Filthy F*ckers: The Complete Series Box Set

by Hildreth, Scott

  Crip shook his head. “Twenty-two hundred. Tonight.”

  The man looked at the other three men. Each man nodded once.

  Crip leaned onto the edge of the table and looked at the man at his side. “The five of us--”

  “Excuse me?” I growled. “Six of us.”

  Crip glanced over each shoulder, and upon determining we were alone, locked eyes with me. “This isn’t going to be easy, Peeb,” he whispered. “We’re going to be up against--”

  “I don’t give a fuck who we’re up against,” I snapped. “Cholo’s my brother. My fucking brother, Crip. Just like these four whistledicks are yours. Looks like this bearded bunch of fuckers are willing to help you. Well, motherfucker, I’m willing to help Cholo. So, you can include me…” I stood up and clenched my fists. “Or, you can fight me. Take your pick.”

  The man on Crip’s left chuckled. “Looks like there’ll be six of us.”

  “God damn it, Peeb.” He shot me a glare. “You could get killed. No bullshit. Killed.”

  I shrugged. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  * * *

  Following an impromptu training session at our shop that included hand signals and the proper use of weapons, I was fitted with modern-day military gear and loaded into a van.

  Thirty minutes later, just before 11:00 p.m., and we were poised and ready to enter the home.

  Our instructions came over a headset.

  “Raven One to Raven Three, we’ve got six tangos at the east side of the residence. Appears to be a kitchen. Copy.”

  “This is Raven Three. Roger six tangos. Be advised, west bedroom, north side. We’ve got four tangos, copy.”

  “Roger four tangos, Raven Three. On my four count.”

  “Roger your four count, Raven One.”

  “One.”

  “Two.”

  My heart was in my fucking throat and my stomach was twisted into a knot. My only hope was that we got to Cholo before they killed him.

  If not, there was going to be hell to pay.

  “Three.”

  “Four.”

  The back door was blown from its hinges, and we burst through it one after the other. I was the last man through the door, and I heard the sound of a silenced rifle fire six times before I planted one of my feet inside the house.

  “Kitchen clear.”

  Crouched down with my weapon pointed ahead, just as they had taught me, I entered the kitchen immediately behind the man in front of me.

  Six men were dead on the floor.

  I stepped over them, and with my rifle at the ready, I followed the man they called Tree Top down the hallway.

  “First bedroom clear.”

  “Bathroom clear.”

  “Garage clear.”

  “Four Echo Papa Whiskeys in bedroom two. We have no asset. Be advised, hold your fire. Repeat. Hold your fire.”

  I was a part of the mission, and I was glad that I volunteered. But, we hadn’t even been in the home for two minutes, and the threat of death was long gone. It was obvious why Navy SEALs were touted as being bad-asses.

  It was because they were.

  Certain Cholo was being held captive in the back bedroom, I eagerly elbowed my way into the small room.

  Much to my surprise, six Hispanic men stood with their wide eyes fixed on Crip, but there was no sign of Cholo.

  With a rifle trained on each of their chests, the men stood in fear for their lives, or so I thought. Crip stood in front of the group of men with his rifle slung over his shoulder, and his pistol gripped tightly in his hand.

  He raised the pistol and pointed it at one of the Hispanic men’s head. “Donde esta el jefe?”

  I didn’t speak Spanish, but no differently than most people in southern California, I understood it enough to know Crip was asking where the boss man was.

  Stone-faced, the man glared back at him, and then closed his eyes. “No se.”

  Crip pulled the trigger.

  The man fell to the floor with a thud.

  Blood poured out of the man’s forehead and onto the carpet. Standing only a few feet away, Crip pointed the pistol at the next man’s head. “Donde esta el jefe?”

  The man spat at the floor. “No se, pendejo.”

  Crip pulled the trigger. The man’s legs buckled, and he fell into a pile beside the first man.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  Crip pointed the pistol at the third man’s thigh, and without warning, pulled the trigger. The man screamed and fell to the floor in agony. In response, Crip pointed the barrel of the pistol at his head.

