Bullseye

by Monica James

  This was supposed to be simple. But I should know by now, nothing ever is.

  Bull

  It’s time.

  Everything comes down to this.

  I haven’t slept. I’m too high-strung. But I don’t need sleep. I just need my brother’s murderer’s dead.

  The red roses I laid by Damian’s grave are a peace token. I know if he were alive, he would be begging me not to do this. But he’s not. “I’m sorry, bro.” I don’t even know what I’m seeking absolution for anymore.

  Tiger has texted me throughout the week, but I haven’t replied. I can’t. Not after what happened to Tawny. Her messages are enough for me to know she’s okay. For now.

  I should have been stronger and remained hidden. Now she’s a fucking target. Anyone who knows me is. Which is why there is no room for error tonight. Once the fight is done, I will torture Kong and get everything I need out of him. He won’t spill easily; therefore, I have to ensure my methods of making him talk are effective.

  Once I know where Jaws and Scrooge are, I will keep to the shadows. I’ve decided to quit The Pink Oyster because it’s too dangerous for Lotus if I stay. I’ll send her an anonymous letter, letting her know what Stevie has planned. I don’t want to snitch, but I won’t allow that asshole to use her that way.

  As for Tiger…I’m doing what I should have done from the very beginning. I’m leaving her the fuck alone.

  The wind howls around me, setting an ominous mood for things to come. But I’m not nervous. I’m calm. Gripping the medallion around my neck, I bid farewell to my brother, ignoring the pang I feel, knowing how disappointed he would be with my decisions.

  The drive to The Pink Oyster gives me time to think about the plan I’ve devised. There are three exits in the club, and all will be locked tight. Getting Kong wasted would be the easiest way to subdue him, but I need him clearheaded, so that means I will just have to rough him up…a lot. He can fight, but I’m not a kid anymore.

  Clenching the wheel, I peer at myself in the rearview mirror, my matching eyes, eyes so much like my brother’s, staring back at me. It’s go time.

  Parking the truck around back, I ensure no one is watching when I thread a thick steel chain around the side and back door handles and padlock them shut. Extra reinforcements are in place. The place is like a fucking ghost town it’s so quiet.

  Lotus is staying with her sister in Chicago for the night. I told her not to worry about anything, but I’ll check in to ensure everything is okay. I don’t want her dropping in unannounced.

  There’s a sign on the front door indicating that tonight is a private function, so I text Kong that I’m here. He appears a moment later. “Brother,” he says, gripping my hand and pulling me to bump shoulders with him like we’re friends.

  “Sup,” I reply, going along with the façade. Not long now. He ushers me inside, before locking the door behind me.

  I see that they’ve moved the tables and chairs, clearing the floor. “So this is the shithole,” Kong says, spreading his arms out wide.

  I nod, suppressing the urge to rip out his tongue.

  “Now, that’s not nice,” says a voice to my left. “You’re insulting my investment.”

  Looking over my shoulder, I see Stevie with a smug smile. He walks over to us, offering me his hand. “Tommy. I’ve heard so much about you. I’m Stevie.”

  Shaking his hand firmly, I nod, keeping talking to a minimum.

  “Kong has vouched for you, which doesn’t happen often. I need another man on my team. Interested?”

  “Maybe,” I reply. Folding my arms across my chest, I humor him. “What’s in it for me?”

  “I like you,” Stevie says between snickering. “A man who knows what he wants. You’re the best damn fighter I’ve seen in a long time. I want you on my payroll permanently. You fight for me, winning me money, and I reward you with all the money, pussy, and drugs you could ever want.”

  All but one interests me.

  “What sort of drugs?”

  “Whatever you want, but my specialty is pure Colombian cocaine. If fighting doesn’t interest you, well, there are plenty of other opportunities for you.”

  Stevie’s smirk hints he believes I’m quiet because I’m impressed with him whipping out his dick. I’m not.

  “Sure, I’m down.” This will hopefully get Stevie off my case.

  “Good choice,” he commends, but the joke’s on him. “This place will be our cover for all the fucking money we’re about to make.”

