Den of Vipers

On the way to the warehouse, I strip off my shirt. It’s a nice one that I don’t want to get blood on. Plus, I love it when it splatters across my chest. I have visions of coming back covered in it to impress my little bird.

Ryder is silent, as always, before something goes down. Garrett is angry, his neck cracking and fingers popping as he prepares. Kenzo is also quiet, double and then triple checking his weapons. We know the odds, and for once, someone might stand a chance…well, they might think they do.

We have been fighting together longer than these punks, we know exactly how to work together. We’re unstoppable, and blood will spray before the sun rises. Their blood.

From my blades and guns for their insult.

We’ll remind them exactly why everyone fears us. Maybe we have gone soft recently, so a good massacre ought to take care of that. We stop a block away and get out, locking the car. Ryder has his jacket off, he means business. He palms a gun and looks at me. “Roof.” He looks to Kenzo next. “Back door.” Then he tells Garrett, “Second floor.”

I know he glanced over the blueprints on the way here and devised the best plan, he always does. “And you?” I smirk, knowing exactly what he plans on doing, the crazy bastard.

He grins back, a bloodthirsty one. “I’m walking through the front fucking door.”

Ryder may hide behind suits, but he’s just as much of an animal as we are, and he’s letting himself out to play now, God help them. They thought I was bad, but they haven’t seen anything yet. We split up, no other words needed. I slip down the alley with Garrett, both of us heading in the same direction. We circle the building, the water behind us. They have patrols, but they are sloppy.

Their cigarettes light up their positions, their bodies tired and eyes not sharp enough. We slip over the fence and right past them. Dogs bark, aware of our presence, but the patrols don’t even check it out. Idiots. I nod at Garrett, and he presses his hands together. Taking a running jump, I let him boost me up. I grab onto the metal stairs, then drag myself up and over before looking up at the walls of the warehouse. The roof has nothing to grab onto, but there are cracks in the brick.

Grinning, I start to climb, using the fissures. I smash my feet and fingers into them, feeling my skin shred and blood slickening them, but the pain only enhances my focus. If anyone looked up right now, they would see me, but they don’t, and I swing over the edge and land on silent boots.

Crawling across the tiled roof, I find a sunroof about halfway across and wait for the signal. The others will be getting into position now. The warehouse has three levels. There is the bottom floor, which is covered in pallets and crates, and in the middle are some beds and a table. Bottles of beer are spread all over, and two open fires burn in cans. The second floor has what looks like offices, the windows dirty and obscured, but light comes from inside. The third floor, just below me, is more of a walkway around the whole place with a few men patrolling.

All the old machinery must have been moved at some point. What a shame, I was hoping to kill someone with it.

I see Garrett slip through a window and crouch on the second-floor railing, his shadow blending into the rest, unless you know what you’re looking for. Opening the skylight, I get ready, standing above it.

This is going to be fun.

The back and front doors blow open at the same time, guns firing, and I drop. I land right on a startled man rushing towards the sound of fighting. Slipping my arm around his throat, I lick his face. “Boo,” I whisper, before snapping his neck and tossing him off the ledge.

I spot Garrett fighting two men with knives. He slashes and guts them before throwing them over too. Laughing, I palm my lighter and light up a cigarette just as a man rounds the corner. He freezes when he spots me. Clicking the lighter shut, I smirk at him and blow some smoke his way. “Run, little boy, run.” I laugh.

He hesitates before coming at me with a yell. I dodge his desperate swipes with a blade and kick out. He slams back into the railing, almost going over, and with a shout, he lunges forward, right into my waiting blade.

Whistling, I yank it free and tap the bloodied end on his face. “Should’ve run.” I grin before kicking him off, his scream drowned out by the gunfire below. Peering over, I watch Ryder move through the mass of firing bodies, walking right through it, unafraid and unaffected. He sees them coming before they even get a shot off and kills them. Calm and unmoved, his gun firing with precision. A fucking killer.

Kenzo is laughing at the other end as he rolls behind crates and jumps out at people, shooting them in the face. I spot Garrett slipping into the offices below. There are no more people up here, so I grip the railing and throw myself over. Landing on the second floor, I kick open another office door to clean them with Garrett.

A gun fires, and I duck. It’s a bad, desperate shot. It hits the wood of the doorframe and explodes, splinters slicing me as I growl. Tossing my cigarette at the guy, I land on him in a flurry before he can pull the trigger again. He struggles beneath me, but I’m stronger. I turn the gun in his hands, press it to his chin, and push down on his finger, splattering his brains everywhere. My ears ring from the shot, but I get up and leave, kicking the door shut behind me before moving on to the next one.

Garrett is just going through the door, with me right behind him, and we freeze. There is a naked woman cowering on the bed. She wraps her hands around her knees as she cries. “Where?” Garret demands, the scent of sex filling the air.

She points at the door in the corner, and we grin at each other. I step closer to her. “Better leave now, darling, shit is about to hit the fan for your friends.”

She nods and scrambles up, not caring about her clothes, and rushes through the door. Shaking my head, I lean against the door she indicated and knock calmly. “Come out, come out, little boy, and play with us,” I call.

I hear a curse and the fumbling of shells. Rolling my eyes, I wave Garrett on. He pulls back his leg and kicks open the door. It explodes inwards, and then he’s in the room, grabbing the naked guy and slamming him into the tiled bathroom wall. He smashes his fist into his face once, twice more, before dropping him in a bloody mess to the floor and looking at me. “He’s yours, have fun, I’m heading down to see if they need any help.”

“I’ll meet you there,” I grin before stepping into the man’s path as he tries to crawl away, “once I’ve had my fun with this one.” Crouching, I yank his head up by his hair. “Hello, mate, want to play with me?”

