Bitter Sweet Hell (Hell Night Book 2) Page 13

  I stop Eden before we get to the table. “Save me a seat. I need to go talk to Judge for a minute.”

  “Sure.”

  Judge is just hanging up as I make it to him.

  “That was Dax. He’s got a situation in San Antonio. A father was found not guilty of raping and killing his fifteen-year-old son because the evidence they had was shitty. A video just came across his desk of the father committing both crimes. Double jeopardy law protects him. I figured you’d want in since you had to give up Richard.”

  I seek out Eden and find her sitting at one of the picnic tables beside Jenny. She throws her head back and laughs at something Gabby, one of the kids, says. All of the children are at a smaller picnic table in between the two big ones. She leans back so she can talk to the little girl, and whatever she says has Gabby giggling and clapping her hands.

  I turn back to Judge. “I want in.” I look straight into my brother’s eyes and say with force, “She stays with you and Jenny. You watch her. You guard her with your life.” He gives me a grim nod. “I mean it, Judge.”

  The only reason I’m agreeing to go is because it’ll take me less than twenty-four hours to do what needs to be done, and I trust my brothers to keep Eden safe. It still pisses me off though that another night I had planned to spend with her is foiled.

  “I hear you, brother.”

  I’m mildly surprised he doesn’t give me shit on my obvious attachment to Eden, but push the thought away.

  “Dax says it’s time sensitive. He feels the guy will haul ass, even though he can’t be charged twice.”

  “I’ll leave tonight and be back by tomorrow afternoon. I’m going to make a stop to see Emiliano.”

  Judge’s eyes narrow. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Emiliano isn’t stupid like his son. He knows how to choose his battles. I won’t be coming in hot, but I will damn sure let him know his son is walking on dangerous grounds. We may have never dealt with him directly, but he knows our names just as well as we know his. He knows he’s not the only one with people lining his pockets.”

  Judge grunts and stuffs his hands into his pants pockets. “Just be careful. Emiliano may not be stupid, but he can be reckless.”

  I tip my chin down. “I’m taking Emo with me. It’s a good excuse to get him away from the tapes for a few hours.”

  “Good idea.”

  After giving me the details, we head to where the others are. As much as I try to rein in the anxious feeling of what tonight will bring, I know I do a shit job from the questioning looks Eden keeps giving me. I don’t necessarily enjoy doing what Emo and I are setting out to do, but I can’t help but feel a thrill knowing we’ll rid the world of yet another piece of shit.

  I grip Eden’s hand underneath the table. If I’m lucky, I’ll kill two birds with one stone and ensure Eden’s safety. However, even if Emiliano does manage to get his son to back off, Diego’s still very much living on borrowed time.

  JW

  I STEP INSIDE THE DIMLY lit dining room and lean against the wall, watching the man with his back to me, going through papers scattered on the table. I noticed the suitcases and duffel bag in the living room when I walked through the front door a few minutes ago, proving Dax’s theory on the man taking off. Dax is a detective with the SAPD and one of the contacts my brothers and I use sometimes. Usually one to play by the book, Dax recognizes the fucked-up mess our judicial system is at times. When that happens, he calls us to take care of the problem.

  The man, Alec Hallson, is oblivious of my presence, to the danger that awaits mere feet behind him. That is his second mistake. His first was leaving his door unlocked.

  Stupid bastard. When you commit a crime such as the one he committed, you stay vigilant, no matter what. Even if you’re found not guilty by a jury. You never know if an enraged family member of the victim will come seeking revenge. Or maybe just a couple of men whose sole purpose in life is to eradicate the world of sick people like him.

  He mutters a low curse and bends to scoop up the papers he knocked to the floor.

  “Going somewhere, Mr. Hallson?” I ask casually, making my presence known.

  He spins in place, scattering more papers on the floor. His eyes widen as he takes in my relaxed stance against the wall.

  “Who in the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?” Despite the vehemence in his voice, he can’t hide the slight quiver.

