I lay the clipping down and move to the next.
12 year old responsible for burning parents alive
That’s a joke. My mother’s boyfriend was never a parent. But then, neither was my mother. The men she slept with also knew I was available. My mom pimped me for money so she could buy drugs. The pain of violation is one of my earliest memories. The smell of those men haunts me to this day. Hot, sweaty, disgusting body odor. Their grunts. Their fists when I fought or screamed too loudly. For the most part my name stayed out of the newspapers because of my age. This first article is different because the judge hadn’t chided the reporters for using my name yet. Like I really gave a fuck then or now.
Joseph Watts
The name is no longer connected to me. Victor had it legally changed to Austin Miller after my first kill. Joseph Watts disappeared and now a bigger monster stands in his place. I don’t even know if the name change was legal but my driver’s license, passport, and other documents show my name as Austin Miller. It’s who I really am.
I burned down the house following a particularly bad experience with my mom’s boyfriend. He fractured my arm. It would have been one of many fractures never treated. I escaped outside after he raped me. Using my good arm, I stirred a pile of fire ants with a stick. The ants in their scurrying panic gave me the idea. I walked into our small shed and carried out a can of gasoline. I poured it on the ant hill and lit a match. Their suffering meant nothing because my life was just like theirs.
I sat on the bottom step of the front porch waiting for the sun to go down. And then I waited for my mom and Lucas, her boyfriend, to pass out. I sat outside rocking back and forth until it was time. I went inside and banged a few kitchen cabinets for a few minutes. They didn’t wake up. There was a small crawl space under the house, and I slowly poured the gasoline through the vent directly beneath my mom’s room so it soaked the ground. The floor above was old wood and sagged in places.
I felt nothing as I struck the match and shoved it through the vent. I felt nothing when I backed up and watched the house burn. What bothered me was the lack of screaming. I wanted to hear them suffer, and instead they died of smoke inhalation. Or so the newspaper article says.
That’s the type of boy I was. The man I am now still wants to hear the screams.
I lift the last article, which is about my sentencing. I was sentenced to six years in juvenile and I would then be transferred to an adult facility until I was twenty-five. The newspaper was wrong. I spent one year behind bars before Victor took me away. The picture in this article is me with my face covered by a blanket and only my legs showing. The guards were ordered by a judge to keep my face from the media. I remember the day clearly. I didn’t speak in court even to defend myself. What was the point? I killed my mother and her boyfriend with no remorse and even today I feel nothing.
After months of testing, sociopath was the diagnosis. Today they call it antisocial personality disorder. What a crock of shit. The original diagnosis is what attracted Victor. He needed a killer and he found one.
I remember checking his bedroom door one night a few months after they brought me into their lives. It was unlocked. How he and Cindy slept with me, the child killer, down the hall is a mystery. The fact is, they never gave me a reason to kill them. Victor knew what I was and provided people for me to kill a year after he brought me into his home. It feeds a need inside me and he knew it.
Slowly, I place the articles back in the box and then search in my pocket until I carefully pull out a piece of paper with a single strand of long, dark hair inside. I fold it into the article about Vincent’s and Cindy’s deaths and close the lid on the box.
I’m such a fucking fool for sending her away. I bring the bottle of whiskey to my lips and take a deep swallow. Who needs a fucking glass? I lose count of how much I drink after that.
You claimed her, my drunken subconscious yells hours later. Go get her.
I claimed her because she’s mine. I’ll kill her brother and take her back. Hell, if she doesn’t want to come, I’ll lock her in the basement for the next forty years. That’s what a good sociopath would do.
Chapter Seventeen
Moon
Austin is a fucked up mess and he might not be the ally I need in southern California. Only time will tell, but tonight’s actions were not those of a sane man. Alex put the woman in the back seat. The smell of Austin’s piss permeates the air. We might visit the asshole again sooner rather than later. The woman should be out for twelve hours. She appeared healthy with what little we saw of her. I’m not happy about the ink, and I can’t imagine she is either.
