I’ll have to spend some time with her today so I can make her forget this.
Dewi knocked on the door. “Yo, dawg,” she brightly said. “Avon calling. Want to place an order?”
The door flew open and Dewi sucker-punched the thug, snapping his head back and dropping him where he stood like a sack of three-day-old shit. Sure enough, there sat Malyah, a nasty bandana tied around her mouth as a gag, and duct-taped to an old kitchen chair.
From the back of the house, she heard Beck and Martin enter. “Dewi!” Beck called out.
“I’m fine. I found her. She’s all right. Search those scumbags, and I’ll get this one back here.” She tucked the gun she’d taken off Emilio into the front waistband of her jeans before she worked to rip the tape holding Malyah. The young women flew out of the chair, clinging to Dewi.
“Oh, my god, he was going to let them rape me!”
“Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe now.” Dewi helped the girl step around the fallen man, Beck meeting them halfway down the hall.
Dewi handed her off to Beck, then cupped the girl’s face in her hands. “Malyah,” she whispered, “you’re safe. Events are going to get really cloudy in your mind now, really fast. Jarome called you, but nothing happened after you told him to fuck off. You weren’t hurt, but now you hate the son of a bitch. You told him if you ever saw him again, you’d call the cops on him and tell them he threatened you.”
The girl’s sobs immediately quieted as she nodded, Dewi’s Prime Alpha energy soothing her.
“If anyone asks you what happened,” Dewi said, “tell them you’re having trouble remembering. When I get back, you and I will talk first, then we’ll talk to everyone else. For now, go with Nami. You’re going to my house. We’re going to have a nice family dinner and a cookout tonight and enjoy each other’s company.”
Dewi looked at Beck. “Change of plans. Tell Ken to stop at Nami’s, let her go in and get clothes and overnight stuff for her and Malyah and Da’von. Including swimsuits. Tell Nami not to say anything to Malyah about any of this until I can talk to her about it.” She stroked Malyah’s right cheek, where a bruise was already forming. “Nami and Malyah are definitely spending the night at my house, with us. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Malyah nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Dewi hugged her. “You don’t have to call me ma’am, sweetie. Beck’s going to take you out to your sister, and Ken will drive you. You listen to Ken and do what he says until you get to my house. Go on.”
Beck cast Dewi a grateful look before ushering Malyah down the hallway.
Dewi returned to the fallen man, who was now groaning in pain as he started coming to. She searched him, found a gun tucked in his pants, and then grabbed him by the back of the shirt and dragged him down the hallway to the living room.
Jarome and Dominic were sitting on the couch. Emilio still silently writhed on the floor in the middle of the living room where Martin had dragged him.
Dewi dropped the moaning fourth man onto the floor next to Emilio. “Sparky, introduce me to this fuckless wonder.”
“Monty.”
“Monty, huh?” She kicked him in the side. “Yo yo yo, dawg. Monty, wake the fuck up. We need to have us a real heart-to-heart confab.”
Beck returned. “They’re on their way.”
Any hint of a smile on Dewi’s face departed. “Good,” she growled, letting her canines slide into place to ease the ache in her jaws from the struggle of holding them back. “Close and lock the doors.”
They got all four of the guys into the kitchen, sitting around the wobbly card table there. In the middle of the table they piled the men’s cell phones, as well as all the drugs in the place, courtesy of Sparky’s help. Dewi pulled a pair of vinyl gloves out of her back pocket and put them on, grabbed a paper towel from the counter, and started wiping down the confiscated guns, including the magazine and rounds from the one she’d taken from Jarome.
“I want to introduce you boys to a game I call ‘Dewi Says,’” she said, walking around the table. “You fuckers sit there in your chairs, no moving allowed, with your hands flat on the table. Oh, well, Emilio, heh. Sorry there, buddy. You can keep the injured one in your lap. Just don’t play with yourself.”
Silent tears of pain coursed down the stricken man’s face as he eased his left hand onto the table while the other three men complied.
