Alamort

18. Bennett

I t’s Friday night. Excitement buzzes through my veins while my brother sits Saint and I down at the kitchen island. Every article we’re wearing is black, from head to toe. I don’t want to brag about saying I planned our outfits, but I did. Malice is lurking in the background. It’s been so long since we’ve been on a job. I have an abundance of energy, like a live wire. I can’t imagine how everyone else feels finally to be free from the confines of this miserable, monotonous routine. We’ve made no progress with Priya and it’s getting under everyone’s skin. The fact she still walks around with her head high has my teeth on edge. I’ll have to apply a little more pressure for some results. She needs to be pulled down a peg or two. I want her to pay for what she did. I want her broken. When Crew tells us about the gig for tonight, I forget my anger.

“Martin Pierce, 0000 River Road in Saint George. He’s hiding out on some lot of land.”

“Crime?” Saint asks. We all know it wouldn’t matter what the offense is. We have signed, sealed, and will deliver his death warrant.

“Reoccurring sex offender. His recent victim is a 12-year-old little girl named Ellie. He kidnapped her for three days. Repeatedly raped her, before letting her go.” He pauses. There is more. “He let her go in the forest. The police found her six days after her abduction date. Died from her wounds, starvation, and severe dehydration. The autopsy reported internal tears.” My stomach rolls with nausea. Charles and Marie come to mind. Of a time when I was a defenseless kid with no one to protect me. Peeking over at Saint, he’s not in much better shape. His face is paler than usual. Nodding, I get up, ready to take out this piece of trash.

“Everything is packed. We just have to stop in town to pick up the car.” Of course. Crew would ensure that everything is ready to go.

We pull onto a dirt road. The ghost car is a standard older four-door sedan. Untraceable with counterfeit plates and insurance, in case we get pulled over. Worst-case scenario, we have to boost another car. Which would add to our fun ‘night out’.

Having money definitely comes with some perks, but sometimes I miss the way our lives used to be, before mom died. Playing outside until the streetlights came on. Crew made a game to see who could steal the most food without getting caught. Another pothole has the guys jostling around. They’re absolutely impossible to miss.

“You missed one.” Crew grumbles from the passenger seat. My foot slams on the brakes in the middle of the rocky road, startling Saint and Crew.

“What the fuck, Ben?” Crew yells. Looking back in the rearview mirror, Saint smothers a smile and shakes his head. I smirk, throwing the car in reverse. Gravel spins up from beneath the tires, losing a little traction. All of us go flying backwards when I hit the gas, bouncing from the deep potholes all over again. Have to make sure I hit the “one” I missed, according to Crew. Laughing like a maniac at the panicked look on Saint’s face and the small smile on my brother’s face. Their happiness makes my heart a little lighter than it has been in months.

Trees and bushes cover the overgrown pathway. The turn is barely noticeable in the dark. Driving slowly, I shut off the headlights. Better not to have him know we’re here. It would ruin the surprise. My eye twitches when the rough texture of sticks scratches the side of the car, like nails on a chalkboard.

“Come on, you’re getting ready to kill someone, and you’re cringing at the noise?” Crew complains.

Giving him the side eye, “Your car deserves better than a reckless, heartless owner like you. Poor baby,” I coo to the car, rubbing the steering wheel. We pull up to a literal abandoned shack in the middle of nowhere, about the size of our ensuite bathrooms. Stealthily, we get out of the car a little ways away from said shack.

My brother hands us each a pair of leather gloves. “Ben, you’ll go in through the front door. Malice through the back.” Leaving him to make sure our target doesn’t get out from the sides. It’s dark enough where mostly everything is a darker mass in the night. Since we’re in such a dense area, I decided the best course of action was night vision goggles. Also, I just really wanted to try them out. Sliding them on, I bring down the binocular contraption. This is sick. I love it. Silently, we get into our positions.

Everyone has 30 seconds. It’s an unspoken rule. I ready my weight against the center panel of the old wood door, decaying with time, and giddiness rushes over me as I push forward with my shoulder. The door splinters with a crack, making its way around the otherwise silent night. Wings flutter from animals that inhabit the unoccupied space. I wrinkle my nose at the smell of rotting wood, mildew, and human piss. Debris covers the entire shack. The room is a mess, empty cans of unidentified drinks strewn about in every corner. An old mattress that’s blackened with age and grime lies on the floor, pushed up against the wall with a figure slowly sitting up. Disgusting. I open my mouth, but Malice beats me to it. He slinks from the darkened shadows. I remove my night vision goggles at the same time Crew flips on a lantern.

“Hello, Martin.” Crew greets, followed by an ominous thud of our leather bag filled with goodies.

Everything after that was quick, the thrill of being in action after being dormant for so long. Malice grabs Martin by the back of the neck. While I make quick work of the rope Crew handed me when we switched cars. I bind the rope tightly behind his back, wrapping it around his wrists, following suit for his ankles, ensuring he can’t get out. Malice enjoys the struggle too much as he tosses the trembling pedophile on the ground. He lands on his shoulder, screaming from the harsh impact. That will be the least of his worries soon enough.

“Do you know who we are? Why are we here, Martin?” Crew asks unbothered. Like Martin is wasting his time by being here. Martin shakes his head. Straight to denial, predictable. Who would admit they’re a fucking predator?

Tsking, Crew continues. “You know the answer to at least one of those questions.”

“The girl.” Martin whispers.

A genuine smile splits across Crew’s face. Happy with his admission. He nods to Malice, but Martin took it as a sign to continue.

