Tool

by K. L. Savage

  “No, they can’t! Dad will know—”

  “No, your dad doesn’t know the prospect, Tim. Cute little guy, might get crushed, but they say that he won’t. After he wins, he will come to you, and that’s when they’re going to storm the place. They have all the chapters with them, girly. This place is about to get burned to the ground.”

  Yeah, I just hope we aren’t in it when it turns to ash.

  21

  TOOL

  “I should be in there,” I say, pissed off and on edge as I watch the house through the window of the truck Reaper’s driving.

  “No, you shouldn’t be.” Badge types away on the computer from the back seat. “You’d think with your emotions and get yourself killed.”

  “No, I wouldn’t. I’m going.” I grab the door handle to get out when Reaper grabs my arm to stop me.

  “And say you get caught. There’s one of you and who knows how many people in there. Let the plan play out; it’s a good plan.”

  “Let Tim win, get Juliette to safety—”

  “And my mom? No, there has to be another way. I can’t wait that long, Reaper.”

  “You might not have to,” Badge says, turning his laptop around to show me. “It took some digging, but there looks like there’s an underground tunnel leading from the sewer. It takes you to the basement. It looks like the tunnel hasn’t been used in over a hundred years, so it might not even lead to the house anymore anyway.”

  “I don’t care. I’m going. Where’s the entrance to the sewer?” A knock at the window interrupts the plan, on top of the other plan, which doesn’t seem like a good idea in the long run, but I have to get in that house.

  “Boomer,” I say his name through clenched teeth. He always finds the most inopportune moments to interrupt. And, of course, Caster is next to him.

  I swear to god, why won’t this guy just go away?

  I roll down the window, impatient and annoyed. “What?”

  “Oh, touchy,” Boomer says, smiling at me with his annoying, know-it-all smile.

  “Caster,” I grumble a greeting.

  He smiles too.

  Why is everyone smiling? I hate it.

  “It’s just down the street,” Badge says.

  “I want to come,” Boomer bounces on his feet with excitement, and Caster chuckles.

  “Eager. Even with the enemy in ya head, ya positive, Boomer,” Caster says.

  “My enemy is my friend now; that’s why. Kill them. Kill them. Kill them,” he chants, replacing the word himself with them. “I’m taking Reaper’s advice. And I have a feeling we have some killing to do?”

  I double check to make sure I have my tool, touching the side of my head. I open the door and take one last look at the house. If she isn’t in there, I don’t know what I’ll do. It’s my last hope of finding Juliette. I run to the right, away from the house, and Boomer’s boots are right behind me. I follow the blacktop of the road into the night, staring at the streetlights that line the street.

  When I get to the intersection, a rundown white house is on the right with a few people standing on the porch, but they stay away from us. Good, they must have gotten the message from their friend. I come to a stop and look around for the sewer entrance. As I suspect, it’s in the middle of the road. I run over to the round metal manhole and squat down, grabbing ahold of the top. “Damn this is heavy,” I grunt, using every ounce of strength I have to push it aside. Metal grinds against the pavement, and it’s loud, causing my ears to ring.

  “Alright. Apparently, there’s an old tunnel that leads to the basement of the house. It might not be in use but—”

  “But nothing. We’ll blow whatever shit that’s in our way, out of the way. You know I come prepared. Let’s go save your girl.” Boomer slaps my shoulder with positivity that I’ve never seen from him before.

  “I’m coming too—”

  “You keep your witchy shit to yourself, okay? Those are the rules,” I tell Caster as I descend the ladder into darkness. I jump down and land in shallow water, my boots splashing up filth along my jeans. It smells like death, and the snicker of little rodents tell me we’re surrounded by rats. Boomer jumps down next, then Caster.

  “This tunnel has—”

  “Shut up, Caster. I’m so close to ramming this screwdriver in your skull,” I stop him from saying anything else about the tunnel. It’s probably haunted by bad shit or whatever, and I don’t want to know the details.

  “Ya need to be open to the possibility that there are other things out there besides normal.”