Dewi nodded to Martin and Beck, who drew their own sidearms and covered the men as she laid each confiscated gun on the table in front of the man it’d been taken from. Then she placed their hands on each gun, getting their fingerprints all over them, before putting their hands back on the table.
“Okay, assholes,” she brightly said, grinning and making sure they saw her canines. “Here’s the rules to Dewi Says. It’s easy enough even dumbasses like you can play. I ask you a question, you answer me truthfully. No lying allowed. I don’t like how you answer, you’ll earn a point.” She snorted with laughter, slapping her thigh. “And by point, I mean entry wound.”
She laughed again. “Now, I will admit, I probably won’t like any of y’all’s answers, at all, but that’s okay. You boys are fucked twelve ways to Sunday regardless. This is just for funsies, now.”
She bared her teeth at them and smelled fresh ammonia as at least one more of them wet himself. “See, y’all made the mistake of fucking with my family. Nobody fucks with my family. Ever.”
Rounding the table, she stopped behind Jerome and put her hands on his shoulders, squeezing hard enough to make him whimper in pain. “So, what were you going to do with Da’von, huh? Dewi Says tell us the truth.”
“Little bastard didn’t want to help me out. Wouldn’t get me any money. I was going to make him work with us. He’s smart. He doesn’t have a record. He could have helped us.”
“Helped you do what?”
“Got a friend doing card skimming. He could have helped us set some up, gotten a job at a gas station and used his key to get us into the pumps. Emilio’s cousin was going to get him a job.”
“Ah, I see. How are you fucks even smart enough to work a skimmer?”
“Not us. A gang out of South Tampa. They give us a cut if we got them in.”
“So you were really going to let these three assholes fuck your daughter, you low-down piece of shit?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” She turned to Beck. “Beck, my buddy, how do we usually handle fuckers like that?”
“We castrate them,” he growled.
“That’s right,” Dewi said. “We castrate them.” She grabbed Jarome’s hand, put the gun in it, and shoved it down the front of his pants.
“Pull the trigger,” she said. “And don’t make a fucking sound when you do. Other than the gunshot, of course.”
He did. The other three men flinched at the report. Jarome’s face contorted into a silent, agonized scream.
She patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay, buddy. The sting will wear off in a few days. If you live that long. If anyone asks, and I’m sure the deputies will, you accidentally shot your own goddamned junk off. Now, how unlucky is that?”
She straightened and pointed across the table at Sparky. “Dewi Says no lying to me. Were you going to fuck her?”
He nodded.
“So you were going to rape her?”
He nodded.
“You ever rape anyone before?”
He nodded again.
“Tsk tsk tsk.” She walked around the table and stood next to him. “How many?”
“I don’t remember.”
She punched him in the side of the head, grabbing him before he could fall out of his chair and sitting him upright, patting him on the shoulders. “That’s okay, dude. I know you have better things on your mind than keeping track of numbers. We’ll come back to you in a minute.”
She reached over and jabbed Emilio in his ruined right shoulder, which triggered another round of silent screaming from him. “Remember, Dewi Says no lying. Using your
quiet voice, dude, answer my question. You rape anyone, and if so, how many?”
“No one, I swear.”
“Yeah, I know you have to swear, because Dewi Says you can’t lie to me. But you were going to fuck her?”
“Yeah.”
“Hmm. I have an ethical quandary.” She looked at Martin. “Guilty?”
He nodded. “In my book, yes.”
“Cool. So, Emilio, what other sins do you have to confess?”
He wasn’t a rapist—yet—but he’d been guilty of a slew of other crimes, including pimping out a cousin of his when she was only seventeen. He and Jarome had served time together several years earlier, which is how they got to know each other.
“Well, guess what?” Dewi crowed. “You get a point, too, Emilio. Isn’t that great?” She slapped Monty across the face, grabbing his chin and forcing the concussed man to look at her. “Your turn, asshole. Dewi Says. Everyone gets to play, and everyone’s a winner. You were going to fuck her?”
He nodded.
“You rape anyone before?”
