Not Forgiven: A Thriller and Suspense Novel: Ungoverned Series

by Shawn Raiford

  Chivo, Jay, and three more men headed for the back of the house. Fonzo, Bull, and three other men went to the front.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Surrounded

  I held up a finger to my lips, as if to tell him "No talking, please."

  Frogger nodded in acknowledgment.

  I put the phone up to my ear. "Yeah, sup?"

  "Chloe, I called you a couple of times."

  I shrugged as if my little brother could see me. "I've been busy, Little Brother, sorry. What do you need? I am a little busy at the moment."

  Glad to talk to him now because if things went south I wanted to hear his voice one last time.

  "You were there and killed those bastards." Worry bled from his voice.

  "Where? What are you talking about?"

  A couple of thugs shook hands.

  Henry exhaled into the phone. "You're all over the internet, social media, and newscasts across the country!"

  Cameras were ubiquitous these days, and I expected that someone had recorded me, while I blasted away, but I didn't realize the video would go viral.

  Thugs exited four different cars and then huddled around a fifth car.

  "Someone recorded what happened there?"

  "Yes, I emailed the video to you."

  "Oh, at the moment, I'm too busy to check my email."

  "You shouldn't worry, the video was clear but your disguise should work, can't see your face."

  I never admitted anything incriminating to him, especially over the phone. I never knew which law enforcement agency might be listening. "Henry, I love you bunches, but I have to go. Thanks for the video and I will look at it when I have a chance. I'm very busy at the moment."

  He exhaled into the phone again. "Okay, I just worry about you. You're my big sister and I need to watch your back. I love you, hermana."

  Over the years, I have hurt, tortured, and killed many bad men. I have committed violent acts throughout my life and I had to remain unfeeling like a hunk of cold plastic. To hear those words from Henry made me all gooey inside.

  "Yes, I know. We'll meet up later for drinks, I'm buying, okay?"

  The gurgling was loud, so I glanced over at him, and noted that Frogger was drooling. White stuff formed on the edge of his mouth. Gross.

  "Is it cool if I bring Mitch? He's in love with you."

  Even though I liked Mitch, there was no way we would end up in bed. A little sexual tension was healthy between friends. "Yeah, that's cool. Text me later the bar you want to meet up at."

  "Okay."

  Worry no longer tinged his voice. "Okay, bye."

  "Chloe!"

  "Yes?"

  "Please be careful."

  "Always." I ended the call.

  I returned the burner to my pocket.

  Monsters of my past still gave me nightmares. Drinking helped to tamp down the frequency of nightmares and allowed me to sleep for a few hours most nights.

  After being abused by the Parnells, I was psychologically damaged. Psychiatrists tried to help me, however none got through to me. I liked to think that Henry's loyalty and love kept me grounded. Over the years, I tried all kinds of drugs and pills to help with anxiety, anger, and insomnia. The only thing that helped was alcohol.

  Talk therapy was not my thing—hurting and killing bad guys and monsters became therapy for me. Doing something about those life-destroying menaces gave my life purpose.

  Not that I saw my purpose as fighting crime, but I did more in my years as a contract killer than the entire Houston Police Department. HPD's should not be blamed for lack of action. All police had to obey the law—LAW: arbitrary rules created by political elitists. I didn't have to follow those laws.

  Some thugs were about to pay for being very stupid. Breathe and don't lose focus, I told myself.

  The thug turned red—I flicked the OFF button on the power strip.

  He writhed in the bed, gasping for air.

  "Frogger, you have lived a wasted life." My words made me think of an old movie, Papillon, starring Steve McQueen. There was a scene where Steve, Papillon, was dreaming, and a judge had accused him of living a wasted life.

  If I didn't need Frogger alive, I would have left the house with the electricity coursing throughout his body, cooking his innards. "Frogger, I have to leave you, but don't go anywhere. I'll see you in a few minutes, okay honey-bunny?"

  He opened his eyes in surprise.