Fernandez holds a man who betrayed me, which is the only reason I went through this shit with Austin. I want Fernandez dead too, but this isn’t my territory and I respect that Austin has the right to take out Fernandez.
“He’s fucking crazy,” Alex says, disrupting my thoughts.
“As they come,” I agree.
He glances into the back seat. “Fernandez won’t like that he inked his sister.” Yeah, Alex and I have the same thinking patterns after being through so much together.
Alex has few lines he won’t cross and that forces a chuckle up my throat because obviously this is one of them. I know exactly what Austin was doing. “He marked his territory in the most basic way possible by pissing on her. Sadly he doesn’t realize he loves the woman.”
Now Alex laughs. “Yeah that would go over well with Celina,” he says sarcastically. Celina would have his nuts in a stranglehold if he tried. “You really think that’s what this is all about? Love?” His tone is doubtful.
“Considering the care he took removing her clothing and rolling her in the carpet. He didn’t want to let her go.”
“Yeah but now we’re stuck smelling his piss. Give me the word and I’ll take him out.”
“It may come to that but not yet.” I want Daniel Ramos. He helped my aunt and because of his assistance, my wife almost died. He’s the last loose end I have where my aunt is concerned and Fernandez has him. I put up a million dollar bounty but Fernandez’s price was the return of his sister. Now she’s in the back seat, covered in piss and Austin’s ink. This should go over well.
We arrive at Fernandez’s compound three hours later. The front gate is wire fencing with a barbed wire roll along the top. Stupid security measures and easily penetrable. Two armed guards stand duty. One points us to the front of the circular driveway when I give my name. Alex lifts the woman and follows behind me after we park. I fear we all reek of piss after sharing the car.
Fernandez opens the door before I knock. No one followed us to the door and there are no visible guards inside the house. His lack of security is bizarre. I take note as I’m sure Alex is doing as well. I have a feeling we’ll be tangling with Fernandez again soon if Austin doesn’t take care of business quickly.
The house is large and garish. Victor’s home is classy; whereas, this place is beyond ugly. Taxidermy animals fill every nook and only add to the nightmare that serves as this asshole’s home. There must be a hundred birds simulating flight on the walls with larger four-legged predators displayed on floor pedestals. Creepy is all I can think.
Then we have Fernandez himself. Someone could easily choke him out with the gold he wears around his throat. My hands itch to do exactly that. He’s short and stocky with a stomach paunch. His open collared shirt is unbuttoned one too many times so the gold swings through his chest hair. Mak would have a field day with sarcasm at his expense. Oily comes to mind. And deadly. The rumors about his organization aren’t good. Business partners have a way of disappearing. Victor should have taken him out years ago. Then there are the women Fernandez traffics. When I get to hell, Victor and I will have a conversation.
“Is she alive?” Fernandez demands. He isn’t looking at Alex, which is a mistake.
“She’s drugged,” Alex tells him. He didn’t want me attending this tradeoff but being in charge has its perks and this is one of them.
Fernandez’s attitude doesn’t help. He’s cocky with death lurking in his eyes as they jump around. I swear he’s on something. “If she’s alive, I’ll have Ramos delivered in fifteen minutes,” he actually whines.
“What about the women?”
He shrugs. “They’re at my clubhouse and you’ll need larger transportation to pick them up than you brought.”
I nod because it won’t be me rescuing them, but I have it set up and a friend ready to take the women to safety. “Set her down,” I tell Alex.
“No.” Fernandez grabs the carpet from his arms. “She fucking smells like piss,” he hisses. Without walking her to the nearest couch, he drops her while holding onto the end of the carpet. Her head takes a solid hit when she lands on the tile. Fernandez stares. “What the fuck did that scum do to her?” He squats over her naked body and roughly rolls her to her back. His face goes deep red in anger. “I will fucking tear him apart,” he roars and tries to rub the ink from her skin. “Fuck!” he screams and slaps her roughly on both cheeks. “Wake up, you piece of shit. Brother has a surprise for you.”
