Filthy F*ckers: The Complete Series Box Set

by Hildreth, Scott

  Oh fuck. Not my teeth. Fucking Jesus.

  On my back on a table in the center of a storage building, I was duct-taped to a table. With my arms, legs, chest, and neck firmly bound in place, the only resistance I could provide was mental.

  My eyes darted to the side as one of his underlings dug through the pile of tools. Upon his producing a rusty pair of pliers, I clenched my jaw as tight as my tired muscles would allow.

  “Los morales primero,” the one with the 18 tattooed on his neck said.

  The molars first.

  I didn’t know if pulling the teeth in the back of my mouth first was a blessing or a curse. I guessed in a few minutes, I’d find out.

  “My mahney,” Tattoo said. “Where is my mahney?”

  “I don’t have it,” I said through my clenched teeth.

  Upon hearing the words pass my lips, I’d realized in some respects, they’d broken me.

  My previous responses had been along the lines of I don’t know what you’re talking about, or what money?

  I don’t have it was indicative of someone else having it.

  It didn’t take him long to recognize the subtle change in my response. Apparently, this wasn’t the first time he’d tortured someone.

  He cracked his knuckles. “Who does?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I murmured. “What money?”

  “Los morales,” he said dryly.

  I closed my eyes.

  The rusty steel tasted bitter as he forced it into my mouth. Although Tattoo may have been experienced at torture, his accomplice wasn’t. He fumbled in my mouth for some time, and eventually attached the tip of the pliers to one of my rear teeth.

  His first yank crushed the bottom portion of my tooth and sprinkled my tongue and cheeks with small particles of what I was sure would later be my first tooth to go.

  “Firmemente,” Tattoo said, nodding toward my head. “Y, despacio.”

  I’m sure his instructions of slow and firm was good advice, but I doubted I was prepared for anything slow or firm when it came to pulling my teeth one by one.

  He shoved the pliers into my mouth again, clanking them against my teeth as he fought to find one in the rear. After gripping my tooth – and a good portion of my gums – in the jaw of the pliers, he planted his foot against the edge of the table and pulled slowly and held firmly.

  The pain that shot from my jaw to my brain seemed to somehow be connected to the back side of my eye. It felt like he was pulling my left eye through the socket and into my sinus cavity.

  I closed my eyes, but it didn’t help. As the gut-wrenching sound of my tooth being dislodged from my jaw was replaced by my growling, it snapped free.

  As he held my bloody tooth in the air like a trophy, my mouth filled with the warm coppery taste of blood.

  I choked in my effort to swallow as blood drained into my throat. While they were laughing, and admiring the length of my tooth’s roots, I spent my time gagging and spitting blood to the side of the table.

  I realized if I didn’t spit it out, I’d soon drown in it. And, drowning in my own blood wasn’t something I wanted to do.

  As I struggled to get past the pain, I wished he’d simply shoot me and get it over, but that thought eventually faded.

  “Where’s my mahney?” Tattoo asked.

  I turned my head to the side and spit a pool of blood at his feet. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Otro,” he said.

  Another.

  I spit again, plastering blood on the floor beside the pliers-wielding idiot. The throbbing pain in my jaw replaced the dull ache in my leg.

  Tattoo nodded toward my head.

  As his partner pushed the filthy steel tool deep into my throat, I closed my eyes and wondered just how much longer I could last.

  He clenched the jaw of the pliers against a tooth on the other side of my mouth.

  This is going to be a long fucking night.

  Chapter Ninety-Eight

  Lex

  After waking the next morning and checking my phone, I decided to drive to Adam’s house and have a talk with him about his change of heart.

  As much as I didn’t want to lose him, I also refused to be treated like I didn’t matter.

  The short drive to his house wasn’t an easy one, and the closer I got, the more I wished I hadn’t decided to go. As I drove down the block toward his home, I considered driving past, and foregoing the departure speech I had planned.

  I pulled in the drive nonetheless, got out of the car, and stepped onto the porch. After beating on the door for five minutes and getting no answer, I let out a sigh and turned toward my car.

  It wasn’t early by Adam’s standards, but I knew it was still earlier than he typically went to work.

  Frustrated, I stepped off the porch and into the drive. As I reached for my car’s door, I glanced at the garage. Curiosity eventually got the best of me, and I walked to the door, checking over my shoulder with each few steps.

  I unlocked the lock and pushed the door up enough to see.

  What the fuck?

  His motorcycle was parked inside.

  You’re an asshole.

  I released the door and stomped to the porch.

  I beat on the door with all my might. “Open this door, you son-of-a-bitch. I know you’re in there!”

  I had visions of him being inside with someone else, and wondered who she might be.

  After he opened the door, she’d be some bitch with a black eye.

  I pounded harder. “You owe it to me to tell me what’s going on,” I shouted. “Open the door.”

  I beat on it until my fist was sore, and then peered in through the window. None of the lights were on, and the home was dark.

  I reached for the doorknob.

  Locked.

  I peered through the window again.

  Nothing.

  Frustrated, I stood on the porch and rubbed my hand. After a moment, I walked around the house, went to the back door, and grabbed the door handle.