  “The name’s JW,” I offer. “And I’ll give you one guess as to why I’m here.”

  His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. His eyes dart to the side toward the doorway that leads to the kitchen. “You want money? Are you here to rob me? Give me five minutes and I’ll be gone, so you can take whatever you want. Hell, you can take the whole house.”

  I stand to my full height and flash him a grin. “Wrong guess, but nice try.”

  Beads of sweat break out on his forehead, the moisture gleaming in the overhead light. He sidesteps to the edge of the table, slowly moving toward the open doorway.

  “Then I don’t know what you want.”

  “No?” I walk sedately to the other side of the table and pick up one of the papers. “Aiden Steller? Are you shittin’ me?” I look at him, dropping my relaxed demeanor and letting the pure hate I feel for the man seep into my eyes. “You’re taking your son’s first name?”

  He swallows again and his face pales. “I-I loved my son. What happened to him—”

  I cut him off. “You mean what you did to him?”

  “I didn’t do it,” he argues with a shake of his head. A bead of sweat flings from his temple, landing on his hand braced on the table behind him. “The jury found me not guilty.”

  “It’s a wonder they didn’t find you guilty, because your ability to lie is exceptionally terrible.” I grab the key sitting on top of a stack of papers. “Let me guess, a safety deposit box, right? And I’d bet my left nut it’s full of money.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters. “That key is for a trunk in the basement.”

  I let him think he’ll get away as he rounds the corner of the table.

  I chuckle. “Sure it does. Tell me, did your son beg for his life before you took it? Did you even feel an ounce of remorse as you raped him?”

  His eyes widen further as I stare at him, waiting for him to answer. He opens his mouth then snaps it closed before a word leaves his lips. I know just the moment he decides to make a run for it. His body stiffens and panic flares in his eyes. Not a second later, he’s darting for the doorway. Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t make it far. He stops abruptly with a muted grunt and begins to move backward. Not by choice, but from the man who has his hand locked around his neck. Emo comes into view, his eyes wild and body shaking with rage. Alec claws at the hand, but it’s useless. Even Emo, the smallest of the four of us brothers, has a good foot and at least fifty pounds of muscle on the guy.

  Emo slams Alec into the table, bending him backward until his feet lift from the floor. I drop the key back on the table and slowly walk over to the pair. Alec’s face is turning purple and his eyes are bugging out. Satisfaction flares inside me at the look of utter terror on his face.

  “Did you really think you were going to escape that easy?” I ask, coming to stand at the end of the table beside Emo.

  When the only thing that comes out of Alec’s mouth is a breathless wheeze, I look to my brother.

  “Ease up a bit, Emo. He deserves so much more than to die from simple strangulation.”

  Grudgingly, Emo loosens his fingers around his throat. As soon as he’s free, he tries to scramble back on the table.

  Laughing, I grab his ankle and yank him back to the edge. “Nah uh, Mr. Hallson. You won’t be going anywhere.”

  His sits up, his legs dangling over the table’s edge, and regards Emo and me with frightened eyes. “Wh-what are you going to do?”

  “Kill you, of course,” I answer impassively.

  His face d
rains of all color and a glance down shows a wet spot forming on the front of his pants. Why is it that almost everyone pisses themselves when faced with the fear of death? You’d think that they’d want their last moments to be a bit more dignified.

  “You can’t do that,” he argues, his voice sounding on the verge of tears. “The police will catch you.”

  “Doubtful.” I cross my arms over my chest and offer a smile. “We haven’t been caught yet.”

  Tears leak down his cheeks pathetically and his body starts shaking so hard I can feel the trembles through the floor. If it wasn’t for the pictures Judge showed me of the condition Alec left his son’s body in, I might feel a hint of remorse for the man. But I did see the pictures. The boy was covered from head to foot with bruises. Not only did Alec rape his son with his sick dick, but he used a bat on him as well, after he beat him with it. It was ultimately that bat being forced in the boy violently, causing internal injuries, that killed him.

