FIRE (Elite Forces #2)(7)
I’ve shoved aside how I feel about losing my blood brother, but I will never forget the sobs, the prayers, and the way my mother blamed herself continuously for the way Ty lived his life. My mother lost her will to fight after the third time she convinced him to enter rehab, only for him to get out and jump right back in with the same crowd he ran around with. Dealers. Whores. Cold-blooded murderers. He’s a pathetic disgrace to mankind, and now here he is, looking straight at my blood-covered hands.
“Walk closer, you crazy f*ck. Let me do the same to you.” I practically growl out my words through the hatred in my heart. I don’t give a f*ck if I carve his smug face up. The drugs have done a number on his sorry ass anyway. He’s a few years younger than I am, but you sure as shit couldn’t tell by looking at him. His once wrinkle-free skin is worn and crow’s feet rest at the corners of his malice-filled eyes.
He’s clean though and freshly shaved, which is more than I could say about him the last few times I saw him. His hair is slightly damp, and I can smell the soap from here. He smells as though he’s just come from the shower. My own body itches to wash off this place’s disgusting odor.
“Drop the motherf*cking knife, Kaleb, or I’ll shoot you with your own f*cking gun.” He whisks my pistol out of the back of his pants. The silver metal of the barrel shines daringly in the heat of the sun as I watch his cocky-ass smile on his face. He’s loving this.
I weigh out my options, which are f*cking slim. I know he’d love to shoot me and would probably announce to the world he’s the one who had the honor.
I drop the knife, and the loud clank of the small blade echoes in the tiny cell as it crashes to the cement floor. I’m not giving up. I’m playing his game. I want my hands on this f*cker. He knows it too by the way he walks toward me. He’s scared, as he should be. That’s why he has me caged up.
“How are mom and Amelie these days?” he asks with not a damn ounce of sincerity in his tone. I say nothing. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest. I’m done talking. No way will I feed into his shit, nor will I have a friendly long-time-no-see conversation with him.
“I don’t have time for you to answer me anyway. I’m about to f*ck up your life, Kaleb. Mom’s little golden boy. How does it feel to know that perfect f*cking life you live is about to be over?” I seethe inside as I listen to his confidence. “Mom considers me dead. Well, it’s about time to show her what dead really looks like.” He stops walking to speak directly in front of me. “I wonder what she’ll think when she opens the box with your f*cking head in it.” His eyes stare into mine, and I want to f*cking rip them out of his face and force them down his throat. He knows our mother is a sore spot with me, and I know he’ll use her to try to get through to me. Thank f*ck he doesn’t know about Jade.
He watches me as he dials a number on his phone.
“Get someone down here and bury Raphael. His weak ass is dead thanks to my brother. Preferably Chico, since he was sent down here and obviously took off like a motherf*cking chicken. Then, when he’s done digging the grave, shoot him and bury them both.” He snaps his cheap burner phone shut. He keeps the gun trained on me as he bends down and grabs the dead man by his hair. His unfocused, dead eyes are wide open and staring off into space as he drags him off to the side.
“Now, time for some fun. Since you seem to be some badass military expert, shackle yourself.” He drops a duffle bag down and pulls out a set of shackles. He throws them on the ground in front of the cell and stares at me to move.
“Do it, Kaleb, or I swear I’ll shoot you then cut your pretty boy head from your body. I’m itching to cut that f*cking mom tattoo off your skin and ship them both to her.” I’d be a fool to admit that every time he says ‘mom’ I cringe inside. There’s something in the way he looks at me. His gaze is void of any emotion or sign that we have the same blood running through our veins at all.
I do as I’m told, but I take my time. He steps in closer when I’m bent down, cuffing my legs together. He steps on the knife and slides it out of my reach. Smart man.
Still saying nothing, I lift up and the chains hang free. I clamp one against one wrist then shrug. Fuck him. He can do the other. Ty tucks my gun in the front of his pants, leans in with sturdy hands, and locks it in place, then steps back as we both turn our heads to the sound of men approaching.
Their Spanish words throw chaos into an otherwise silent room. They converse back and forth with my brother. His mouth moves and his nostrils flare. Then out of nowhere, he backhands the * that was here earlier with the butt of my gun. The gun busts open his cheek, and blood instantly drips over his mouth.
My brother surprises me with his raw violence. His actions are ruthless, which proves he's so far gone from reality there's no getting through to him. I’m positive about one thing, I want my damn gun back. If I make it out of here alive, that’s the weapon my brother is going to die from as I take my last step from this f*cking filthy shithole.
“Get him out of there. Wrap this around him first.”
“You afraid to do it yourself?” My silence wavers.
“Nah, man. If these *s want to be fed and keep f*cking their wives, then they do as they’re told. Otherwise, they die. Then I’ll f*ck their wives. Isn’t that what a good leader does, brother? They give orders, and their servants do what they say?” The slimy bastard is trying to push my buttons and make me angry. His provoking won’t work.