Page 12 of Charity's Torment
“Unfortunately.”
Chapter 4
Rico’s home sat on the outskirts of town, in an old farmhouse, five miles in the middle of nowhere.
“This place is a shit-hole,” Max said.
The yellowed paint on the withered siding and dilapidated porch made me want to run from the condemned building.
“Let’s get this over with. I’m going to get tetanus just looking at it.”
We clambered out of the car, and I tiptoed on the porch, panicky that my foot would fall through the rotten boards.
“This way,Bella.”
I swiveled to notice Max hiking in the opposite direction, through the overgrown, waist-high weeds, to a hatch in the middle of the field. Plants scraped against my bare legs, causing tiny scratches that would itch like crazy later.
“Nope, not happening. Do you see the size of the spiders running on the ground? They dwarf the grass. Besides, Iknowa serial killer lives down there waiting to fillet us. My skin is too pretty for a nasty man to wear.” I shivered from the thought.
Max ran his hands down my arms to mollify me. “You are the killer, Charity. What are the chances there would be another down there?”
“You take that back. Serial killers take pleasure in killing… okay, I have a slight relation there, but they are sick in the head. I’m not.” I stomped my foot.
Max smirked, causing my knees to turn to jelly. “Crazy recognizes crazy.”
“I’m about to turn my blade on you and show you just how much I actually enjoy it.”
He chuckled, and it burned my insides like molten lava. Max stuck his hands up in surrender and then opened the hatch with a nails-on-a-chalkboard squeal. I shuddered.
I expected the hole in the middle of the field to be dark and dripping with condensation, but I found it remarkably fresh and vibrant. It was a wide space with bright lights illuminating the packed area. Stainless-steel tables cluttered the room with workers and towering stacks of bagged coke and scales—a regular drug operation.
When Max told me that Luca ran the narcotics operation, I was so pissed that I refused to speak to him for two weeks. Max and Nico relayed his messages. But he put a stop to that, and I came to realize I can’t despise Luca just because he brings it in. I needed to be mad at the person who used it.
My brother was liable for his actions, and no one else. He was the one that put the shit up his nose; no one forced it on him. Now he was holed up someplace, probably flying high as a kite while I fought tirelessly to find the stupid fucker. I didn’t care that he was my older brother; I would beat the shit out of him when I found him.
“Do they just allow everyone to stroll in here? There is no security whatsoever.”
“You didn’t see the security? Where is your situational awareness now?” Max asked. “There were cameras before you even entered the property. Hidden armed men at the entrance and the surrounding area.”
“Mmm… I love it when you talk dirty.” I said, fanning myself.
He stepped further into the cave full of crack and sterility and touched a woman on the shoulder. “Where is Rico?”
She pointed to the big metal door at the rear of the room. Our steps hit the concrete in unison before he swung the door open.
A Hispanic man with a buzz cut and teardrop tattoo next to his eye sat on the couch, legs wide, with a woman between them… sucking him off. The man I assumed was Rico, locked eyes with mine, and seized the woman’s hair, making her move faster. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes.
“If you shoot off while I’m standing here…” I said while drawing out my knife, “I’m going to cut off your nuts and feed them to you.”
He shoved the lady off with a growl of frustration, and she scurried out of the office while he tucked his wet dick back into his slacks. “Who the fuck are you, bitch?” He placed his arms on the back of the couch and took up as much space as he could.
“Watch it, Rico,” Max said. His voice was low and daunting. You could feel the pulse of irritation radiating from him.
Rico flicked his eyes to Max and stood. “Why are you barging into my place of business like this,Homes?”
“I’m not your ‘Homie,’ and this isn’t your place of business; it’s Luca’s. If you want to continue being employed, I’d suggest you stop taking personal time on the job and show some respect,” Max said.
I stayed to the side and let Max handle it. I frankly didn’t feel like bloodying my shoes today, even though I threatened bloodshed. Violence is the one and only language they speak. Using Christopher’s advice, in this case, would have me trussed up and disgraced. I’d never listened to someone that didn’t have experience with violence to teach me how to handle it.