  Alec Hallson doesn’t deserve one ounce of remorse or compassion. The only thing he deserves is pain, and the knowledge that his son’s rape and death was avenged.

  “You want him?” I ask Emo.

  The words barely leave my lips before he’s growling, “Yes.”

  Alec’s eyes flit to Emo, who up until that point has remained silent. Recognizing the deathly look in Emo’s eyes and knowing he’ll get nowhere with him, the asshole begins to beg.

  “Please, please, don’t do this.” He throws his hands up and smashes them together, like he’s praying to us. “I-I did it. I r-raped and killed Aiden. I’ll go to the p-police right now and confess. Just p-please don’t kill me.”

  I contemplate his plea as I pull a chair away from the table and take a seat. “One question. Why?”

  His gaze drops and he closes his eyes. His voice is a hoarse whisper when he answers. “I found out my fiancée was trying to seduce him.”

  “So you decided to punish your son for the sins of your fiancée? Did it work? Did he sleep with her?”

  “No.” Alec opens his eyes and his mouth forms a straight line. “But he would have eventually. Charlotte can be very persuasive.”

  “You have some seriously fucked up priorities. I hope the bugs feast on your rotting corpse.”

  I glance to Emo and tip my chin. He doesn’t need to be told twice. Before Alec has a chance to make a sound, Emo has his hand wrapped around his throat. His eyes glaze over in pain as he frantically paws at the fingers restricting his airway. A moment later, there’s a sickening crunch as his larynx is crushed, ensuring he can’t scream for whatever Emo has planned for him.

  His struggles cease as his efforts move to painfully and unsuccessfully pull in much needed air. If given long enough, he’ll die from lack of oxygen. That’s not the way Emo plans for the man to die though.

  He carelessly tosses Alec’s weakened body farther on the table and climbs a top to straddle his waist. I get comfortable by throwing my feet up on the edge of the table and cross my ankles.

  Emo slides a wicked looking knife from the sheath at his side, the silver glinting off the light. As much as I wanted to slay the bastard myself, I know this is a kill that Emo needs after watching those tapes. Hopefully it’ll appease some of his anger.

  Holding the blade between his teeth, Emo rips away Alec’s shirt. A crazed look darkens his already ominous gaze when he takes the knife and drags it down his torso. The cut isn’t deep, but damn sure painful. Alec’s eyes widen and the sound that leaves his lips is distorted. What it must feel like to want to scream out in pain and not be able to. It’s like stubbing your toe and the pain being so great you expect the appendage to be barely hanging on by a thread, only for it to not even be scratched.

  Blood leaks from his wounds, sliding down his body to pool on the table beneath him. Emo likes his kills to be messy. Normally the sight of Emo’s work is repulsive, but the images of Aiden’s lifeless body has me wishing I was the one tearing Alec apart.

  It’s not long before he’s dead. Not from his crushed windpipe, but from Emo slicing and dicing him. I don’t stop him when I know Alec is dead. I let him continue to cut away at the demons that are plaguing him.

  By the time he’s done, he’s covered in blood and Alec looks like he’s been dissected. Emo’s hair falls in his face as he looks down at the mess he’s made. Satisfaction mars his face. The only sound in the room is the low hum of the heater and Emo’s harsh breathing.

  “Are you good?” I ask quietly

  “Yes,” he grunts. Standing to his feet, he jumps from the table, blood splattering from his hands and onto the floor.

  “Let’s go and I’ll call it in.”

  With a curl of disgust when he looks at Alec one last time, he turns on his heel and leaves the room without a word. I follow behind him and we leave through the front door. It’s dark outside and the closest neighbor is a good hundred yards away, so there’s no worry of being spotted. At my truck, parked at a playground a couple blocks away, Emo strips down and uses his t-shirt to wipe away the blood from his hands. Donning clean clothes, he climbs into the cab where I’m already waiting. Before we leave, I call Dax and let him know it’s done. After hanging up with him, I grab the secured phone from the glove box and dial the police to leave an anonymous tip about hearing screams coming from Alec Hallson’s house.