  Stevie is a businessman who is involved in many dealings, it seems. Drugs, illegal fighting, and who the fuck knows what else. He’s the big bad in the underworld. So is Jaws. There must be a connection here. I just don’t know what that is—yet.

  “Can’t wait,” I reply. “Where can I warm up?”

  “Come on, I’ll show you.” Kong gestures with his head, leading the way toward the dressing room.

  Following him, I can’t help but feel like this is a walk on death row. Does he deserve a special request? A last wish before he’s put to death? When memories of what he did to me, to Damian flash before my eyes, I realize this motherfucker’s last wish was living for the past fourteen years.

  It’s now that time comes to an end.

  When we walk into the dressing room, I dump my bag onto the floor and pretend to examine my surroundings. Kong’s cell chimes, and he answers it. He quickly turns his back and begins speaking softly to whoever is on the other end.

  He doesn’t speak softly enough, though.

  “Listen to your mommy, Yasmin. Daddy is working late.” Pause. “Yes, I promise I’ll tuck you in tomorrow.”

  But no, he won’t ‘cause come tomorrow…he’ll be fucking dead.

  Something shifts inside me and wraps its hand around my throat. I shove that feeling way, way down because it’s got no right to be here. This was decided by him.

  I leave Kong alone, giving him time to talk to his daughter because it’ll be the last time he does. I’ve just granted him his final wish…he just doesn’t know it.

  The roar of the crowd fuels this darkness within me.

  Violence.

  Blood.

  It’s what I need to survive.

  When I hear the shatter of bone, I tip my face toward the ceiling and inhale in triumph. There is no sound like it. My opponent drops to the floor, screaming in pain as he cups his broken arm. At least he’s not crying like the other two men I fought tonight.

  It’s done. Finally.

  The masses try to congratulate me, but I shove them aside. I’m not here for praise. Once I enter the dressing room, I interlace my hands behind my neck and exhale deeply. I can feel the blood pumping throughout my entire body. Ironically, I don’t ever remember feeling this alive.

  “What the fuck did you take tonight? Holy shit! You destroyed them all.” Not yet, I haven’t.

  Turning to face Kong, I give him a half smile. “I just want to get fucking wasted and score some pussy. These cockheads are standing in my way. Have a drink with me once everyone leaves?”

  No isn’t an option.

  “I may or may not have some lady company coming soon,” I say, hoping to sweeten the deal.

  Kong rubs his hands together. “You had me at pussy.”

  “Clear the club out. I’ll get changed.” Turning around, I unzip my bag, not wanting my excitement to show.

  Once he leaves, I exhale slowly because it’s finally happening. Taking off my bloody, sweaty clothes, I put on my uniform—white shirt, black trousers, black tie, black suspenders, and Converse. This is a cause for celebration, so I wanted to dress accordingly.

  Reaching for my chain, I run my finger over the medallion, refusing to feel guilty about my decision. Slipping it on, I notice my cell light up from inside my bag. It’s a text from Tiger. I don’t bother reading it because I need to keep my head in the game.

  I have everything I need in my bag, so I toss it over my shoulder, check the side and back exits to ensu
re they’re still locked, and then make my way out into the empty club.

  Once the fights are done, no one sticks around. This isn’t about socializing. This is about money. And once there is no more money to win, there is no need for people to stay. Stevie left halfway through the fight. He saw enough.

  As far as he believes, he’s added another minion to his crew. He’s sorely mistaken because he’s about to lose two. Kong is behind the bar, helping himself to some scotch.

  “Going to wait for the girls. They just texted. They aren’t far away.”

  Kong raises his glass in salute. It’ll be the last drink he ever has.

  My hands shake with exhilaration as I lock the front door. Fourteen years have all come down to this one moment. After taking out my contact, I slip the serrated knife under my waistband at the small of my back. It’s all I need. This is going to get bloody.