  Much to my surprise, it turned.

  I pushed the door open a few inches. “Adam?”

  Nothing.

  “Adam?!”

  I pushed it open a little more. “Adam?”

  “I’m coming in!” I announced.

  The home was eerily quiet, and I began to wonder if he had stayed home sick. For a moment I felt bad, but that would soon fade. I walked into the kitchen, then the living room, and upon seeing nothing, reluctantly walked toward his bedroom.

  The bed was unmade. Beside it, in a wad, was a pair of jeans with a belt still through the loops. I picked them up, searched the pockets, and found his keys – and wallet.

  Confused, I looked around the room.

  Immediately in front of me was a nightstand with the drawer partially opened. I peered inside.

  A pistol sat in the center of the drawer on top of a red rag.

  What the…

  My mind assembled the pieces and as silly as it later seemed, it took me a minute to realize that Adam was gone without his jeans, keys, shoes, wallet, motorcycle, or protection.

  Wherever he was he was half-naked, shoeless, and without transportation.

  And then, it hit me.

  No. No. No.

  “Nooooo!”

  * * *

  I hoped my memory was correct. Finding them was my only hope. I screeched around the corner as fast as my Beetle would go, and as the sight of two motorcycles came into view, my heart raced.

  I sped into the lot, and before my car even came to a complete stop, I jumped out and ran into the shop.

  I had no idea what the club’s procedures or rules were regarding women, but I really didn’t care.

  Pee Bee stood at the far side of the shop beside Crip. Both of their eyes widened as I ran toward them, blurting out everything I knew as I approached.

  “Slow down, little girl,” Crip growled. “It really doesn’t matter what
you’re thinking, you can’t come here looking--”

  “They took him,” I huffed.

  “Who took who,” Crip asked in a snide tone.

  “Adam.” I pressed my hands to my knees and fought to catch my breath. I cleared my throat. “Cholo.”

  I took a deep breath. “His bike…his bike’s in the garage, his wallet…and his jeans…were on the floor of his bedroom…and his shoes were in his doorway.”

  I took another breath. “His nightstand drawer was half opened, and his gun was right there in it. Someone came and took him.”

  They looked at each other.

  Pee Bee looked at me. “Bike, wallet, and his Van’s? All there?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “You got the garage open?” Crip asked.

  “He gave me a key. His bike’s right there in it. Oh, and the back door. It was unlocked, and when I went to leave…”

  My eyes began to well with tears, but I wasn’t about to cry in their presence. “It…It. Uhhm. The door frame. It was splintered. Someone pried it open.”

  “Fuck,” Pee Bee said. He looked at Crip. “Calle 18?”

  Crip nodded. “Anyone else went in Cholo’s house looking for trouble, we’d be haulin’ ‘em out on a stretcher.”

  He looked at me. “Fuck.” He looked at Pee Bee. “We need to go to his house and look around. Clean the place up, just in case the cops come.”

  “Follow us,” Crip said.

  “She’ll never keep up,” Pee Bee said. He turned toward me. “Just hop on back of mine.”

  I left my car where it was parked and hopped on the back of Pee Bee’s bike. As we rode to Adam’s house, I realized that there were going to be times where a motorcycle ride could not dull the pain, or fix what was broken.

  And this was one of those times.

  Chapter Ninety-Nine

  Cholo

  I had no idea how many teeth I was missing. Although at that point I don’t think it would have made much difference if they just would have taken every last one.

  I had reached a point during their makeshift extractions that the pain I was feeling was replaced with a ringing in my ears. The ringing became incessant, but it was much more manageable than the alternative.

  Sweaty, exhausted, and covered in my blood, they’d left with the promise of returning the following night for more torturous fun.

  I’d been burnt, beaten, had my teeth pulled, and endured more pain than I would have expected any human being could possibly tolerate without dying as a result.

  My eyes were swollen shut, my lungs were filling with liquid, and I barely had enough energy to turn my head to the side and spit out what blood drained into the cavities of my swollen cheeks.

  I despised whoever took the money, but couldn’t force myself to imagine one of the Fuckers had done it, especially after Pee Bee and I had taken the time to explain how important it was that we leave it where it was.

  I closed my eyes and prayed until there were no more prayers to say.

  In one respect my prayers had been answered, but the answers provided weren’t in respect to my most recent discussions with God. They were prayers I’d said many, many years prior.

  As the afternoon sun bore down on the storage building, the temperature inside increased to a point that it became difficult to breathe. The temperature, my exhaustion, and the loss of blood eventually made me delirious.

  After spending several hours alone in the sweltering heat and silence, I began to lose touch with reality. An hour or so was spent laughing at nothing at all. Soon thereafter, I began to cry. Incapable of stopping, I cried about everything, and about nothing.

  And then, the hallucinations began.

  While fading in and out of a dream-like state, I had a revelation. Upon realizing it, I decided I was growing closer to meeting my maker with each tick of the clock.

  I closed my eyes and began what was certain to be my last prayer.

  Thank you Lord for allowing me to realize that I am a man with little self-worth. I lay here before you filled with shame for allowing myself to lack the confidence required to live a fulfilling life.