  Starting the truck, I point us in the direction of the hotel we’re staying in tonight. Emo’s still riding his adrenaline high from slaughtering Alec, so the drive is quiet.

  With one bird down and one more to go, the silence gives me time to think about the confrontation with Diego’s father tomorrow.

  I RAP MY KNUCKLES AGAINST the door and wait. Emo’s at my side, tense but alert. After his shower last night, once we made it to the hotel, he let me re-bandage the wounds on his arms, but not his hands. So far, the key has stayed in his pocket, but I have no doubt it’ll be in his hand before the day is over.

  “We keep this as civil as we can,” I tell him in a low voice.

  His mouth tightens. He doesn’t want to be here anymore than I do, but he has my back, just as I knew he would. Emiliano has a reputation for being a ruthless bastard. My brothers and I have had many discussions about taking him out, but as much as we detest the guy, his role in San Antonio is too important. The city is full of criminals, and of course, Emiliano is one of them, but he’s known for despising anyone who hurts women and children. That’s probably his only redeeming quality and it works in our favor. He’s been connected to several murders of known thugs who have harmed women and children.

  “We’ll see.” Emo answers, his hands fisted at his sides.

  The door opens just then, and I turn to face a hulk of a man in a black suit. At least seven-foot tall and weighing over three-hundred pounds—most of it muscle—tree trunk arms, military cut blond hair, and bottomless gray eyes, his expression is blank as he stares at us. “May I help you?”

  “We’re here to see Mr. Tomas.”

  “Senior or junior?” he asks tonelessly.

  “Well, since junior is currently in my town wreaking havoc, I’d have to say senior.”

  “And whom may I ask is calling?”

  His stoic demeanor remains the same. It makes me want to junk punch him to see if I’ll get a different response.

  “Sheriff Ward and Emo.”

  He inclines his head—expression still bland. “If you’ll wait here—”

  “Let them in, Smalls,” a voice says from behind Hulk. He steps to the side, revealing a balding, portly man in an expensive suit.

  Emiliano Tomas.

  Emo and I walk past Hulk and Emiliano walks our way, holding his hand out to shake. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  Gripping his hand, I give a firm squeeze and raise a brow. “Have you?”

  When he offers his hand to Emo and Emo looks at it with disgust, he lets it drop to his side. “Come. We’ll talk more in my office. Smalls, Maria needs help in the kitchen.”

 
“But, sir—”

  Emiliano cuts him off, slicing his hand through the air. “Now, Smalls.”

  “Yes, sir.” He spins on his heel and stalks across the checkered tiled floor. I expect to feel the booms of his steps and see cracks form on the walls, but the huge man is surprisingly graceful as he walks away.

  “Smalls? What an unusual name for a man of his size.”

  He grunts. “His size is the only intimidating thing about him. When God made him, he forgot to add a brain.”

  He leads us to a set of closed double doors. Pushing them open, we step inside a modern-looking office. Massive desk dominating one wall, bookshelves adorned with hundreds of books, a fireplace—who needs a fucking fireplace in Texas? —a sofa, and two recliners with a small table between them.

  Unbuttoning his blazer, Emiliano walks behind his desk and takes a seat. He gestures to the chairs across from him. “Sit.”

  Declining the offer, Emo and I stand behind the chairs. “We won’t be staying.”

  He laces his fingers and places his hands on the wood surface. “My son tells me you’re hiding something of his.”

  My hands grip the back of the chair, the humor of moments ago gone, and anger taking its place. “Did your son also tell you he beat the shit out of that something and threatened her life?”

  Emiliano sighs and reclines back in his chair, frustration marking his face.

  “Just tell the girl to give him the microchip. I’ll take care of him from there.”

  “She doesn’t have it. Doesn’t even know what chip he’s asking for,” I grit out between clenched teeth.

  His eyes turn cold and the cutthroat man I know Emiliano to be, finally makes an appearance.

  “She’s lying. She was seen on video going into his office and rushing back out the day she took off from his house.”