Carnage by Sarah Bailey

Fifteen

Prescott

I’d known setting off West was never a good idea. It hadn’t stopped me. The guy needed to let it the fuck out. Besides, I’d quite like to watch what happened when he did get his hands on Scarlett. The way he’d use and fucking abuse her in the best way possible.

Stop thinking about it or you’ll pop a fucking boner like Drake has, the sick fuck.

Maybe I enjoyed being the voyeur from time to time. I also liked to hunt, chase, and catch my prey. And I liked it when they screamed for mercy. It was the best and sweetest fucking sound in the world. How I fucking adored it. Every part of it. I needed it. Craved it. Fucking wanted it like nothing else.

She’ll scream. She’ll scream so fucking loud for the entire world to hear. But she’ll love it too. Love it just like I will.

“Close your fucking mouth, Pres, you look like you’re about to drool all over the carpet,” Francis’ voice rang in my ear. “Dread to think what’s running through your mind.”

I shrugged and sipped my beer.

“Oh, just imagining the way she’ll scream, cry and beg for mercy that will never come.”

“Gutter minds, the lot of you.”

I slapped his shoulder.

“Don’t act all high and mighty, Francis. You’re one sick fuck yourself. You almost broke Chelsea’s arm the last time she was here.”

Francis glared at me whilst Drake snorted.

“She slapped you so hard, she left a handprint. Shame she had to go overdose on whatever shit West gave her to help with the pain. She was quite something,” he mused a moment later, his indigo eyes glittering with amusement.

“You two can fuck off with your useless reminders,” Francis barked, before getting up and pacing away. “She’s still breathing, unlike some of the others.”

Drake and I exchanged a look. Chelsea was the only one Francis cared about out of all the girls we hired to please us. The girl was twisted as they came. She didn’t care about us sharing her, but she and Francis had been close. She told us all to take a hike after the last time when she almost died. We let her go. She had signed an NDA. She knew we would come for her if she divulged any of our secrets. We did unspeakable things to those who crossed us. And we all liked it when we punished our enemies together as a group.

“Have you even stuck your dick in a woman since then? Is that why you’ve been such a grumpy bastard?” I asked, knowing Francis would probably deck me for the question but not caring in the slightest.

When we didn’t let our inner beasts come out to play, we all got a little antsy and irritable. Well, except for West. He never held back. He was a fucked up psycho, but he kept his shit together the best he could with all the self-medicating he did.

“Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but yes, I have. I’m not fucking Mr Celibate like this guy.” Francis waved a hand at Drake. “If anyone needs to get laid, it’s Drake.”

“I’ve had women,” Drake muttered, giving Francis a disparaging look.

I nudged his shoulder.

“Oh yeah? When?”

“The night before Scarlett had her interview.”

I hadn’t expected him to give an answer. Drake kept quiet about his lady friends. We’d all shared Chelsea and other women. Drake couldn’t hide his twisted kinks from us.

“So, let me guess, when you saw her again it was like no other woman would do?”

Drake didn’t respond immediately. His eyes darkened, and his fingers tightened around his beer bottle. A sure sign my question had irritated him. He’d never been the type to get emotional or let much rattle him. But she had. She’d fucking well rattled us all.

“As if you, West and even Francis didn’t have the same reaction.”

“Difference is I’m not hiding it. I want her to be our little lamb. One we’ll sacrifice and use every way possible. I want her to understand our pain.”

We all fell silent then. Loss does funny things to people. It brought the four of us closer together. As if we hadn’t been close enough before. It twisted our already fucked up minds. Lured us into the darkness. We knew what type of men we’d become. And we weren’t sorry for it. Not even Francis, with all his morality. Some fucking morality. He’d hurt, maimed, tortured, and killed alongside us. He liked it. We all did.

The lift doors sliding open broke the silent but tense atmosphere. West strolled out without a fucking care in the world, looking mighty pleased with himself.

“What’s with the miserable as fuck faces in here?” he commented as he walked over to the plastic sheeting and started tidying up the mess.

Francis stopped pacing and glared at West.

“You care to explain what the fuck this was all about?” He waved at the shit West was cleaning up. “You don’t usually do favours for Gary.”

He was West’s drug dealer. He knew a lot of people and was quite the fountain of knowledge. Probably why West kept him around. You didn’t kill the useful fucks even if they were cunts.

“Oh well, it was for one of Zayn Villetti’s clients, but Gary fobbed it off on me for obvious reasons.”

“Zayn Villetti?”

“That’s the guy,” I said, waving a hand. “The big player who deals in fantasies and desire, right?”

Francis raised his eyebrow.

“You’re telling me one of the sons of the Italian mafia is some kingpin pimp?”

West snorted.

“Yeah, Frankie, if you want to put it that way, but it’s more than being a pimp. He’s made his fortune catering to the rich and depraved. The ones who want something more than your regular BDSM shit. Trust me, no one else delivers what he does.”

Francis glared. His knuckles were going white with the way he clenched the beer bottle in his hand.

