Page 144 of Jake's Angel
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
JAKE
All the officers are here.Avery will be coming home from the hospital tonight, and I want this motherfucker to be dealt with before she gets here. She’s doing better, though her physical bruises and injuries will take longer to heal. I can help the emotional and mental scars to heal a little quicker by giving her the peace of mind she deserves.
We haven’t caught Eleanor or Cusenza yet, but we have this bastard and he’s about to pay the price for everything he’s done to Avery. He humiliated her and left his mark on her beautiful skin. It’s only fair he gets the same treatment.
I had Jameson commission his guy to build a special animal sized kennel for our special guest. He’s been stripped of all but his underwear. The thermostat has been turned down to fucking freezing for several days. He has minimal space to move around in and a metal collar with a short chain attached to the top corner of the metal enclosure to ensure he can’t lay down enough to get comfortable.
He wants to act like a deranged bitch. We’ll treat him like one.
The officers have all gathered this morning for church, but first we’re serving retribution for breakfast.
We’re standing outside the door leading down into the basement, awaiting orders. My body is alive with electric energy and anticipation.
“Men, we have a few things to take care of today, and since I know some of you are eager to get down to business, I’ll try to make this quick,” Gabe addresses us.
He turns to Pop, who lets us all inside. Pop takes his seat against the wall, leans forward and braces himself with his elbows on his knees, and nods. We make our way into the cell where Pop has the cocksucker stripped and strapped to a metal chair in the middle of the room. His ankles and wrists are shackled together and connected to a metal ring that’s mounted to the floor. He sat hunched in a ball like that all night after Pop took him out of his special cage we had made just for him. I can tell by the strain on his face and the shakiness of his body that he’s sore and exhausted. As if the cold wasn’t enough to break him, every time a prospect caught him trying to sleep, they were instructed to throw a bucket of ice-cold water at him, keeping him from ever finding any form of rest or relaxation.
“Jesus. How low did you drop the thermostat? It’s like a fucking meat freezer in here,” Ethan complains, rubbing his arms with his hands. Our guest’s teeth are chattering.
“Didn’t want the pig’s dinner to spoil in the heat.” A sinister smile spreads across Pop’s face, though he’s not joking. He is one hundred percent serious. When we’re done playing with our prey, he’ll become Liz’s pigs next meal. Those fuckers will eat almost anything, except teeth, it seems.
“What the hell happened to his face? Did you start without us?” Hawk whines.
“He and I had a very nice conversation last night about manners and how to be respectful when someone asks a question. Didn’t we, shit stain?” Our guest doesn’t respond. Declan and Jameson both snicker behind him. “String him up,” Pop orders.
“Wait,” Gabe interrupts. Down here in the basement, this is Pop’s domain. Gabe usually lets him run the show, but he has something special planned for this shitty excuse for a human being, so Pop lets him take the lead. Or so it would seem.
“Now, wait a minute. Boys, is this any way to treat our guest? Let’s get some warmth in here. I’m sure the poor boy is freezing. Dec, cut him loose and sit him up,” Gabe says, emphasizing the words poor boy just to get under the rich pricks skin. It works.
“I have m-more m-money than all of you p-pricks combined,” he stutters.
“Well, shit, Pres. Maybe we should hear what the little shit has to say. Maybe we can make a deal. If he’s got enough to go around,” Hawk suggests. Kyle’s eyes flicker with hope.
“Hmm. Maybe,” Gabe says. Sounding genuinely interested. “Prospect. Get him a bottle of water and a bite to eat. Bring him a blanket, too. He’s shivering, for Christ’s sake. Show some hospitality to our new friend. We’re not Neanderthals after all.” Pop snickers.
A smug, satisfied look crosses the prick’s face as Pop loosens the chain, allowing him to finally sit up. He thinks Gabe gives a shit about who he is and what he has to offer. Gabe acts as though he’s suddenly realized we’ve made a horrible mistake. It’s a false sense of hope, but it works to our advantage.
Blake walks in a few minutes later with a ham and cheese sub and a bottle of water, and places it on the table. He lays the blanket on the ground next to the chair and retreats to his spot by the door. The jackass covers himself, placing the blanket around his shoulders and starts wolfing down his foodand gulping water like he’s half starved. I guess he is, since all we’ve given him until now has been bread and water. Nothing substantial but enough to keep him alive for a few days.
“I hope it’s to your liking. My apologies on the sandwich being all we had to offer, but this is the best we could do on such short notice,” Gabe states, watching him inhale the last few bites. “We had no idea who we were holding, or we would’ve had better accommodations provided for you.” Ethan chokes back a laugh at Gabe’s sarcasm.
“Where are my clothes?” the pissant asks, still shivering.
“Oh, well, it seems they got lost in all the commotion, and we’ve been so busy we haven’t had a chance to find you anything suitable. I’m sure we’ll find something to fit your body soon enough,” Gabe offers. “So, it seems you and my guys here got off on the wrong foot. I’m hoping we can remedy the situation, but of course I’m going to need your help to make things right. Maybe help clear up a few misunderstandings before we can begin our negotiations. You understand, don’t you? I need to be sure you’re truly worth what you say.” Gabe raises his hand as a gesture of surrender, like this was all a big mix up. One he can remedy with cash.
The cocksucker in the chair wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and leans back, getting comfortable with himself. He thinks his money is going to buy his way out of here. “Where are my clothes?” he asks again, his voice a little shaky, I’m sure due to lack of food and how cold he must still be. He’s looking Pop in the eyes.
He’s getting brave now.
That’s going to cost him later.
“He told you. Gone,” Pop answers, a smug grin spreads across his face as he shrugs his shoulders. Hawk snickers where he sits straddling a chair at the end of the table, lifting the edge of the tablecloth that’s currently hiding Pop’s negotiation tools.
“Prospect. Go see if you can find mister …” Gabe starts.
“Whittmore. Kyle Whittmore,” he says, smugly, like it’s supposed to mean something to us. He’s been down here for days.