Fierce Obsession: LA Ruthless: Book 4 (L.A. Ruthless Series)

“So, who are these guys? Any idea?” I ask as I drive toward the address Alejandro gave me.

“Nope. That asshole who owns the bar said he’s seen them a couple of times but he didn’t know their names. They were there the night your father was beaten up. They had one beer each and then left just before he did. They’re known to be trouble and people generally stay out of their way.”

“So, how does he know where they live?”

“His girlfriend used to buy a little pot from one of them.”

“So we’re looking for some pot dealers? If this is where they keep their stash, they’re probably armed.”

“Isn’t everyone in Texas armed?” he says with a shrug. “Besides, I don’t think they’re big time, else they wouldn’t need to beat people up as a side hustle, would they?”

I nod my agreement and keep driving.

When we finally pull up at the house, I shut off the engine and take a look around. It’s an old wooden house set on a small plot of land. There’s nothing else nearby, which makes it kind of perfect for us. There are motorcycle parts on the front lawn and an old tin bathtub full of rainwater.

“You ready to do this?” Alejandro asks, tucking two guns into the waistband at the back of his trousers.

“Yup,” I jump out of the truck.

The smell of smoke hangs in the air and the thick black plume of the stuff coming from the back of the house makes us bypass the front door and head around to the rear of the property. As we draw closer, we hear talking, laughing and then someone hollers something that makes them all whoop and whistle.

“Sounds like they’re having a party?” Alejandro says with a frown.

“Sounds like they’re assholes,” I suggest, and he laughs softly.

“How you want to play this, amigo?”

“Let me do the talking?” I ask. It’s usually him who’d do that.

He narrows his eyes at me. “Like a reverse Jacksonville?”

I nod my head. A few years ago, we went to Jacksonville to deal with a bunch of rednecks who had assaulted Alejandro’s cousin, Lauren, while she was working a case in Florida. She’s a lawyer but she lives in London now. He started with the talking and when he didn’t like what they had to say, I shot one of them and we made the others fight until there was only one left standing, before I put a bullet in his head too. “Exactly like that.”

We walk into the yard and see four guys standing around a bonfire, each of them holding a bottle of beer in their hands.

“You think they got any women here?” Alejandro asks, looking around the yard.

“I hope not,” I hiss, because that would sure complicate matters.

As we draw closer, I notice one of them wearing a red cap with a Motor Oil logo on it, like my father said.

“Who the fuck are you?” the one with red cap snarls.

“I hear you might be looking for work?” I say, holding my hands up in surrender.

“Fuck you!” one of them spits tobacco into the fire.

“What kind of work?” red cap asks.

“We need someone taking care of,” I say, narrowing my eyes as I take in my surroundings.

The one with the chewing tobacco has a gun in his waistband. The two standing on the opposite side of the fire look unarmed and also stoned. Red cap seems to be in charge.

“You seem like you’re capable of taking care of people yourself,” Tobacco snarls.

“Yeah, but you did such a good job on that guy in Rocky’s the other night.”

That makes them bristle in suspicion and they stand glaring at us.

“Fuck. I don’t have time for this,” I sigh.

“Jacksonville?” Alejandro says.

“Yeah. Take out Tobacco first.”

While the four men stare at me, wondering who I am and whether I’m fishing for information or genuinely looking to hire their services, Alejandro takes his gun and pops a bullet straight into tobacco guy’s neck. He clutches his throat as blood pours through his fingers before he falls face first into the fire.

The two who appeared stoned suddenly wake from their trance, the adrenaline pumping into their veins as they realize they’re in danger. They start to look around like frightened animals.

“What the fuck?” Red cap shrieks as he looks at his fallen comrade currently roasting on the bonfire.

Alejandro points his gun at him. “Shut the fuck up,” he snarls and Red cap closes his mouth and glares at us instead.

“Come here,” I say to one of the frightened ones.

He blinks at me.

“You want to end up like your friend there?” I nod to the guy in flames.

He shakes his head.

“Then come the fuck here.”

He walks over to me, his legs shaking. These guys aren’t professionals by any stretch. Just a group of bullies who prey on people weaker than them. When he reaches me, I spin him around to face his buddies. “Only one of you is walking out of this house. You got me?”