  I exited the bedroom to make ready because the moths were coming to the flame.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  The Killings

  Ever since his first one, years and years ago, he liked the way it made him feel—he never felt as powerful as he did when taking a life.

  He remembered the exact day it all began. The day after Independence Day. A hot Tuesday night. He was twenty-one years old and stood outside Bethany Hempstead's house.

  They had stopped being friends in the summer before twelfth grade, four years earlier.

  Bethany had a pool party. Most partiers were seniors with a few juniors and a handful of sophomores. No freshmen allowed! Her parents were out of town. Her dad traveled a lot for business, and her mother went along a lot.

  So she had the house to herself and had a party.

  Girls had bikinis; guys had hard-ons.

  Drunk kids congregated inside the house losing their virginity. Guys threw girls into the pool, and some people took shots. A few girls started pulling down boys' swimming trunks. A football jerk pulled down his own trunks then jumped into the pool to join a few girls.

  He was drunk and did not suspect any shenanigans. Bethany came up to him and started talking about how she hated Mrs. Needlemyer's biology class. He had taken the class and agreed that it was difficult. Mrs. Needlemyer was strict. Then just before one of the girls pulled his shorts down, Bethany had asked him to hold her beer for her. Just before he dropped the drinks, bending over and pulling up his trunks, she and a few others witnessed his dangling wang.

  Bethany, his longtime friend, giggled and pointed. "Wow! It's not that cold, Tiny!"

  He left the party in shame. For his entire senior year his nickname was Tiny. Although he had been popular in school, his new moniker made him into an outcast, tossed aside like yesterday's newspaper by all the popular kids, including Bethany.

  Once his father found out what had happened at the pool party, he beat his son like never before. His father always told him all women were nothing but whores. Women spent a man's money while sleeping with other men.

  Ever since he could remember, his father told him how he wanted to kill them.

  For his entire senior year, his father had jokes, and made fun of his son. He even had to find a part-time job as a dish washer at a restaurant, because his father told him that he had to pay for his own food. His father's food was too good for weaklings.

  After graduating, his father kicked him out of the house.

  He vowed to make his father proud of him.

  He seethed quietly for years. Three years to be exact, to the day. It had to be on this exact same day.

  Bethany came home from college for the summer break before her senior year. She'd got into the University of Texas, and was working on her degree in Political Science, the I-want-to-be-a-kept-woman degree.

  Bethany was a senior, again.

  It was the day after Independence Day, again. This time her parents were home and would share in the fun.

  He had a key from back when they were friends, he came over all the time to study, and Bethany gave him a key. He entered through the front door. There was no security system, plus the locks had never been changed, why would they?

  The first thing the man did was to take a piss in the corner of the living room. Not sure why, an urge to mark the corner came over him.

  First, take care of Daddy.

  He went into Mr. and Mrs. Hempstead's bedroom, holding a bat and a roll of duct tape. Seeing the couple in bed made his cock grow and get hard, pressing
against his zipper. He had not expected to be aroused.

  While her father lay asleep in bed, the man knocked him out with a bat. Daddy was out cold with a swing of the bat.

  He jumped on top of the mommy, punching her. It had dazed her. Next he stuffed her mouth with a sock he grabbed from the drawer, and covered her mouth with a strip of duct tape.

  She wore a muscle shirt and short shorts. No bra or panties. His cock throbbed in anticipation. He could barely contain himself.

  Flipped her over and pulled down her shorts. The woman's legs were firm. Her white ass cheeks glowed in the darkness like two big pearls. He grabbed her buttocks and licked different spots of her body. Ever since he was a little boy, he wanted to be intimate with the now forty-something woman. He had many sexual fantasies involving Bethany and her Mommy.

  He wanted to shove his cock in her, however first he needed to secure the family. The man taped her wrists and ankles, then did the same to Daddy.

  The man went into Bethany's room. She was asleep, wearing sweat pants and a thick sweater.