“She’ll be out for another ten hours or so,” Alex says from behind me. He’s a violent motherfucker but has a soft spot for women, and I know he doesn’t like what’s happening. I have the same soft spot but also have more calculated control. The last thing I want is Alex taking out this piece of shit here tonight before I have Ramos.
“She’ll fucking wake up,” he says and stands so he’s looming over her. There’s no time to stop him when the toe of his shiny black boot connects with her ribs.
My hand on Gomez’s arm halts him from taking out the piece of shit kicking an unconscious woman. “Handle your sister after I have Ramos. I won’t ask again.” I also won’t be leaving his sister here.
Fernandez’s furious gaze turns on me. There’s drool at the corners of his lips, which pretty much confirms the drugs. Austin had better handle Fernandez quickly. He holds too much power in northern California and he’s unstable. Hell, Austin is unstable too and I might need to put my people in both their places.
The irrational light in Fernandez’s eyes only shines brighter as his fingers pump at his sides. “You’re in my territory, asshole. No one tells me what to do here.”
I don’t need to look behind me to know Alex’s gun is in his hand. My fingers twitch to draw mine. Madison would have my ass with one of her cop sayings. If you realize you need your gun in your hand, it’s too late, I hear in her singsong voice. Fernandez turns back to his sister and kicks her in the head before we can stop him.
“Touch her again and you’re dead.” I’m calm because killing should always be done calmly.
His hand goes to the gun at his back that I spotted earlier. I move aside and a single gunshot fills the room. Fernandez’s gun flies from his hand and he screams, “My men will fucking kill you for this.”
I’m impressed Alex doesn’t kill him outright. More’s the pity. “Step away from the woman. Killing you will do your men a favor, so don’t push your luck.”
“She’s my fucking sister and she’s worthless to me like this. You can’t stop me from killing her. She’s nothing to you. I’ll help Ramos take out your whole fucking organization, you motherfucker.”
Noise at the front door makes me turn and draw my weapon. Alex covers Fernandez.
“Mr. Fernandez?” the guard asks. He’s the one who let us inside the gate.
“If you draw your weapon, your boss is dead,” I tell him. His hands go up immediately. I walk to the woman, stick the gun back in the hidden holster, and lift her carefully in my arms. She’s lifeless, which is hopefully from the drugs and not multiple hits to the head. She needs medical attention and won’t get it here. I turn to Fernandez. “I’m taking her. If you step foot in Arizona, you’re dead.”
Alex backs away and directs the guard to stand beside Fernandez. A noise at the front door and the explosion of Alex’s gun are almost simultaneous. The other guard takes a shot through the forehead and Alex’s gun snaps back to Fernandez and the remaining guard. I stride out the door and toss the woman in the back seat before getting in the driver’s seat, which I don’t normally do. I train my gun on the front door until Alex walks out.
He jumps in the passenger side of the car and I take off. The pings against the back of the car are expected but no bullets penetrate the custom window made exactly for this scenario.
An hour after we leave, Alex takes over driving. It’s five more hours to Phoenix and we aren’t stopping again. The woman sleeps the entire time. My doctor will be waiting to check her out when we’re safe inside my home. Cameras, more than two armed guards, and multiple attack dogs guarantee it.
I had Alex call my friend, Monroe, and give him the location of the women as soon as we cleared Fernandez’s property. I suspected he kept them at his clubhouse and Fernandez confirmed it. Monroe will hit the house with a team of highly trained men and see they’re safe.
Chapter Eighteen
Austin
An explosion rocks the house sometime before dawn. I roll to the floor and reach for my gun, which is in a fingerprint-controlled drawer in the nightstand. My cell phone rings and I grab it too. It’s Andreas and I connect the call while staying low beside the bed.
“We have a breach. Kendrick is down with a bullet in his stomach. They blew the east side of the house with some kind of rocket launcher. We’ve taken out at least four of their men.”