Garrett laughs as he leaves, knowing the poor bastard will be dead before long.

His eye is already sealing shut, his lip is split, and his skin is pale and clammy. “Fuck you,” he yells, and spits blood right in my face. I let it drip down me without a care as my lips tug into a smile.

“No thanks, I have a little bird at home for that,” I reply.

He goes to spit again, so I grab his chin and force his mouth open. Gripping his tongue, I slice it off with my knife. He screams, spraying blood as I drop his detached muscle to the floor and watch him roll around in agony.

He passes out for a moment, so I grab a cup on the side and turn on the tap, filling it before throwing the cold water across his face. He wakes up sputtering, and when he sees me, he makes a moaning noise and tries to crawl between my legs. Stomping on one of his hands until I hear his bones crack, I lean down. “You shouldn’t have come for me or mine.”

He whimpers and big, fat tears roll down his face as he looks into my eyes and sees his death. Taking my time, I flip him over and crouch beside him before flicking on my lighter. I press it to his skin, strike it on, and grab his head and burn out his eyes.

Now, fun fact, eyes don’t just melt, they burst.

They pour down his face as I let go, and he grabs his head in a vice, a wail coming from his throat. Whistling, I put away my lighter and grab his legs, dragging him from the room. I throw some of the bedding over my shoulder as I go as an idea comes into my head.

Hoisting him up, I wrap bits of the bedding around each wrist before grabbing my knife—no need for theatrics, he can’t see me, after all. I lean down and press my lips to his ear. “This is going to hurt.”

I slice open his stomach and let the contents come out before kicking him over the railing.

Using the bedding, I tie him in place by his arms so he dangles over the railing. Whoever comes here to investigate will see it and word will spread. They will know it’s us, and they will be scared. His intestines tumble from his stomach and drop downwards, his blood spilling too.

Whistling again, I head down the stairs at the side, stopping to admire my handiwork. Not bad for being in such a rush. Leaping down the last three rungs, I step over the bodies lying across the floor, their guns useless beside them. They never stood a chance.

When I get to the middle of the room, Ryder is sitting in a chair. His shirt is covered in blood, and his guns are on the table next to him as he leans back, sniffing at a bottle of something before tossing it away. Garrett is leaning against a crate, cleaning off his bloodied knuckles.

“I got him,” Kenzo calls, before dragging over a man wearing jeans and a stained top. “Stupid idiot asked if I knew who he was. Apparently he’s the leader.” He tosses him at Ryder’s feet, who leans down with his arms between his legs.

“Is that right? Do you know who I am?” he asks.

Fuck, I love this bit.

I giggle when Ryder slowly rolls his sleeves back, exposing his tats. “Better answer him,” I yell.

“I-I know who you are,” the man snarls, getting to his knees. He tries to get to his feet, but Kenzo presses his head down so he remains seated.

“Good, this makes this easier. Who hired you?” Ryder inquires casually, still rolling back his sleeves. Methodically, slowly.

“Fuck you,” he snaps. Why do they all keep saying that?

Ryder smirks and stands, grabbing a blade from the table. He holds it in the air, letting it gleam in the light. “Then let us begin. I want you to know from the start what will happen to you. I offered you a way out, now there is none. I will cut off your fingers, and while you’re still screaming, I will flay the flesh from your arms. Then I’ll start on your feet. I will, of course, cauterise the wounds so you don’t bleed out. You will talk, obviously, but understand I must make an example of you now. I will cleave your body into pieces and ship them across the city as a warning.”

The man doesn’t seem so brave anymore. He’s sweating, and his body is shaking. “I’ll tell you, God, I’ll tell you everything.”

Ryder sighs. “Yes, you will.” He grabs the man’s hand and starts to cut off his fingers.

“I’ll tell you! Please!” he screams desperately as he struggles, so I step in and hold him still, watching his face as Ryder chops one finger off.

“He’s going to puke,” I observe calmly.

“Nah, faint,” Garrett counters.

“Both,” Kenzo interjects, and we all watch as Ryder starts on the next finger, carefully and coolly.

Kenzo was right, the guy pukes. I skip away to avoid it, and then he passes out, landing in his own vomit. Fuck. I hand over a hundred and so does Garrett. Ryder sits back on his heels and waits for him to wake up.

He does rouse eventually, though only after I whip out my dick and start to piss on the idiot. He chokes on it as we laugh, and Ryder starts up again. Before he gets to the second hand, the guy is sobbing like a baby and spilling everything.

Including who hired him.

The Triad.

They are trying to wipe us out.

“They-they said once you were gone, they were going to divide the city and we could have this side,” he cries.

I laugh at that. “They would have killed you too, idiot. Never work with the bastards, they never keep their word.”

Ryder looks pissed. “I suspect if they want a war, they are going to get one.”

“So-so I can go?” the guy whimpers.

I smirk, and Ryder grins. “No, you’re going to be a message, like I said. Now, please hold still and try to breathe. This will hurt.”

We all sit back and watch Ryder’s handiwork. I did learn from the best, after all. I might be cruel and crazy, but Ryder…he knows exactly where to cut, where to hit, where to slice to inflict the most pain. I’m pretty sure he would have made a good doctor in another life, you know, if he wasn’t such a bloodthirsty bastard.

The man prays for death before it’s through, and he dies in pain and alone, knowing his own mistakes are to blame. I find some boxes, and Ryder places the man’s limbs in each one.

Arms.

Legs.

Hands.

Fingers.

Cock.

Head.

Laughing, we seal them up and carry them out to the car with us.

By the time we’re done, it’s early, and the sun is almost rising. “Let’s go home.” Ryder shrugs into his jacket, frowning at the bloodstains.

“Yup, I wonder what the little bird is up to.”