“Speaking from experience, are we?”

“Nope. I wouldn’t fucking touch that guy and his business with a bargepole. Like I said, a favour to Gary, nothing more. I ain’t dealing with the fucking mafia if I can help it. Not when there’s a turf war going on now Russo is out of the picture.”

None of us were unhappy about that cunt being taken out. We didn’t get involved in the petty squabbles of the criminal underworld or the crime families of London, but we knew the big players. It was safer that way. No one wanted to get inadvertently involved in a shit situation with them.

“Did you speak to her today?” Drake asked, cutting through the discussion about Villetti.

West paused as he was folding up the plastic sheeting. His expression turned sour, meaning yes, he had spoken to her.

“What’s it to you?” he grunted.

“Did you fuck with her, West?” Drake’s voice was cold.

It took a minute for West to respond whilst he finished dealing with the plastic sheeting. He stuffed it in a bag and placed it underneath the sink in the kitchen. It would be something he’d dispose of later to destroy the evidence. When he straightened, he washed his hands in the sink. Then he leant against the counter and smiled at Drake in this maniacal way he’d perfected over the years.

“Perhaps I did, but don’t worry, I doubt she’s going to run. She didn’t want to heed my warning. I reckon we’d have to do a lot more to scare her away. A whole lot fucking more.”

“You think she’s just as fucked in the head as we all are?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“We’ll have to find out now, won’t we?” West pulled out a baggy from his pocket and waved it at us. “You all look like you could do with a hit. Take the fucking edge off for a while, you know, before we all do something we shouldn’t.” He extracted four joints from the baggy and set them on the kitchen island, along with his lighter. “It’s Gary’s best shit. What do you say?”

Francis was the first to walk over and pick one up. He shoved it in his mouth and lit up, taking a long drag. He let out a sigh with the smoke. Drake and I rose at the same time, wandering over to the kitchen island and setting our bottles down. One by one, me, Drake, and West lit up, the sweet smell of weed permeating the air.

“I have an idea about how to celebrate when our two weeks are up,” Francis said, leaning his elbows on the counter and playing with his beer bottle label.

“Oh yeah, you finally going to drop your bullshit morality act then?” I asked.

Francis didn’t even spare me a look.

“I think we should show her exactly what all of us are made of… at the same time.”

West threw back his head and laughed. Drake smirked, and I licked my lip.

“Oh yeah, you want to tag-team her, Frankie?” West asked through his laughter.

He shrugged, ripping the label from the bottle. For once, he wasn’t giving West shit about calling him, Frankie. Sometimes those two were civil, sometimes not. Tonight it appeared to be the former.

Thank fuck.

“It’s what we want, isn’t it? No fucking point denying it.”

There was never any point denying what we wanted. We’d never let anything stop us before. Nothing would stop us now.

“I’m in,” I said. “I’m always fucking in.”

“You already know I’ll be there,” West said once he’d settled down and taken another drag.

We all looked at Drake. It was all of us or nothing. That was the deal. It’s how we fucking worked. We all had to be in when we made a decision.

“As if I was ever going to say no,” he murmured before swigging from his beer. “But that being said, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

The three of us stared at Drake.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Drake putting the brakes on our plans was something we had to talk about.

“I’m not saying never, just not yet. We need more time to observe her. It’s been a couple of days. We need to make sure she doesn’t run back to where she came from.”

“You going soft on us?” West asked, but his eyes betrayed his own concern about what Drake had said.

“Fuck no. I’m merely saying we need more time, then we take her and… tag-team her as Francis suggested.”

“Fine,” I said, feeling the drugs hit my system. “More time it is. Maybe we can see if she’ll be… willing or not.”

“Doubt any woman would be willing if they knew what this fuck really wanted to do to her,” Francis muttered, indicating West with his head.

West reached out and clipped Francis around the ear. I spoke too soon. Francis and West weren’t being civil at all.

“You cannot fucking talk,” West grunted.

“Would you two chill the fuck out for one night?” Drake said, giving them both a dark look.

West took another drag of his joint.

“Fine, why don’t you call Rina? We could all use a distraction if we’re not going to get what we want because you want to pump the fucking brakes.”

Drake pulled out his phone.

“You sure?”

West gave him a sharp nod. I had not anticipated this, but I wasn’t complaining. We could all use an outlet right now.

“Okay, is everyone wanting a turn?”

“Why the fuck not,” Francis said. “In for a penny, in for a fucking pound.”

Then he stalked off with his joint hanging from his lips to the sofa, throwing himself down on it.

“You know I’m never going to say no,” I said with a shrug.

“Way to sound fucking excited,” West said.

“Fuck off. I said yes, didn’t I?”

Drake rolled his eyes and put his phone to his ear. No doubt Rina would be pleased with the handsome sum we’d provide, so who gave a shit? It might keep us from doing something stupid as fuck. Then again, it was us. Nothing kept us in check except the need to keep up appearances. And maybe now more than ever, we needed to remember that.