He nodded.
“More than one?”
He nodded.
“How many? Ballpark average is fine, buddy. I know you’re hurtin’ right now. I give wicked head…punches.”
Martin snorted, but didn’t interrupt.
Monty finally managed to whisper, “Six or eight.”
“Awesome,” she snarked. She let go of his chin and his head lolled, the man barely remaining conscious.
She scooped up the cell phones from the table. “Gentlemen, before me I see assembled the toilet scum of the greater Ybor City area. Being the civic-minded person I am, I always love to help do my duty to keep the streets safer. If I can save taxpayer dollars in the process, even better. Normally our pack stays out of human business, but y’all brought us in by fucking with ours.”
She motioned for Martin and Beck to back up toward the living room, behind her as she edged out of the splash zone. “Sparky, pick up your gun and shoot Monty right in the mouth.”
He did. Monty fell over sideways, chair going one way, his body going the other.
“Good. Now put Emilio out of his misery, huh? Poor bastard. That shoulder must hurt like a motherfucker.”
He turned and fired, the man slumping over the table.
“Good. Now, I want you to suck-start that motherfucking gun in your hand,” she said. “Finish things off right.”
He did, his lifeless body landing splayed on the floor.
She looked at Beck and Martin. “You two, out the back. Get the car and meet me out there. I’ll be right behind you.” She handed them the men’s cell phones and then they headed out the back door. Dewi returned to Jarome, who sat there, tears in his eyes, silently howling in pain and fear.
Her nose wrinkled. “Aw, see? You did shit yourself. That’s great. Job well done.” She grabbed him by the chin. “You’re the one who lives, asshole. Not that you’ll enjoy it. See, here’s the thing. You get to remember every motherfucking second of what just happened here. But you aren’t going to tell the cops shit about me, or about my friends. You aren’t going to say anything about Malyah, or Da’von. Or Nami, or Lu’ana, or Reggie, or Bebe. You tried to make contact with them, they told you to fuck the fuck off, and you did, because you’re a respectful kind of guy like that, aren’t you?” She clamped a hand around his shoulder as he started nodding.
“Glad we’re on the same page. The story you tell the cops is y’all four here were having a fight about drugs. Old Sparky got the jump on you other three. You were going to try to shoot him, but, wouldn’t you know it, your gun got caught on your pants and you accidentally shot your own balls off. That’s called instant Karma right there, dude.”
Jarome nodded, his mouth wide in a silent scream, tears streaming down his face.
“Excellent. Then, you guess Sparky just couldn’t deal with what he’d done, and he killed himself. That’s what you will tell the cops, and that will remain your story, no matter how many times you tell it. No matter how much you want to tell them about the crazy white bitch who came in here and fucked up your shit ten ways to Doomsday, you won’t be able to. And it’ll eat you alive from the inside out for the rest of your goddamned life. But no matter what, you’ll never be able to say it. Haha, or write it. Or convey it to any other person in any way, shape, or form. But you’ll know it.”
She knelt next to him and grabbed his chin, her fingers digging in. “And no matter how much they question you, your story will. Not. Change. You stopped trying to contact your family when they told you to fuck off. If they start questioning you harder concerning this little party game here? Why, feel free to hint around about your little friends with the skimmer business. Maybe even implicate them in a drug deal gone bad or something. I don’t know, I don’t care. I’m sure you can figure something out but your story won’t change once you tell it.”
She squeezed harder, short of shattering his jaw and relishing the pain in his eyes. “But no matter what, I was never here. You’ve never heard of me. These two guys who were with me? They weren’t here, either. Neither were Malyah or Nami. You’ll know the truth, but you’ll never be able to tell another living or dead soul about it.” She smiled and patted him on the cheek. “And, oh yeah, you’ll never, ever attempt to contact your family again. You don’t have a family anymore because you were a massive fuck-up. Got it?”
He nodded.
