile watching him suffer. His admission to knowing my personal issues only goes to show that he’s been watching our group long after the Cartel’s massacre. The wheels in my mind turn with the angles he could have been working to need such information, but with the bloody mess pooling between his legs, he doesn’t have much time left.

“Last chance, Hog. Answer my question, and I’ll let you die quickly.”

“Go fuck yourself,” he screams.

My chest heaves as the anger flows freely through my veins. He just doesn’t know when to submit himself to his fate. At least a little information would have made this less painful for him. Well, if it had been someone else down here instead. Myself on the other hand, I have a strict policy on how to handle disloyalty. Zero-fucking-tolerance. You fuck with my family? I fucking kill yours.

“You should have found a better place to hide, motherfucker,” I call out to him knowing he’s watching my every move as I turn on my heels. Stalking to the table behind me, where my tools lie at the ready, I grab the gas can and return to Hog dousing him in the fuel. The can falls to the floor with a thud when I toss it aside, and he jumps from the sound.

“You don’t have the balls, son. Why don’t you call the dogs upstairs down and let them finish up for you? I can see it in your eyes that you don’t have the stomach for this shit.”

“Balls?” I respond. “Who are you to talk to me about balls when yours are dangling by a thread?”

He’s wrong. Hog has always been one of the guys in our club who knew how to spew shit to stall for time. Granted, it was a skill we utilized from time to time in tough spots, but his usefulness died the moment one of his own named him as being in with the cartel. That betrayal stamped his ticket to hell, and I’ll be the ferryman to drop him off on Satan’s doorstep like a gift basket. Well, except for the fact that he’ll be a little bit less visually appealing, but I’m sure that Satan will understand the mess I’m leaving him to deal with.

I pull out the gun seated in the holster at my hip and press the barrel to his forehead. He remains motionless when I pull back the hammer, my chest heaving in a mixture of anger and excitement. There’s no denying that I am a sick motherfucker, but I’d wear that shit on a badge everyday if it meant my brothers and their families were safe. Sometimes it’s just easier to take the smudge of darkness onto my soul, than to let those around me suffer in the weight of guilt from killing someone. Good thing for me that my conscience has never been something I cared about.

“Go to hell with the rest of your family, asshole,” I declare, pulling the trigger and ending his miserable existence. The force of the shot sends his brains splattering against the wall behind him. Clumps of brain matter stick to every crevasse of the wall behind him.

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