  “Donde esta el jefe?” he seethed.

  The man clenched his bleeding leg and moaned. “Cual queres? Hay dos?”

  “El mero chignon,” Crip said. “El hombre que secuestro el bandido.”

  “En el edificio junto al mar,” the man said.

  I thought he said he’s by the sea in a building, but I wasn’t certain.

  I’d felt apprehensive and half-sick since we entered the home, but upon recognizing what the man said, my heart filled with sliver of hope.

  “What’d the fucker say?” I blurted.

  “He knows where Cholo is,” Crip growled. He motioned toward the floor. “Get a tourniquet on his leg. He’s going with us. Keep him alive, I’ve got plans to use him later.

  “What about this one?” I asked, motioning toward the last remaining man.

  Without a word, Crip pointed the pistol at face and pulled the trigger. “Don’t trip over that piece of shit on the way out.”

  Chapter One Hundred One

  Cholo

  “Half a meelyun dollars ees not crumbs, pendejo,” Tattoo said as he paced the floor in front of me. “And, I weel torture you for half a meelyun days just for fuhn. It makes me happy.”

  Dressed in silk slacks, dress shoes, and a white wife beater, he paused, smiled from ear to ear, and then motioned toward his partner, who was standing beside him holding a hammer.

  “Where’s my mahney?”

  Wearing nothing more than the blood-stained boxer shorts I’d worn for the last two days, I’d been moved into a folding chair. Held in place by the third man, I provided no resistance.

  I simply couldn’t muster the energy.

  I was slowly letting go, and I knew it.

  I turned my head to the side, spit on the floor beside the man with the hammer, and then locked eyes with Tattoo.

  “Fuck you,” I spat.

  He glanced at each of his accomplices and then began to laugh like a madman. After he caught his breath, he looked at me.

  His eyes thinned to slits.

  “Eet was two or maybe three years ago. I took a hammer and smashed a man’s toes, one then another, until he had no toes left.” He pressed his hands to his knees, lowered himself down to my level, and then cocked an eyebrow. “Then, I hit him in the head with eet until he had holes in his skull. His brains leaked out on the floor, but he leeved long enough to tell me what I wanted to know.”

  I realized my feet were flat on the concrete floor.

  I imagined the hammer smashing my toes into something resembling hamburger. My stomach began to knot up, and then it started to convulse.

  My eyes fell closed.

  Give me the strength to let go, Lord. That’s all I ask.

  He took a step back and nodded toward my feet. Before I had a chance to resist, pull away, or say anything, the hammer came crashing down onto the top of my right foot.

  My back arched, my mouth shot open, and I screamed like a newborn baby.

  The pain was unimaginable.

  I gulped a few breaths, and then looked down.

  He’d missed my toes, but hit the top of my foot so hard the skin was split wide open, revealing a snow-white sliver of bone.

  I began to blubber and sob.

  I was done. I couldn’t take another moment of torture. I inhaled a choppy breath, closed my eyes, and tried to get my sobbing under control.

  I was going to di
e, and I needed to die like a man.

  As I sat with my eyes closed and prepared to die, my right foot felt like it exploded into a million pieces. Then, a more horrendous pain consumed my entire body.

  My eyes burst open.

  I looked down.

  Upon seeing what had happened, my entire body tensed, extracting what little energy I still possessed straight from my soul.

  The big toe of my right foot was mangled into a bloody piece of unrecognizable meat.

  I tried to clench my jaw, but my lips were quivering in spams.

  After a moment of collecting my thoughts and channeling what little composure I had left, I fixed my eyes on Tattoo and shot him an evil glare.

  “I killed…I killed those piece of shit drug dealing fucks,” I said through my teeth. “And, just so you know I’m the one who did it, one had Calle 18 tattooed on chest, and an eyeball on the back of his fucking head. Then I set the girls free. On my way out, I took the money…”

  I turned my head to the side, spit on the floor, and then met his wide-eyed gaze. “And I gave it to the fucking police. Go talk to detective Watson. He’s waiting for you to come claim it. Pudrete en el infierno, Maricon.”