  He punched her a few times in the face and head. She was unconscious. Taped her wrists and her ankles together with duct tape, then he rolled her over, and laid with her for a while until she woke. "Bethany, I am about to have so much fun."

  Bethany whimpered.

  Half an hour later he had the whore and her father were tied to a couple of chairs in her parent's bedroom. He used a knife from the kitchen to cut Bethany's clothes off, leaving her in panties and a bra.

  A bedside lamp was on so everyone could see him.

  Her mother lay on the bed, still bound and gagged. He cut her clothes off too, leaving butt naked.

  "You are probably wondering why I'm here."

  Although he could not do anything to help them, Bethany's eyes still begged her daddy to help. But he could do nothing but watch.

  "You disrespected me. You embarrassed me, Bethany. You don't do that and expect to live."

  Her bloodied father released muffled screams through the gag. Bethany and her mother cried, and he got annoyed with all the noise.

  "Why are you crying, whores? Bethany, you helped that other whore pull down my shorts, and you all made fun of the size of this!" he shouted, grabbing his crotch.

  "I want you to observe while your mother is pleasured by a knowledgeable man. I am the best and greatest lover!" He took his clothes off, giving Bethany a show; she liked seeing his naked body.

  While Bethany and her father watched, the man penetrated Bethany's Mommy from behind. Mrs. Hempstead's muffled screams proved the fact that he was huge.

  Then the man grabbed a butcher knife, heading back into the bedroom. Mr. Hempstead had tipped over his chair. At first he thought the old man had a heart attack, but no, Daddy was only trying to get loose. He picked up Daddy and the chair, and chuckled. "Silly Billy, you aren't going anywhere. Besides, you and your daughter have to watch." As Bethany protested, the man sliced mommy's throat.

  Her body fell back; mommy bled out on the bed. There was a lot of blood.

  Both were red-faced and crying. Mr. Hempstead tried to stand up from the chair until the man used the bat on his head.

  Daddy stopped moving permanently.

  As if electrocuted, Bethany's body thrashed uncontrollably, and it thrilled him.

  He cut her ankles and wrists free from the chair. Bethany hobbled over to the bed, strips of duct tape dangled from her arms and legs, hugging her dead mother.

  He grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her off the bed down to the floor. She tried to punch and kick him; it was futile.

  "I'm going to show you what tiny really is, you whore!" He punched her in the face.

  She moaned as her body went limp.

  He turned her around to face her dead daddy. "Get on all fours, like the bitch you are!" the man ordered, squeezing her breasts as if squeezing juice out of an orange. The man took his time unzipping his pants, taking out his manhood, spitting into his hand, rubbing himself.

  Forced himself inside her over and over, then he ripped off the duct tape. He took out the sock, Bethany screamed beautifully for several minutes as she learned his true size.

  The man felt her larynx crush in his hand as he climaxed. He stood, zipping up, feeling ten feet tall. The man stared at the bodies for several minutes and was amazed at how easy it was to kill them. His father would be proud of him.

  Before leaving, the man used bleach on the women, because he didn't want to leave any evidence. Then he wiped down many surfaces within the house.

  The cops found the Hempstead's bodies the following day.

  The story was on the second page of the Houston Chronicle. A writer had described the killings as "brutal slayings." Someone had actually written about him, and thousands of people read the article.

  The following week at the funeral, the man knew he was superior to everyone. The funeral home was able to make Bethany and her mother presentable. The reconstruction of her father's skull and face were too difficult.

  Bethany's grandparents, along with uncles, aunts, and cousins, sat in the next pew. Bethany had a lot of friends, many from high school, show their respect. In all, about a hundred people attended the funeral.

  The man sat in the front of the church because he arrived early to grab a great seat. While he stared at Bethany's casket, he could see her profile. She was quiet, no longer a whore.

  That memory had never faded over the decades.

  He'd killed dozens of whores since that hot night in July. The man had spent time, sometimes entire days, getting lost in the memories of killing them.