“B-But her parents were asking for it. Who leaves their child unattended at a playground? There are monsters everywhere,” he stutters but picks up with conviction.

My brother wears the matching scowl of my own.

“Monsters like you?”

The coward nods, not realizing that was the answer that sealed his gruesome fate. The zipper of the bag is loud over his labored breathing. I guess we’re not the only ones dying of suspense.

“I’d give you the same courtesy you did for little Ellie. But unfortunately, my monsters are hungry.”

Tension fills the air. I’m foaming at the mouth for it. The metallic tang of blood in the air. Unable to contain myself, I let out a whoop for what’s to come.

Malice squats, impatient with Crew’s mind games. He grabs a fist full of his hair at the roots and faces him towards us. The lantern’s flickering light casts an ominous aura over Malice, giving him a sinister appearance. A demon coming to collect a soul.

A pair of pliers are placed in my hand. Where to start? I could take off his nails one by one. Hands and then feet. We purposefully left his face without tape to hear his screams. Beg us to stop for his life, just like Ellie did. My heart beats a little faster at the thought of a helpless girl begging for her mom. Or her brother, like I did.

Before I can pick a place to start. Crew eagerly lands the first punch square on Martin’s jaw. His head snaps backwards, and he groans. Mal takes his knife and pushes it into the piece of shits skin. Only one gash, shoulder to elbow and fixates on the blood slowly trickling out of his wound, before dripping off of his elbow. Without fanfare he’s dropped to the dirty wood floor. A steeled toe boot lands a perfect kick to his ribs. I cringe, that has to of broken something. My twin doesn’t stop there. He beats Martin until he’s an unconscious, bloody pile on the ground. His face is unrecognizable. Both eyes are swollen shut. Teeth are missing and his breaths are loud wheezes. His nose sits on his face at an awkward angle.

There’s only one word to describe it. Beautiful.

Malice pulls out smelling salts, leaving Martin to startle awake. A smile stretches across my face. My turn.

The cold metal of the pliers seep through my leather gloves, sending a delicious shiver up my spine. His pinky first, all the way to his thumb, exposing the nerve-rich nail bed in its wake. Only to repeat the process on the next hand.

There is something about the way the fragile skin underneath the nail gives away that brings me pleasure. With each nail I pull, Malice leaves another cut on the man’s skin. I don’t know if he feels anything at this point, but I do. After his nasty toenails are done. I step back to admire our work. He’s still alive, barely. He won’t be as soon as Malice is done with him.

“Do you know who we are yet?” The thick British accent sounds menacing. A groan is the only response he gets. Mal hums his displeasure.

“We’re the Demons.” He slices, stabbing his blade into the bloodied leg before jerking it out, only to jab it into his right leg. A blood-curdling scream reaches all four corners of the dark shack.

“And we’ve come to collect your soul,” he whispers darkly into his ear.

“Ooh, that one gave me shivers.” I say to no one in particular. The man’s wailing intensifies when the blade is yanked out once again. Aware he will not make it out in one piece. If I’m being honest, not even two.

While he’s blubbering on the ground. Crew reaches inside the leather bag with our work tools to grab a bone saw. This elicits a weak fight-or-flight response from Martin. He struggles in Malice’s grip to get away from Crew. I grab his hand in a death grip and apply pressure to his bloody fingertips to keep him immobile. The saw is the shape of an ‘L’, easily held. He grabbed his fancy one for tonight. The sound of the saw cutting through bone bounces around my brain as he brutally removes his pinky finger. Bloodied bone is visible through all the flesh parts, allowing us to see it clearly. Leaving us surrounded by the acrid scent of burnt skin and seared hair, fill my nose when I cauterize the wound to keep him from bleeding out too quick. The high I’m riding on is better than any drug could give me.

Without waiting for me to finish, Malice steps closer, letting me know he’s ready to continue. Each strike pierces and cuts through Martin’s flesh until his cries are silenced. There’s something so peaceful after taking a life. The stillness that fills the air is incredibly calming. I could justify our actions by saying how horrible of a guy he was. How someone who rapes and tortures a little girl is scum. All of that would be the truth. But that’s not why we do it. That’s just a bonus.

Blood is present in every corner that the lantern light reaches, creating what would be a chilling scene to most. The transformation of Martin’s exterior now matches the true nature of his inner self, the trash he used to be.

Malice’s icy blue eyes connect with mine. I know what he’s going to do before he even does it.

“Don’t.” I groan. He gives me a wicked smile, pulling the knife up to his mouth. “Don’t you fucking do it, you nasty bastard.” His grin reaches from cheek to cheek, bringing the knife closer to his lips, and licks one side of his blade. Blood coats his tongue and seeps into his teeth when he closes his mouth. “Mal!” I hiss, “you don’t know if his nasty ass was clean. STDs?” Gagging at the thought.

Malice shrugs. “He didn’t. I had Saint check when he looped the traffic cameras. Plus, it’s a ritual.”

A fucking nasty one. Mark my words, he’ll fuck up one day and it’ll bite him in the ass.

Crew pats my back. “You’re on clean up.” Come on! You have got to be kidding me. I barely got to play, and I get stuck with the dirty work. Grunting, I work on dismembering the body for transport. Starting with his limbs to isolate the torso. When someone moves the lantern, I notice a black envelope lying on the bed. If not for the light, it would’ve been easily missed. The envelope is the same color as the bed. I reach for it and rip it open. The message sends chills down my spine and not the good ones I’ve been feeling all night.

Saint, it’s time to come home.