  I knew my statement would cause him to realize there was no way to get his money back.

  The last thing he’d do was go to the cops.

  My telling him in perfect Spanish to rot in hell, asshole would let him know he’d beaten on me for two days without breaking my spirit. I was sure it was enough to get him to kill me, and that’s what I wanted.

  It was over.

  They could beat me to death with the hammer, but they could never hurt Alexandra, and that was all that mattered.

  Take care of Alexandra, Lord.

  I closed my eyes.

  Now. Please, set me free.

  Chapter One Hundred Two

  Lex

  Peyton was Crip’s girlfriend, and Tegan was Pee Bee’s. Together, the three of us sat in Pee Bee’s home, talking.

  They tried to comfort me, but there was little that could be done to settle my nerves completely. Each passing hour brought along with it a reminder that the chances of Adam ever coming home alive were less and less.

  “It’s midnight,” I said. “And we haven’t heard anything since they left. Nothing.”

  Peyton, full of nervous energy, was pacing the floor. When she spoke, she talked a thousand miles an hour, but everything she said made sense. For the most part.

  Tegan, on the other hand, was slightly more reserved, but still outspoken. She seemed to think a little more before she spoke.

  “They won’t call until it’s over. And then, maybe, and I mean maybe, we’ll get a call,” Peyton said. “And they won’t text, either.”

  “Why can’t they just give us an update?” I asked.

  “Too much risk. No calls, no texts. If they do call, it’ll be a one word cryptic statement. We’re just going to have to keep waiting.”

  My heart hurt, and I felt like I needed to remind myself to breathe. Over the course of the night, it became worse, and worse.

  As the dull thud of pain pulsed from my chest, I looked at Peyton. “I feel like I’m going to die.”

  She stopped pacing and looked at me. “Cops find criminals all the time, but not because they’re gifted. Believe me, I’ve researched more cases than you can imagine. Do you know how they solve most crimes?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Snitches,” she said. “Informants. Someone outside their force.”

  “Okay,” I said, not quite following whatever point she was trying to make.

  “Okay. So, if cops solve crimes by talking to informants, and not from actually finding facts on their own, it means that anyone with the ability to extract information from the public could do the same, right?”

  I nodded. “I suppose so.”

  “Crip’s a former Navy SEAL. He’s the real deal. I know earlier you said you thought he was a dick, and you’re right. He is. But he’s a dick that cares for his brothers like they’re his flesh and blood. If Cholo can be found, he’ll find him. He will.”

  “And when he does, you can bet Pee Bee will crush whoever is in the way,” Tegan said. “He’s the protector of these guys, and he takes his position of Sergeant-at-Arms to heart.”

  “I get that. I do,” I said. “They’re trying to find him, and when they do, there’s going to be hell to pay. I just…”

  I let out a sigh.

  “What?” Peyton asked.

  “I think it’s too late. They’ve had him for, what? Maybe almost two days?”

  Peyton looked at Tegan.

  Tegan took a breath, let it out, and stood up. “I remember when I met Cholo. We went to Palm Springs to a rally. There were like, I don’t know, a thousand bikes parked in a field, and people everywhere. I don’t know, maybe more.”

  Peyton nodded. “There was 5,000.”

  “Okay, 5,000,” Tegan said. “Anyway. I wanted to go down on Pee Bee’s cock right there at the rally, and I didn’t care who saw it. Cholo was standing guard over the bikes, you know, making sure nobody fucked with them. So, anyway, Pee Bee asked him to keep an eye out for us.

  So, I sucked Pee Bee’s dick right there on his bike. The entire time, Cholo stood and glared out at the sea of motorcycles. Believe me, I was watching.”

  She paused and put her hands on her hips. “So, afterward, Pee Bee turned to Cholo and thanked him for keeping an eye out. Cholo looked at us, nodded his head, and went right back to mean-mugging the crowd of people. Well, while we walked up to the tent to get some barbeque, I thought about how much he was protecting, and what everyone was risking by leaving their bikes parked out in that field.”

