Page 13 of Playing to Win

“I’m going first, then Bellamy. The rest is whatever the fuck you want to do with him.” I toss the wooden bat from the barrel to the handle. It’s a shame it will have to be burned along with any evidence that could potentially be traced back to any of us. It’s a leftover from my high school playing days. It’s worth it to watch it burn right alongside Brian. I take a step toward where he's tied up, ready to take my first lick. It won’t be my last either. I pull the bat back and hit him in his mouth first. Maybe he’ll choke on his own blood or it’ll at least shut him up for a while. This whole time, he’s been mumbling some nonsense or the other.

“Ouch, that’s got to hurt,” Parker says when I slam the bat from the side, using my swing and stance I perfected all those years ago. It turns out swinging a bat is a lot like riding a bike—muscle memory has you remembering what to do, perfectly.

“God, shit, fuck!” Brian mutters after wood met teeth. A few fall out. The rotting teeth will be the least of his problems after we’re done with him. I don’t stop, not yet. He deserves a few more licks from me before Bellamy has his turn with him. I step back to stand in front of him, raising the bat once again and slamming it down on his nuts. Sylvester didn’t allude to what happened with the other tenant or tenants at Danica’s apartment building, but I’m willing to bet Brian here used his mouth to do more than talk.

“Oh, this is going to get so much better,” Boston chimes in as a scream permeates the air. I relish hearing Brian being in pain. It’ll never take over the feeling of not being there when I should have been. I’ll never forget the phone call, hearing Bellamy’s distraught voice, and seeing Danica in a stretcher. Even right now, in the midst of seeking revenge, I hate that while she’s in the hospital, I’m here.

“One more time, then Bellamy here can have his time with Brian.” I hit him in the balls again. A groan leaves his fucked-up mouth. The end of the bat meets his pencil dick yet again as my anger gets the better of me. I’m no longer the controlled man I usually am. I take the bat to one shoulder, then the other, going after his knees next. I repeat the process until Brian’s head is slumped to the side, his body battered and bloody, and I’d keep going, too.

“You going to let Bellamy have a go at him before it’s over?” Sly’s voice breaks through Brian’s groans and my grunts. The end of the bat is broken, wooden shards in its place, and my hands and forearms are coated with droplets of blood.

“Yeah, you’re right.” I drop the bat, slowly take a step back, and let my family go to work. “I’m ending his life, though, nobody but me.”

“You sure you want that? I can have someone do it for you. It’s one thing to beat them to a pulp, it’s another entirely to take a life,” Sylvester says, making it seem as if he’s been in my shoes, and if he has, it’d the first any of us would know about it.

“He’s mine,” I state without an ounce of hesitation. I’ll sleep better at night knowing this piece of shit took his last breath with me taking it all away.

“Alright.” Bellamy pulls a pair of brass knuckles out of his pockets. I didn’t see that coming from a mile away. The old man has more in him than I knew.

“Fuck, yes,” Ezra comments when Bellamy holds Brian by his greasy hair with one hand and punches him with the other. He does this a few more times, showing he’s still spry for a man in his sixties.

“That’s how it’s done, boys. Now it’s my turn,” Parker states. I watch as he and Ezra do their damage, each of them having a fire in their soul about women being hurt, and for good reason. Parker’s mom was abused when he was growing up. He watched it way too often until he could help take control of the situation. Ezra was right there beside him. Neither of them liked watching their mom being hurt. Parker takes the handcuffs off Brian’s hands while Ezra picks up the bat, and they proceed to fuck up his hands hit by motherfucking hit.

“Leave his legs for me,” Boston says. He’s leaning up against a counter, arms crossed over his chest, geared up for battle.

“You fuckers are going to leave me with nothing. I’ll take his stomach,” Sylvester states, a knife twirling in his hand with skillful precision. It seems Sly has been keeping a few things under wraps all these years.