“Excellent.” She drew back her lips, exposing her full canines. “You see me, asshole? What I really am? I will haunt your motherfucking nightmares, for the rest of your life. While you’re rotting in prison, you will know what really happened here today. You will remember every second of it. You’ll dream about it every time you close your fucking eyes. But you’ll never be able to speak it.”
She stood. “You know what? You’ll become a model prisoner, too. Trying to help keep young punks in line.” She giggled as she headed toward the back door. “That should give you some extra fun times in general population. Oh, and in five minutes, you’ll be able to get up and talk and move around again. If you haven’t bled out by then, of course.”
She stepped out onto the back porch and headed down the rickety steps, breathing deeply, trying to will her canines back into their usual position.
She’d stripped off the gloves, turning them inside out, by the time she reached the sidewalk. Martin’s car slid to a stop next to her and she got into the back seat, the door barely closing as he took off again.
“There’s a thing of wipes back there,” Martin said.
“Thanks.” She dropped the gloves onto the floor and wiped her hands and arms off. What she wanted was a full soak in the hot tub back at the house, to rinse the nasty funk of the crack shack off her flesh.
“You want us to hit a Publix, or a Winn Dixie?” Beck asked. “We can hop on the Interstate and jump off again in a couple of minutes.”
“I don’t give a shit,” she growled. “As long as the meat’s raw.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Martin pulled up in front of a Publix and Beck dove out the passenger door. “Go park far out. I’ll be right back.”
Martin wheeled the car around and pulled into a spot at the end of the parking lot, away from any other cars. Unfortunately, there weren’t any trees for shade in this lot.
He put it in park and looked back over the seat at Dewi. “You okay, chief?”
She nodded. “You know how it is.”
“I do, and I don’t envy you.”
He got out, opening the back door for her, standing there waiting as Beck ran out less than three minutes later, two large London broils in a plastic bag. He tossed them to Martin and turned around to head back inside.
Dewi had already finished those two cuts of meat when Beck returned with several steaks and a jug of drinking water.
The two men stood there, watching her finish the rest of the steaks, while also blocking any casual onlookers from seeing what she was doing.
A woman sitting in a Publix parking lot and wolfing down raw cuts of meat might wig some people out, give them the wrong impression.
“Wow, man,” Martin said to Beck. “That’s just…wow.”
Beck snorted. “Poor Ken. You should have seen him that first night, when she took out Peckingham. Badger told me it looked like his eyes were going to bug out of his head.”
“How does that work, anyway?” Martin asked. “I mean, a Prime Alpha mated to a grazer?”
Dewi let out a soft growl and paused mid-steak. “I’m sitting right here.”
Beck laughed. “Yeah? So? Eat your meat.”
“Did you get her some tapioca?” Martin asked.
The other two wolves looked at him. “What?” Beck asked.
“You know, that song. About eating your meat—”
“Holy crap, Beck. Shut him up before I eat him. It should be a goddamned sin not to know Pink Floyd better than that.”
* * * *
The three of them returned to Dewi’s house after she finished her raw parking lot picnic, using the jug of water Beck had purchased to both wash the gore off her hands and wash down the meat.
On the way to the house, Beck’s phone rang. It was Badger, to report everyone was there, safe, and waiting.
“Tell him Malyah isn’t to talk to anyone about what happened until I get there,” Dewi said. “Whatever he’s got to do to soothe it over, do it.”
Beck relayed the instructions. Meaning Badger could go full Prime on them.
When they returned to the house, Nami ran into the kitchen at the sound of Dewi, Beck, and Martin coming through the garage door. Nami burst into tears and charged them. Dewi was preparing to step out of the way, assuming Nami wanted her mate, but it was Dewi who was Nami’s target.
The woman wrapped her arms around Dewi, sobbing, hugging her, nearly knocking Dewi off her feet. “Thank you,” Nami tearfully whispered. “I don’t want or need to know what happened, but thank you. I love you.”
Dewi looked at Beck over Nami’s shoulder. He stood there, smiling a little, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a playful way that just a few short months ago would have gotten him laid on the spot.
Geek Chic (Bleacke Shifters Book 2) Page 19