  “If you think what we’re doing is normal, you’re out of your fucking mind. The little witchy nonsense has fried your brain.” I wind my finger by my head, a way of calling him crazy, and follow the sewer in the only direction that it goes. It’s dark, creepy, and the only sound bouncing off the curved walls are the little nails of rats and our boots sloshing through the mess that’s in the water.

  My hands are twitching for violence, to spew my hatred into the bastard who calls himself a father to Juliette.

  “You love this woman despite the fear you feel of one day being a father that your children hate,” Caster says.

  I let out one long breath and push Caster against the slick dirty wall, my arm on his chest and the screwdriver teasing his temple. “You listen to me—don’t talk to me like you know me. Don’t speak to me. You don’t know shit about me or how I feel. And whatever vibes you get, don’t feel like you have to share them.” I shove off him, and he nods but does so with a smile.

  Fucking can’t wait for the New Orleans chapter to get out of here.

  “Boomer, can you not play catch with the grenade? It’s making me a little nervous, but it’s good to know not a lot of things change.” I watch as the grenade flies up in the air, then back in his palm, up, down, up, down, until he finally puts it in his cut pocket.

  “You suck the fun out of everything,” Boomer pouts, kicking the water and flinging it against the wall, scaring a few rats away.

  We come to a part of the sewer that has four metal bars separating us, and at the end there seems to be a door of some kind. “This is it, but how are we going to get through?” The rust digs into my skin as I grip and pull. I make a mental note to get a tetanus shot. The bars bend, but they don’t break. “Fuck!” my curse echoes down the sewer line. “That has to be it.”

  “Let me blow it up.”

  “We don’t know what will happen to the rest of the sewer, Boomer. You have anything less lethal in your pockets?” He pulls out a miniature stick of dynamite. I remember those from fighting with the Jersey chapter.

  “They make a punch, but it isn’t nearly as fun. Step back.” Boomer sounds less than thrilled to have to be doing this. He lifts a packet of matches to light the fuse, but I grab his wrist at the last moment before he blows us to hell. “What are you doing?” he asks, pouting his bottom lip like a toddler.

  “You’re going to kill us if you light that. There could be gases in the air or something,” I warn, tightening my fingers around his wrist.

  Instead of realization or panic, something else flickers in his eyes. He wants to see if there are gases in the sewer so he can blow this bitch up. Crazy bomb-wielding motherfucker.

  “Fine,” he resigns, but I can see the wheels turning in his head as he thinks about burning the sewer to the ground. “What would you have me do? I didn’t come with anything else. My pockets are full of grenades and dynamite.” His voice bounces off the sewer walls, echoing down the tunnel along with the tiny scratches of rats.

  There has to be something. I feel around the top of the archway where the bars meet the cement. Only to feel that they are welded to metal, and the metal is drilled into the cement. I can’t hide the cocky smirk when something as simple as my screwdriver will remedy this. “Watch and learn, fellas.” I pluck my tool—my weapon, my everything—and insert the simple flathead into the old rusted screws. “Fucking hell, this might not work,” I grunt as I twist the screwdriver,
putting as much strength as I can into the rusted metal.

  “Come on, mon ami. You can do it. Think of Juliette,” Caster tries to encourage me, and an image of her crying for me, bruised, and god knows what else has me grabbing onto strength I didn’t realize existed inside me. The cement and ancient metal grind together, a new sound I despise, like nails on a chalkboard, until the bolt clanks onto the floor, landing in a filth-infested puddle.

  “Not as cool as dynamite, but whatever. It works.” Boomer kicks the screw on the ground, pouting.

  I’m sweating by the time I get the third screw out and decide it’s lose enough to try to kick in now. I wipe my eyes to get the salty liquid from blinding me and lift my foot, hitting the semi-loose bars. The bars groan but don’t give.

  “Fuck, come on,” I say in desperation, and Caster places his hand on my chest, stopping me from trying again.

  “Let me, mon ami. Save your strength. Boomer, on the count of three. Come on.” Caster jerks Boomer to hide behind him. “One, two—”

  “Wait. On three or after three.”