  I waste hours each day lifting weights and exercising to attempt to perfect a body that I see as nothing more than disgusting fat.

  I’ve lived a lifetime incapable of committing to women because I fear that any relationship I might attempt to play a part of will certainly crumble due to my inability to be a man worthy of my spouse.

  I fear the commitment of a relationship due to the undeniable failure that is sure to follow. As a result, I believe I have caused damage to the woman I am growing to love, Alexandra.

  I’ve fought so many other men that I am incapable of counting them, all in hopes of convincing myself that I was superior, better, more worthy, and more capable as a fighter – and as a man.

  I’m sure all the things I have done as a result of my lack of self-esteem are miniscule in comparison to other things I’ve done under your watch, but I only ask that you take time to consider fixing these things within me, Lord, as the others aren’t able to be fixed, only forgiven.

  There are rules that you have commanded that man make no effort to break, yet I broke them willingly, and wantonly, and I will break them again if given an opportunity.

  You know, as I know, that each and every commandment that I have broken, I have broken with the belief that in doing so rids this earth of someone far worse than me.

  As this day – and my life – come to a close, I ask that you consider the men who are destined to return, Lord.

  If my fate is to die at their hands, allow me to die with dignity.

  After I pass, I ask that you please consider Alexandra, my mother, my sister, and the fellas.

  Please allow Alexandra to come to an understanding of how I truly feel about her. I further ask that you watch over her as she proceeds through life, providing her with a man who will care for her, admire her, and touch her with hands that are kind, caring, and compassionate.

  I ask these things in your gracious name.

  Amen.

  I thought of Alexandra, and of living what little life I had left without seeing her. My thoughts soon migrated to her, and of her living a life without someone as willing to care for her as I was.

  And I began to weep.

  Chapter One Hundred

  Pee Bee

  We’d met with the President and SAA of every club we were friendly with, and in no time we’d found out where Calle 18’s new dope house was. According to those who were in the know, going in wasn’t going to be an easy task.

  Following the ‘robbery’ of the last dope house, rumor was that there were a dozen men armed with machine guns guarding the new location. The information left us no alternative but to go in at night, and as heavily armed as we could be.

  After leaving Alexandra with Tegan and Peyton, we took a ride to Coronado Island, and were at Mc P’s Irish Pub, a known Navy SEAL hangout.

  “Look what the cat dragged in. One Shot! Hell, I thought you’d been buried at sea,” the bartender shouted.

  “Grab me a couple Bud’s?” Crip asked.

  “You got it, One Shot.”

  One Shot?

  The bartender, who was apparently an old friend of Crip’s from his Navy SEAL days, handed us two beers and then grinned.

  He was tall and wore a thick beard and had curly hair. His shirt clung tight to his chest, and he had forearms that were as big as my biceps. Tattooed across his bicep was the same SEAL Trident that Crip had on his upper arm.

  “Pleasure trip to your old stomping grounds?” the bartender asked.

  The Navy Amphibious Base where the Navy SEALS were trained was two minutes from where we were, but going there wasn’t our objective – or at least I didn’t think so.

  “Business,” Crip said.

  The bartender arched an eyebrow.

  Crip glanced at me. “Give us a minute?”

  I motioned toward the patio. “I’ll be outside.�
��

  It was late afternoon, and the bar wasn’t busy yet. I walked out to the empty patio, and sat down at one of the larger tables. I realized there was very little we could do about the situation Cholo was in without help – and a lot of it – but sitting and drinking a beer while one of my brothers was in danger wasn’t my way of doing things.

  According to Crip, going to the dope house in daylight would assuredly lead to our arrest, and I couldn’t disagree. Drinking a beer with Crip’s SEAL buddies while Cholo was being held hostage, however, ground on my very last nerve.

  Before I’d taken a drink of my beer, Crip sat down beside me. “Just hold tight. We’ll have some company in a few. Let me do the talking.”

  “You’re the boss,” I said snidely. “But I’ve got a question.”

  He took a drink of beer. “What’s that?”

  “There’s nothing we can do right now? Nothing? I have a real tough fucking time believing that.”

  He crossed his arms, met my stare, and narrowed his eyes. “Cholo’s not your brother. He’s our brother. I want to save him just as much as you do. If we go there during the day, they’ll see us coming. We’ll be gunned down, and he’ll be executed. Or, the neighbors will see us, and then call the cops. The possibilities are many, but they all end with us, and him, being killed. We have to wait until after dark.”

  I let out a sigh. I didn’t like it, but it made sense. “Alright. But, swilling beers with your old buddies ain’t fucking cool. Not now.”

  Two guys about Crip’s age – and two seemed to be in their latter twenties – stepped to the table, interrupting our conversation. The all wore beards like the bartender, and had similar builds.

  No names were exchanged, and it was clear that they’d never met Crip, but they started talking like they were old friends.

  “What’s the mission?” the one at Crips side asked.

  “Extraction,” Crip said.

  “How many tangos?”

  Crip shrugged. “Uncertain. Maybe a dozen.”

  The man nodded once. “Zero dark thirty?”