  Whistling, I take my time and stroll back into the club. In my head, I envisioned this moment going down with guns blazing, and once this asshole took his last breath, a piece of me would return. But in reality, I could kill him over and over again, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

  Kong’s back is to me as he looks over the liquor on the shelves. “This place may be a shithole,” he says, while I set my sights on him, “but it sure has some good booze. What do you feel like? Whiskey? Vodka?”

  Stopping behind him, I savor the silence. It’s on. “Your head.”

  Kong turns to face me, and I give him a second, one fucking second, to process just who I am, and when he looks into my mismatched eyes, he knows…the grim reaper is here.

  He instantly reaches for the gun in his holster, but I strike out and punch him square in the nose. He stumbles back two steps, cupping his bleeding face. I don’t give him time to regain his footing as I punch him in the ribs and then the stomach.

  He’s wheezing for breath, and when he tries to stand, I kick down on his kneecap, breaking it. A pained scream rips free as he tumbles to the floor. Without hesitation, I grip the back of his collar and commence dragging him through the club.

  He tries to claw at anything he can reach for, but his hands are slippery, thanks to the blood coating them. The trail of bright red feeds my debauchery as I haul him up the stage stairs.

  “Why?” he screams, spittle coating his chin. “What the fuck did I ever do to you?”

  We can play twenty questions later. Right now, I need to tie this motherfucker to this pole. Tossing him against it, he attempts to stand, but he’s not going anywhere, and I make that clear when I press my boot onto his broken kneecap.

  He howls in pain and is already on the cusp of passing out.

  I toss my bag onto the floor and hunt for the cable ties. Yanking his arms behind him, I fasten his wrists so he’s secured tightly around the pole. He tries to stand, but his broken knee won’t support his weight. He stays seated.

  Crouching down in front of him, I grin at what I see. He’s broken, bound, and bleeding. This has only just begun.

  “This is only going to end one way for you,” I reveal grimly. “So I suggest you answer my questions, and I won’t make it hurt—much.”

  “Fuck you.” Glaring, he spits out a mouthful of blood.

  Sighing, I come to a slow stand and allow him to see who I really am. “Wrong answer.”

  I’m tempted to break every bone in his body, but I need him coherent. I need answers.

  “I’ve been looking for you for fourteen years. So you can imagine my surprise when you all but fell into my lap. Some may say it was fate?” I shake my head. “But I don’t believe in that because why the fuck was I fated to meet you the night you…” Inhaling, I steady myself. “The night you killed my…brother.”

  Kong’s eyes widen, and recognition flashes before him.

  “I know I look a lot different. Not the scrawny fucker you held back so easily when your friends beat, humiliated, and killed my brother,” I state, cracking my knuckles because I want to slam my fists into him so badly.

  “What was it you said to me? Can you remember?” I ask, tapping my chin.

  “I don’t remember shit. You’ve got the wrong man!” Kong yells, yanking at his restraints.

  “Kong,” I tsk, shaking my head. “Or should I call you Ethan Da Silva? That’s your name, isn’t it?” I silently thank Tawny for letting that piece of information slip.

  His jaw tightens. “That’s not me, man. I promise!” His lies will get him nowhere.

  Rolling up the sleeve of my shirt, I show him my tattoo. The spread of four aces. “You see this?” I say, pointing at the blindfolded woman. “This is you. Justice will be rightfully given without fear. That night, you held me back, but instead of blindfolding me…you forced me to watch…forced me to watch your friends destroy my brother.”

  Kong swallows, stuck in the past.

  “Each of these are for your friends.” I point at the green diamond, which was the stone in Damian’s championship ring. “This is for the asshole who stole from my brother. Breaking his wrist wasn’t enough. He had to steal from him as well.” I move onto the lion. “This is for the fucking coward who had the chance to save my brother, but he didn’t. A lion is brave, loyal, something this asshole wasn’t.”

  Kong realizes I’ve spoken about him in the past tense.

  “Which is why”—I smile—“I ended his pathetic life. Hero, or should I say Lachlan, didn’t die a hero. He died crying, begging for his life as he pissed his pants.”