  “Zut, Boomer! Three. On Three.” It’s the first time I’ve ever heard Caster annoyed, and hearing him curse is hilarious.

  “It matters. Just saying.” Boomer lifts his hands, pleading his case.

  “One, two, three—” Caster and Boomer slam their steal-toe boots against the bars, and the metal snaps in half, some rusted bits crumbling to the ground.

  Boomer makes an explosion sound with his mouth, making it seem as if we did blow the door down. “So anti-climactic.” He sighs with a breath of disappointment.

  No doubt that made a lot of racket. We need to hurry. I grab the bars and step through, hissing when one of the sharp, jagged ends scratches my arm and brings blood to the surface.

  “Okay, one of you needs to stay down here. I don’t know how many girls there are or if it’s just Juliette and my mom. But I can’t help them out. They have to meet you down here.”

  “I’ll stay,” Caster says.

  “Good. Let’s go, Boomer.” I lift my leg and step over the old, broken bars that have been there a lot longer than I’ve been on this earth. We gently step through the debris to make sure there isn’t any lingering boom left in the dynamite, and then run to the door. “It’s been used. Look.” I point at the scratches on the cement from the door swinging open and closed.

  “Look.” Boomer points to the empty space next to the tunnel, a part that isn’t blocked off, and it’s filled with bones and decomposing bodies. “Oh my god,” he whispers, staring at the scene in front of us. “They’re all women.”

  “They use them and when they’re done with them, they bring them—” I can’t finish the sentence. I lift my boot and slam the door in, only to be welcomed by a guard. I shove my screwdriver between his eyes without hesitation.

  “Damn, you’re quick with that,” Boomer says.

  “There’s no time not to be.” My weapon drips with fresh blood, and it brings that necessary fuel I need to kill again. The hallway itself is empty, but another door comes to view. I kick that one in, feeling my knee pulse with pain from the amount of strength it takes to break it down. There are two guards here, and Boomer takes one, then I take the other, thrusting the tool in his stomach, then his head.

  “Only a few seconds,” Boomer says with a crazy grin, licking his lips as the guy’s eyes widen while Boomer has his hands over the guard’s mouth. Boomer pushes the guard into the hallway we just came out of, and the guy’s stomach bursts, sending a gory bout of blood over the walls.

  “Gross.”

  “Awesome,” Boomer beams.

  “Help us,” a small voice comes from the inside, and Boomer and I follow the crying plea. When I step foot inside the basement, there are six cells lining each side of the wall and pleasurable moans coming from the other end.

  With slow, stealthy steps, I make my way toward the nightmare unfolding. I find the door open and a man pulling up his pants after fucking a girl who looks too drugged out. Her body is limp, and he didn’t even use a fucking condom. He took what she didn’t want to give.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I charge at him and get a firm grip of his shirt collar, and that’s when I notice the ankles of the girls chained spread eagle. Sick fucking bastard.

  “Wait your turn! I paid!” He nearly falls over from his jeans being wrapped around his ankles, and his small cock bobs.

  “You’re dead,” I whisper in his ear before plunging the tool in his balls and pinning him to the wall. He tries to cry out, but I muffle his screams with my palm. I pull the screwdriver free and then make the guy grab his cock, find the slit where he pisses, and drive the screwdriver inside, hoping it’s tearing him apart. “Sick fucks like you don’t deserve the privilege of life.” I rip the metal out and keep plunging it through his entire body, landing the final blow to his heart.

  “Boomer? Get her out of those cuffs, and let her have your shirt or something.” I wipe the blood on my jeans, and when Boomer sees the girl on the cot, a shaky breath falls from his lips.

  “Reminds me of Scarlett in a way. If I hadn’t have gotten to her… This could have been her life. A prostitution ring.” Boomer clears his throat and makes his way to the girl, covering her with his leather cut. “You’re going to be okay.”

  “Don’t. No,” the girl slurs. “No.”

  “You’re okay,” Boomer says again.