“It’s Fernandez. The police will be here shortly, so be ready.” He knows I mean stash the guns as soon as it’s safe. Fernandez’s men should back off when they hear sirens. I don’t have close neighbors but taking out a wall of the mansion won’t go unnoticed. “They’re in the house,” I tell him when heavy boots sound outside the bedroom.
I shoot the first guy who enters and the rest of his team falls back. I punch bullets through the wall into the hallway and hear a grunt before they storm away. Shots ring from the front of the house seconds later. The police sirens sound in the distance. I give it thirty seconds before charging out of the bedroom into the hallway.
“Boss, it’s me.” I pull my gun up when Andreas races around the corner. “Total of eight down, but the rest got away. We used handguns and the only heavy artillery they’ll find belongs to the other side.”
“The police will be here in seconds. Have the men lay their weapons down.” Andreas speaks into his radio relaying my orders. He’s in military fatigues; whereas, I’m in nothing but boxer briefs. “I’ll grab some pants and meet you at the front door.”
I grab a shirt too without bothering to add shoes. If they take me to jail, someone can grab a pair for me or the police can take me barefoot. The alcohol from last night is quickly leaving my system, but I’m still groggy. A cup of coffee would be perfect right about now, but there’s no fucking time.
Within two minutes of the police’s arrival, my men and I are handcuffed and sitting on the floor of the living room. It takes them another hour to clear the house and ascertain that I was attacked by unknown assailants. I called my attorney before meeting Andreas at the front door, and he’ll arrive shortly.
A minute later, I hear Ray’s loud voice demanding to see me. “My client’s been attacked and you have him in custody?” he yells.
“We don’t know who’s a threat and who isn’t,” a senior officer tells him. I know it’s a senior officer because he’s the only one who’s asked questions up to this point.
“And who the fuck are you?” Ray demands. He was Victor’s attorney and he’s worth every cent I pay him. Ray comes around the corner while he’s talking and his expression turns from annoyed to infuriated. “You have my client in cuffs. This is his home, which he’s been attacked in and you’re treating him like a criminal.” He takes out his cell and begins snapping picture
s of us sitting on the floor.
“We’ve just finished clearing the home and your client will be released if he agrees to come down to the station for additional questioning.”
“My client won’t agree to any such thing. He is not the bad guy here. His home has been attacked, and you need to gather your men and get the fuck off his property.
“I’m Sergeant Wilkins. This property is a crime scene and we have eight men dead,” he fumes. I actually enjoy seeing his frustration. None of my explanations got through to him. Yeah we all know I’m a criminal, but I have no record and everything on my side of this happened within the parameters of the law.
“It’s not a crime to defend yourself in your own home when someone decides to bomb it. Or maybe the law has changed and I haven’t been keeping up,” Ray says sarcastically.
“Let them go,” the sergeant says with a sour look on his face. Our weapons are legal, we have the required permits and there’s nothing he can do about our right to protect ourselves. He walks toward me. “This house is a crime scene and you and your men cannot return until our investigation concludes. Are we clear?”
I know better than to speak and Ray doesn’t disappoint. “My client will cooperate with law enforcement. We expect an immediate phone call when you release the premises.” Ray helps me stand. “Sergeant, tell one of your men to grab my client a pair of shoes from his closet. He isn’t walking out like this.”
“The black loafers,” I say and receive a glare from Ray. I shrug and give him a tight smile. The loafers are comfortable and they’ll match pretty much whatever I buy. Shoes are the least of my problems, though.
Is this hit connected to Moon? Did he set me up after taking Melina? It doesn’t make sense. Victor trusted him and for Victor that was huge. Moon’s more the type to shoot you while facing you. Gomez is the same. Sending a team to take me and my men out is a Fernandez move. It doesn’t mean I won’t keep Moon on my list until this shit is straight, but I just don’t see him helping Fernandez.
Combust (A Hotter Than Hell Novel Book 6) Page 11
