“Se. And now he gets to remain one.”
Laughing like a madman, I draw strength from the agony. Hovering over him, I revel in knowing I’m the last thing he’ll ever see. The mad Butcher, the pawn, takes down the great Jimmy Fucking Storm. My friend. . . My idol.
He spits blood at my face. Looking at me, he laughs, his laughter mocking mine. His eyes taunting as he mouths, “My boy,” and nausea and fury engulf me.
“My son needs to go to university,” Dad says, butting his cigar out, the smoke moving between the two men.
I shake my head, look to Jimmy for support. “I don’t want to go to fucking university. I want to work for my family.”
Jimmy grins. “The boy knows what he wants, Luca.”
He places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes.
Growling at myself as tears rip violently from within me, I force my body into action, force my muscles to take his life even as my heart splinters and opens up. One metal fist. One bare. I beat the life out of the man I idolise, beat the bullshit advice, the manipulative support, the lies and deceit. I beat him for Shoshanna, beat him for sweet Akila. I beat the mouth that says, ‘my boy,’ knowing I’ll never hear it again.
I beat him raw like a fucking Butcher.
With my fists.
With my muscles.
With my brother at my side.
.
Shoshanna
Present day
Through the barbed-wire fencing,I run towards the abattoir under the watchful eyes of Luca, Max, Xander, and several Butcher guards. Summoning all my strength to face whatever is behind those imposing doors. Cattle and livestock graze in the surrounding paddocks, a peaceful lining to the grisly centre where evil operates.
The thick riot gear they forced me to wear restricts my movements, making my body heavy and sluggish. Several guards separate from the main group. Rounding the perimeter of the building, they disappear into the dark fields.
Max moves in first, his gun raised and ready. Behind him Luca and two other men follow while Xander flanks the rear. A line of Butcher guards separates each of them, a seemingly well organised formation. My pulse races around in my throat, but I can’t let the moment overwhelm me. This is where I belong.
With him.
At the sight of Jimmy’s guards, several red dots arrow in on their chests. They raise their hands, and we slow down, wondering why there is no retaliation. One man approaches Luca and I rush over to hear the conversation.
“You can move freely,” he says to Luca as crackling feedback comes through the speaker on his vest. Xander darts his eyes around in confusion, his body vibrating, ready for a fight. Max slows and stands by his dad, gun rested by his thigh, steady and prepared.
I don’t need any further explanation. Darting into the abattoir, I catch Luca’s gruff order to his guards, “Follow her.” Moving straight through the doors, I push past guards, heading to a room at the end of the hall. He’s in there. I know. My lungs burn. The entire space is cold and hollow - heartless. I want to puke. As I pant and draw air in, my nostrils singe with the presence of chemicals. A stench only lightly masking the rancid smell of death and blood. Of raw meat. Of shit.
Legging it into the room, I search the area. I come to a dead stop. My heart contracts, skipping through my veins with relief when I see Bronson is very much alive.
Then it sinks into a black hole in my stomach.
He’s on his knees, covered from head to toe in blood. Too much blood to be entirely his own. In a heap on the floor in front of him, is the bludgeoned corpse of Jimmy Storm. A few metres away, another body lay, his neck skin flapping open.
Standing beside Bronson, Clay is still and solemn, gripping his little brother’s shoulder supportively.
Completely ignoring the gruesome scene inches from my man’s knees, I rush over to him. Dropping to the cement floor, I fling my arms around his blood-soaked shoulders, clutching with desperation. He buries his head into my chest, hunching over and bursting into violent sobs.
Oh, God.
Nutcase.
Vibrating with emotion, he is letting me hold him in his trembling state. Pulling his head to my chest, I comb my fingers through his wet hair, not caring about the blood all over me.