“Y-yeah,” he stammers.

“How are you going to make sure that it’s you?”

“I-I don’t know. W-what d-do you want?”

“Fuck, he’s pissing himself,” Alejandro snarls.

I look down at the crotch of his jeans to see the light denim turning dark blue. “Jesus, maybe it won’t be you after all?”

“Don’t tell them nuffin, Caleb,” Red cap hisses.

“Oh, he’s not going to tell me. You are,” I snarl at him.

“The fuck I am,” he snarls back. “Not if you’re killing me anyway.”

I frown at him. “Oh, I won’t be killing you.” I push his buddy, pressing my palm between his shoulder blades and making him stumble forward. “He will.”

I press the barrel of my gun against the back of Caleb’s head, making him whimper. “Take this,” Alejandro says, handing him his gun.

Caleb takes it with a trembling hand while his two buddies look on.

“Shoot him in the face or I shoot you in the head,” I snarl, close to his ear.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Caleb!” Red cap shouts.

“I gotta, Big dog,” he wails.

Big Dog? Fuck me!

“Yeah, he’s gotta,” I say with a shrug.

“Shoot him, Caleb. Turn around and shoot him,” the guy on the other side of the fire shouts.

“Well, I mean you two could try and take the gun from him,” I offer just as Alejandro pulls a second gun from his waistband, pointing it at Dog as I push Caleb forward and away from us.

Survival instincts kick in and the two of them look at each other and then begin to edge forward.

“Fuck you, Aaron,” Caleb snarls. Then he aims the gun at his buddy’s head and pulls the trigger. Aaron screams but he’s not hurt. The gun only had one bullet in and the guy in the fire took that.

Caleb pulls the trigger again.

“Fucking asshole,” both Aaron and Dog shout as they round on him now, jumping on him and bringing him to the ground. “You were going to fucking shoot us, you goddamn fuck!” Aaron screeches as he jumps on Caleb’s head with such force that his eye pops out of its socket.

“Ouch,” Alejandro winces.

Both Dog and Aaron start to beat the shit out of him as Caleb curls up into a ball on the ground, trying to protect himself from their vicious assault. I see now why they get paid to beat people up — they’re kind of good at it. Vicious little fucks once they’re all nice and riled up. But the thought that the four of them beat up on my father like that makes the blood boil in my veins.

“I know, amigo,” Alejandro says quietly. “But with that sheriff on your ass, we gotta try and keep this clean. Okay?”

“Okay.” I grumble. He’s right. Making this look like these four assholes turned on each other is the best play. It’s exactly what we did in Jacksonville.

Sensing my annoyance, he turns to me. “They were just the pawns, Jax. Save your fire for whoever paid them to do it. And the sick fuck took those videos of you and Lucia.”

At the sound of her name, a fresh surge of anger sears through my chest. When we find out whoever that is, that is where I’ll take my vengeance.

Aaron and Dog continue punching and stomping on their former associate until he lies motionless and unrecognizable. No longer a person, but a lump of blood, meat and bone.

“I think he’s dead, boys,” I shout out to them.

“Not enough,” Aaron snarls.

“Well, I suggest you save your energy for fighting each other though.”

They both stop and look at me. Their faces full of their buddy’s blood. Teeth bared like rabid animals. “No,” Dog snarls.

“Well, like I said, only one of you is walking outta here,” I say with a shrug. “After you tell me what I want to know.”

“What the fuck do you want to know?” Dog hisses. “Is this about that old timer at Rocky’s bar?”

“That old timer is my old man, asshole,” I snap.

Realizing his mistake, Dog holds up his hands. “We just did what we were paid to do. We have no beef with you or your father.”

“Well now you do,” I remind him.

“We just did what we were asked.”

“By who?”

“We don’t know the guy’s name,” he insists.

“Then it looks like neither of you will be walking out of here,” I say, raising my gun and aiming it at his head.

Aaron ducks behind Dog as though that might save him. I shake my head in annoyance. What a pair of fucking clowns. I could take them both out before they take their next breath.

“I can give you his number. He texted us,” Dog says.

I narrow my eyes at him.