  “She doesn’t know what’s going on. Just get her out of there,” I say and then make my way toward the next cell. It takes some doing to open the lock to the old dungeon cell, but I manage. All the girls are drugged, but they can stand. One girl is dead, overdose it looks like, and I know she’ll have to come too. Her parents deserve to bury her.

  “Follow the hallway. You’ll meet a man there, Caster. He’s going to take you for help, okay?” I tell the group of five. They’re all trembling, crying, filthy dirty, but they don’t ask questions; they hightail it out of there. With a deep breath, I make my way to the last cell, and Boomer is carrying the other girl out of hers.

  “I’m taking her to Caster. She’s too fucked up to walk. I’ll be back.”

  I nod and open the last cell, not bothering to look inside because I know what I’m going to find. When I slide the door open, one cot is empty, but the other has an unconscious woman on it. She’s clothed, and my heart pounds in my chest when I recognize the cut she’s wearing. “Mom?” I run over to her side and move her hair out of the way and hang my head with relief. She’s alive. Thank fuck, she’s alive. “Mom, wake up. Come on. I need you to wake up.” I shake her shoulders, and she groans, slowly shaking her head. “Mom, come on.”

  Her eyes flutter open, and I work on unlocking the cuffs from her wrists and ankles. “Logan? Is that you?” She stares at me with disbelief and confused, glazed eyes. “Am I dreaming?”

  “No, I’m here.” I cup her face and smile, holding back the tears. “I’m so fucking glad you’re okay. I’m going to get you out of here.”

  “Juliette. He took her.” She holds her head when I help her sit up. “In the house.”

  “Okay, I’m going to need you to follow that hallway to my friend Caster, okay? I’ll get Juliette.”

  “You came. My baby boy.” Her eyes fall to my bloody jeans, seeing the red liquid on the screwdriver. “You have to do what you have to.”

  “Can you walk?”

  She nods and sways when she stands. My hands fall to her shoulder to help steady her. “I’m fine. Go. Who knows what that man has planned and, Logan?” My mom grabs my arm and frowns. “The sheriff, you wouldn’t remember him. It’s been too long, but he’s your dad’s stepbrother and the prospect who helped take care of your dad’s body? Brass kicked him out of the club a few years back and told the sheriff everything. And you and Juliette…” She cups my face, and her eyes water with a sad smile. “You know each other. You met once while—”

  “The little girl I watched while—” I remember the day. My
dad and his stepbrother took turns on my mom, and I had to drown out her screams by turning up the television. “That was Juliette?”

  “Bring her home, Logan.” My mom pats my cheek and walks out of the cell. Her Property of Brass cut stares at me before she hangs left and disappears down the hall.

  Now it’s just me and Juliette’s father. I’ll fight to the death. I flip the screwdriver in my hand and march down the cement corridor. Opening the door, I kill the first man I see.

  Ziggy.

  “Looks like you didn’t zag, Zig,” I tell him, his skull crunching under my boot as I yank my weapon from his head. The crowd is roaring, banging their feet on the floor as the fight rumbles on. The hall is dark, and I’m not worried about anyone seeing me right now. Tim is on a guy’s shoulders, sweating, looking beat to death with half of his face swollen. He wraps his legs around the guy’s neck, then twists, and the giant falls to the floor, shaking the entire foundation of the house. Tim flips off the guy before he can get trapped under deadweight.

  Braveheart is impressive. I’ll give him that much.

  “Looks like we have a winner, folks,” the sheriff holds up Tim’s hands, his bony chest rising and falling with heavy pants as he tries to catch his breath. “You aren’t going to be disappointed.”

  I step forward into the light for the sheriff to see me, and Tim takes that as the cue to run toward the other end of the house where he must know where Juliette is.

  “Too late. The winner is already going to claim his prize,” the sheriff singsongs.

  I don’t correct him. And while the sheriff and I have a stare down, Reaper, Voodoo, Bones, Bullseye, and thirty other members bust through the door. “Cops will be here in five minutes,” Badge announces, and all the members pull out a gun from their cut, aiming at the crowd, daring for someone to try to leave.

  “I have five minutes to kill you,” I taunt the sheriff.