  “You killed Hero?” he asks, eyes wide. One of the terms of my plea agreement was that my identity was never released.

  “Yes,” I reply without pause. “You see this cross here?” I point at the small black cross where the suit should be. “I got this after he dropped to his knees and then I shot him straight through the fucking heart.”

  Kong shakes his head wildly. “You motherfucker! No! You played me!”

  Thriving on his pain, I continue. “I found him, just as I found you. I didn’t show him any mercy when he begged. Why should I? He didn’t show any to my brother. And that leaves the last member of your little gang.”

  The blue shark has been a permanent reminder of what was always destined.

  “This is self-explanatory. Jaws was the fucker who took that rock and split my brother’s head open. Yes, you all played a part in his death, but Jaws was the one who delivered the final blow,” I spit with nothing but hatred.

  “So now, you’re going to tell me where he and Scrooge are.”

  Kong hasn’t uttered a single word. His surprise is clear. Did he think we were actual friends? “I’m not telling you jack shit,” he snarls. “You’re going to kill me anyway, so why would I tell you anything?”

  Sighing, I don’t know whether I’m happy or annoyed he’s decided to be difficult because now I’ll be forced—and I use that word lightly—to hurt him.

  Ambling forward, I stand just out of reach, glaring down at Kong. “Tell me why,” I demand. When he remains tightlipped, I stomp down on his knee. “Tell me why us?”

  His howls feed the demons, and I reach for my knife. Without hesitation, I lunge forward and stab him in the flank. It’s just a scratch, but I know it hurts like a bitch. His white shirt begins to stain a bright red.

  “When I shot your friend, I went to prison, and during that time, I learned from the best,” I reveal, watching him flail madly, trying to break free. “I know how to torture you for hours. I know where to cut, where to hurt you to keep you alive. I can do this all night.”

  Just as I lunge forward, once again, he shakes his head frantically. “Okay, okay, fine!” he cries, yanking at his restraints. “I’ll tell you what I know!”

  A part of me is sad he submitted so easily.

  “Jaws is he-here. In Detroit. He owns the fucking city, man! Stevie and he are rivals.”

  His admission has me arching a brow. “Then why the fuck are you working with Stevie?”

  He licks his bloody lips. “Because Jaws didn’t need m
e anymore. He and Scrooge are big league now and won’t let anyone stand in their way. When I couldn’t do a job they wanted me to do, I was tossed out like trash. It didn’t matter that we’ve been friends since we were kids. I offered to work for Stevie because I needed his protection.

  “Jaws wouldn’t start shit with him because he wants to fly under the radar. As long as Stevie doesn’t interfere with his business, there isn’t a problem.”

  I curl my lip, disgusted. I thought he was the muscle. It seems I was mistaken because he’s a fucking pussy.

  “That’s all I know. I swear! I’m not in their inner circle anymore.”

  “What job did they want you to do?”

  “Jaws wanted me to kill his nephew,” he reveals, which has me wondering why. “He has this weird…fascination with his sister.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “It means what you think it means!” he exclaims. “Jaws is one sick motherfucker. He doesn’t care who the fuck you are…if he wants you, he takes you.”

  “And what about Scrooge? What’s his deal?”

  “He’s the money. He’s untouchable. Jaws is the brains. Together, they’re an unstoppable, deadly force. Forget this vendetta. You won’t win,” he says, flinching when he tries to move.

  “Give me names.” I ignore his advice.

  He shakes his head. “That’s all I’m telling you! They may have dogged me, but I’m not about to rat them out.”

  Usually, I would applaud his loyalty. No one likes a snitch. But now, his silence is pissing me off. Violence hasn’t seemed to work, so I decide to try another method. “You’ll protect those assholes after the way they treated you? No wonder they had no use for you. You’re weak. But I know what’ll make you talk.”

  Dropping to one knee, I level him with nothing but pure hatred. “What will your son and daughter think when I do to them what you should have done to Jaws’s nephew?”

  This is the only time I get a response from Kong. “You motherfucker! Don’t you touch them!” He violently tries to break free.