“Your turn,” Ezra says once Brian’s hands are broken, fingers in different positions, a few bones sticking out of the skin.

“Fuck, that felt good.” Parker takes his place beside me, handing Boston what’s left of the bat. My eyes stay on Brian. His head is lolled to the side, and he’s pleading, “No more, please. No more.” His pleas fall on deaf eyes. There isn’t a soul in this room who can save him now. Boston stabs the end of the bat into one thigh, then pulls it out. “Stop, God, Stop!” Boston repeats the process to the other thigh. This time, he leaves it in there.

“Can’t have him bleeding out before your through.” I shrug my shoulders. I’d give him some Narcan to bring him back to life before I send him to hell permanently. Sylvester throws one knife, landing it in Brian’s gut. It stays where he plant it. Another one appears, and he does the same.

“Finish him. This is taking too long as it is. We’ll all need to burn our clothes and shower before we go back to the women.”

“Make it look like arson. Burn the fucker to the ground. Let me know when the money comes through. I’ll be donating it.” I don’t elaborate. I walk toward Brian, taking my time, relishing in the moment I watch the blood and life drain from his veins.

“You’re lucky we made it easy for you. I could have done this for hours upon hours.” Brian gurgles, blood coming from his mouth, and I pull the knife out of his gut that Sly used and slam it into his heart. Silencing him forever.

TWENTY

Danica

“Theo,you really do not need to carry me everywhere. It’s a concussion, not a broken leg.” I’m not getting my point across, it seems. He grunts but has otherwise stayed eerily quiet since I was released from the hospital. I haven’t brought it up, but maybe I should now. “Would you rather I stay somewhere else?” There’s a meekness in my tone that I’m not used to hearing, and boy, do I hate it. It didn’t go unnoticed that when he returned along with the other guys, their clothes were changed and all were freshly showered, damp hair and all. Nessa and Millie mentioned they like to box to relieve stress after a hard meeting, but I’m thinking it’s something else.

“No, not at all. If you go somewhere, I’m going somewhere. You’re not leaving my sight.” The elevator dings then opens to his penthouse as he whispers beneath his breath, “Not now or ever.”

“If you’re sure.” He carries me to the couch. The normally bright and airy house is currently dim and dark. Theo stayed at the hospital last night, but I’m sure he came home at some point. I wonder why he’s got the house so closed up.

“I’m positive. Do you want to shower and then lie in bed or on the couch?” Ugh, this is going to be a long few days. I’ve been lucky that Theo has yet to see the bruises on the outside of my thigh and knee. Once he does, there’s no telling how he’ll overreact in taking care of me even more than he already does.

“Couch, I’m sick and tired of sitting or lying in a bed.” My arms are looped around his neck, hands playing with the ends of his hair. I take in his side profile, his chiseled jaw, the five-o’clock shadow in full effect, the dark circles beneath his eyes from lack of sleep. Though, none of that takes away from the beautiful man, his warm eyes, full lips, and a wicked mouth he has no problem using. My thighs clench as I remember yesterday morning before shit went to hell in a hand basket.

“Knock it off, fairy. It’s not happening until you’re completely healed.” He reads my mind, or my body, really. I let out an elongated sigh tinged with annoyance because I know he’ll stand firm. Vanessa made sure to reiterate the rules after the doctor handed me my release paperwork. Payback is going to be a bitch one day. I just need to figure how to make it work in my favor.

“Spoilsport.” Another idea forms in my head as we make our way down the hall. My lips on his throat try to make him fold under pressure as we walk through his master bedroom, which is once again dark. The bed sheets are pulled back, and the light on one of the nightstands is glowing softly.

“A few days. You can wait until then, can’t you?” he replies, nudging me away from his neck. I lift away, eyes locking on my backpack by the bench at the foot of the bed. I’m sent back to reality with that blast. Being out of commission in the way of schoolwork for the better part of the week is really going to set me back.

---