  Glancing out the window, there were other whores to be killed. Standing, he could not take waiting anymore. He entered the study. Walked over to the wet bar hidden in a brown globe. The globe spilt in two; a bottle of whisky was revealed, along with several tumblers. No ice in the ice bucket, but that was okay, because sometimes the man drank his whisky neat. Poured himself a healthy amount and put the bottle back in its place.

  He took a sip, closing his eyes, enjoying the burning sensation down his throat. Sat in his expensive leather chair behind an antique writing desk, and opened the drawer, pulling out the top black index-card box. There were three more full boxes. Those boxes, also full of the same thing. Some two decades old, however not forgotten. The man needed to see the more recent.

  He swallowed another mouthful of whiskey and put his tumbler to the side and placed the black box in front of him on the desk.

  The box yawned open, and his left eye twitched.

  The tip of his index finger moving across the edges. Flipping through them, he stopped on the most recent. Pulling it out, a driver's license. Running a finger across the front put him in a momentary state of bliss. A Picasso was toilet paper compared to the beauty of what he held in his hand.

  Her blonde hair and blue eyes stood out to him, reminding him of her.

  His finger moved across the picture, her face and hair. "Bethany, that bitch!" This woman, in the picture, was not that Bethany, of course, but she reminded him of that bitch. That was reason enough to take her life.

  He read the name and address. She cheated with him, but he got bored with her words. Her story was of no importance to him. She was a whore from Nebraska.

  She told him it would be $300 for a date, and she even had some pills. Didn't remember what pills she had, he shouldn't have taken them. They messed him up.

  Later when they met up, he wanted to bang her in his car, but his manhood wouldn't stand at attention. Pushing rope.

  The whore laughed at him. "Too much to drink, baby?"

  Her life was the cost of laughing at him.

  His phone rang.

  For a moment he thought of his stupid wife. Her mindless prattle was enough to make any grown man want to kill himself. He ran a finger across the phone's face and put the device up to his ear. "Hello!"

  "Hey, Rogelio."

  "Yes, what's up?"

  "I'll be there in a few mi
nutes," Felix said.

  "Alright, it's only me, myself, and I."

  Felix scoffed and hung up.

  Rogelio tossed the cell phone down and lost himself in another memory about the whore he killed two months after Bethany.

  Chapter Fifty

  Little Black Boxes

  "It's a pretty house."

  Felix thought so too. All the shit like cars, houses, and even being with his kids were all behind him now. It was about surviving.

  Once Felix had the money, he and Amber would be gone. Gone, like yesterday.

  Amber placed a hand on his leg. "He knows we are coming, right?"

  "Yeah, I already told you, baby. We are here because my friend owes me money. Then we're leaving."

  Amber smiled at him, making him monetarily weak. "Okay."

  They walked up to the back door and Felix knocked. Ten seconds later, Rogelio smiled like an idiot at him.

  "Hey, buddy!" Rogelio held a drink in his hand. He stared at Amber like a fox staring at a tasty rabbit.

  It was creepy and Felix almost told her to go wait in the car, but they would not take long.

  "And who is this lovely creature?"

  Amber gave him her hand, and he gently kissed it.

  "Oh, wow, baby, you didn't tell me your friend was such a gentleman."

  "This is Amber, and she's taken, by me, so hands off!" He playfully slapped Rogelio's hand away.

  Rogelio and Amber both shared in a giggle.

  He waved them inside. "Please come in!"

  They followed him into the living room.

  "Your house is nice."

  Rogelio gazed at her and smiled. "Thank you Amber." He turned to Felix. "Would anyone like a drink? Or I could cook us up something real quick?"

  "No, I just came to get that package and go take care of that other thing," Felix commented.

  "Oh, yeah, Felix we need to talk about that."

  He didn't want to threaten Rogelio in front of her. "Baby, I'm sorry, why don't you go wait in the car while I talk to Rogelio."

  She gave him a look and smiled, winking at him, she turned and left.

  Rogelio sat on the couch.