Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79087 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79087 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“And? He was a sick fuck. You know what he was capable of.” I didn’t need to point out that he loved to torture people, and strip them apart little by little. The guy had taken years of college education to learn the human body, to know what bone to take, what vein to nick or avoid. For all intents and purposes, Eric The Tool had been a qualified doctor. Only, he wasn’t interested in “doing no harm” and all that shit. He was interested in fucking people up. Hurting them, destroying them. It was what he did.
Freya had been on that list of people he was going to hurt. She had taken a beating, lost her baby, and I’m not going to lie, I know a piece of her had died along with The Butcher.
“Don’t you think someone who thinks that highly of themselves would have multiple escape plans?” Ivan asked.
He was hopeful again. I did not envision Ivan as a dreamer. I thought he was like me, a realist.
“Ivan. There is no way anyone else made it out of there alive.”
Ivan glared at me, like I was not making sense to him. I wanted to tell him to just stop, and he looked at the map, tracing paths with his finger. Each room, each section was labeled and carefully detailed. I wasn’t even surprised that Eric could afford something like this. He had taken some of the sick jobs that paid a fortune. I didn’t even realize how much husbands, wives, family, or enemies would pay to see others tortured and slowly killed. Yet, there was a market for it.
The world was not a good place. Evil lived and rotted in this place. I no longer believed in Heaven and Hell, because we lived it every single day.
When you had seen the things I had seen, and done the things I had done, you stopped believing in the good and in Heaven. The Butcher and I were the same, and death was going to come for me soon enough. I didn’t know when, but I knew it was going to come.
“What’s this?” Ivan asked.
It had been over an hour since he started to look over the details, and I was tempted to leave. Watching Ivan attempt to make this right with The Butcher was tiresome. It was a waste of time.
He looked up at me, and I glanced down to where he was pointed, expecting to see some kind of dead end. Only, there was no dead end.
I frowned. According to the details, this led to nothing. It just stopped, and yet nothing on the schematics led to anything.
Moving around the table so I was standing side by side with Ivan, I looked at the details and checked the map. It was unfinished.
“The Butcher was taken,” Ivan said.
“You don’t know that.”
“Well, why don’t we take a little trip?” Ivan asked. “Because I’m telling you, The Butcher didn’t die on that mountain.”
But we both had a feeling we were going to wish she had.
Chapter Twenty
Victor
Four Months Later
Business was back to normal.
Ivan had left my home and taken The Beast with him. All the Brigadiers knew that The Beast had officially become the sixth of us and had finally taken Oleg’s place. Fuck me, that had taken a long time to deal with. Ivan was not known for acting quick. He always took his time.
There had been a few nasty things to deal with in the past four months. I had the pleasure of taking out a pimp who decided to beat women and girls in the street, and force them into cars to earn him money. He didn’t come and ask me for permission.
When my men approached him about it, he told them they could all suck his dick. It was a pleasure of mine to cut that dick off and shove it in his mouth, telling him to suck it himself.
No one did business in my territory without consulting me first. Since then, it had been quiet, and trust me, I kept an ear to the ground. My men knew to come for me.
Randomly, Ivan would drop in. Not to talk business, but to see my wife, his sister. Now that I knew Ivan and Freya were related, I could see the resemblance, but just barely.
Stepping out of my house, I watched as Freya stood with Rafael and tended to the garden. The flowers were now in bloom as we were fast approaching the summer. Spring had been quite warm.
The bruises had all faded. Sometimes she would wake up in the middle of the night, screaming. I’d hold her, talk to her, and just try to chase those nightmares away, but she was still afraid. I didn’t know what to do to make it right. She still mourned The Butcher.