  I liked hearing her story, and imagined Adam flexing his muscles at anyone who passed by, but had no idea why she was telling me.

  “He was watching a hundred bikes,” she said “At $20,000 each, that’s $2,000,000 worth of merchandise. And, I wondered why would someone allow one person to be responsible for the well-being of two MILLION dollars’ worth of bikes. After I got to know Cholo, I realized why they chose him.”

  I liked her story. I grinned for the first time of the night. “Why?”

  “Because Crip might be the best trained. And Pee Bee might be the meanest. But, the toughest? The pit bull of the club? That one guy that nobody wants to see get mad? That man is Cholo. He’s the toughest one of the bunch. Believe me, Cholo will never, and I mean never give up.”

  I looked at Peyton.

  “True story,” she blurted. “Cholo’s one tough son-of-a-bitch. Toughest of the entire fucking club. And not to go on and on about my job, but if there’s another thing I’ve learned in my research, it’s that in circumstances like these, giving up is dying. Those who don’t give up? They get through it. He’s going to be just fine, because he’ll never give up.”

  My lower lip started to quiver. “Do you…really? You really think so?”

  Peyton opened her arms. I stood up and stumbled toward her.

  “He’s not a quitter,” she said. “He’ll hold on until they get to him.”

  I felt like a child, but I couldn’t help myself. I fell into her arms and sobbed on her shoulder until my muscles ached.

  I wanted Adam back, and I wanted everything that I didn’t have the courage to do with him to happen. I wanted to make love to him, and I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to make me tacos, and I wanted to go see Maria again.

  I wanted to sit on his bike in the garage and make my tears go away.

  The sound of Tegan’s phone ringing caused me to tense. She ran to the kitchen, pulled it from her purse, and while Peyton and I stared at her with open mouths, she looked at the screen.

  “It’s Pee Bee!” she shouted.

  She swiped her fingers across the screen repeatedly, and finally answered it.

  “Hello?”

  She held the phone against her face with a shaking hand. In each other’s arms, Peyton and I
walked toward her.

  Tegan didn’t say another word, she just listened.

  As we stepped in front of her, her eyes went wide. Then, then phone slid from her shaking hand and hit the floor with a clank.

  And she burst into tears.

  Chapter One Hundred Three

  Cholo

  “Kill thees mother fucker,” Tattoo said. “Slow. Shoot him in the legs, then the deek. Then shoot his stomach. Then…”

  I opened my eyes. I wanted one more glimpse of the son-of-a-bitch who was going to kill me, so whenever he showed up in hell, I’d be able to pick him out of a crowd.

  In my second life, things were going to be different.

  After I burned an image of him in my brain, I closed my eyes. I heard the metallic click of a weapon being taken off safety. The end was mere seconds away.

  I love you, mother.

  And, I love you, too, Alexandra.

  I clenched my jaw and prepared to die.

  A few seconds passed. The rifle fired, making a terrible explosion.

  And then, another.

  And, another.

  But I felt no pain.

  The sound of being shot had deafened me, but somehow, I was conscious. It felt like a dream. I’d read about people being killed, and that although the amount of time it took for the brain to register that the heart had stopped beating was short, the eyes could still see for that instant.

  I opened my eyes.

  Through the smoke, I saw soldiers. They were all crouched down no differently that I’d seen them in movies. Methodically, they advanced toward me, each armed with a rifle.

  Tattoo fell at my feet. Then, one of the two sick bastards who’d tortured me fell. Then, the other. The soldiers grew closer, and closer...

  I was dreaming.

  In my passage to wherever God was sending me, I was being saved. At least in my mind.

  I felt a tug on my arm. Then, through my ringing ears, I heard a voice.

  “Don’t touch him, Tree Top!” I heard someone yell. “I’ll get him.”

  I looked up. A tall soldier towered over me. His helmet and goggles came off and dropped to the floor at my feet.