“It’s in my phone,” he nods to the leather jacket near the bonfire.

Alejandro steps forward and picks it up.

“Left pocket,” Dog says and Alejandro reaches gingerly inside before pulling out an old Nokia phone. He hands it to me.

“What’s your password?”

“One eight four six,” he says, wiping some blood from his cheek. “Check my last messages. They’re from your guy.”

I open the phone and scroll to the messages and sure enough there are a number of texts discussing my father’s attack, including the instructions to make sure that he survived and that he was told I was the man responsible.

“How did he pay you?”

“Cash. Left it in a plastic bag in on our porch,” Aaron replies.

“But you didn’t see him?”

“Nope,” Dog says with a shake of his head. “If you text him, though, tell him you have something you need to talk to him about, he’ll meet you. I’m sure of it. Guy was getting twitchy as hell these past few days. He even called to make sure we’d told the old guy about his son beating him up.”

“You spoke to him?” I frown as I continue flicking through the messages.

“Yeah. Couple of times.”

“What did he sound like?”

“I dunno. A guy?”

“Did he have an accent?”

“No he spoke English, just like we do,” Dog says with a shrug. Fuck me, he is thick as pig shit.

“I’ll be keeping this,” I say, pocketing his phone.

“Take it, man,” he insists.

“Now it’s just the matter of you two deciding which one of you gets to see the light of another day,” I remind him.

“What the fuck, man? We gave you what you wanted,” Aaron wails.

“Yeah, but you also nearly killed my father, and you caused me and my family a whole lot of pain and trouble. And I am not the kind of man who takes these things lightly.”

Dog and Aaron frown at each other.

“You beat the shit out of each other until one of you is left standing, or me and him beat the living fuck out of both you.” Alejandro snarls, cracking his knuckles for effect and I suppress a smile.

“And believe me, neither of you will be breathing by the time we’re done. We’ll make it hurt too.”

“A lot, because I am fucking itching to some break some bones,” Alejandro adds. Damn, I love this guy.

Aaron and Dog give each other the side eye, assessing each other and deciding whether the other is capable of making the first move, but they both know the answer and so do we. They just beat their other buddy to death.

Dog moves first, dropping and kicking Aaron in the knee, causing him to drop to the floor. Then the two of them go at it in a literal fight to the death. There’s something raw and primal about watching two men fight for survival. Each of them thinking they’ve topped the other, only for their opponent to get a surge of adrenaline and come back even stronger.

As Aaron overpowers Dog for the third time, he scrabbles around in the dirt for some kind of weapon. His fingers curl around a small rock, about the size of a tennis ball. He raises his fist and brings it crashing down on Dog’s temple. Over and over again until he bashes straight through his skull and the soft brain tissue is peeking out.

“Fuck!” Alejandro murmurs as he leans back against the porch and watches the action. I swear the only thing missing for him is a bucket of popcorn.

When Aaron is satisfied that Dog is dead and he’s not getting up for a third time, he pushes himself up onto shaky legs. He’s covered in blood, both his own and Dog’s. He hobbles toward us, a bone protruding from his shin and his jaw hanging slack as though it’s broken. Do I think he’s been through enough hell yet?

Maybe.

“To the victor go the spoils,” Alejandro says with a smirk as Aaron reaches us.

“It’s over?” he mumbles, spit dribbling down his chin as he struggles to talk.

“Yup,” I press my gun to his forehead and he frowns at me in confusion. “All over.”

I pull the trigger before he can blink and he drops to the ground at our feet. Alejandro pulls on some rubber gloves he has in his pocket, taking the gun from my hand and wiping it clean of our prints. Then he walks over to Dog, places the pistol in his hand and squeezes off a round into the dirt so that the powder residue will be on his fingers.

He tosses the rubber gloves into the burning bonfire, where tobacco guy is still roasting like a hog, and then walks back to me. We survey the scene before us, pleased with our day’s work. I take the cell from my pocket.

“You going to text this mystery man then?” Alejandro asks.

“No time like the present,” I say, tapping out a text message. I copy the speech patterns and terrible spelling from the texts that Dog has previously sent him, and tell him that I have something urgent to discuss that he’s going to want to know about.

Now all we can do is wait.