Dark Side of the Cloth by Brooklyn Cross

Dean pulled on a tight black T-shirt, his thick muscled arms and tattoos proudly on display. Loud rock music played as a backdrop while he prepared himself for tonight’s agenda. He laid his lips on the long sharp blade, then slipped it home like butter in the sheath across his chest. Grabbing the black leather straps, he cinched them into place and proceeded to fill all the available spaces with an assortment of his favorite tools of his trade.

Next, he smeared blackout grease across his face, then leaned toward the mirror and finished the final details before pulling the black ball cap low over his face.

It hadn’t taken as much work as he thought to track down and eliminate possible suspects in Yasmine’s sister’s rape and murder. The list only had four names on it, and the first two, although they did have the proper sexual profile, didn’t match Yasmine’s description. Besides, they were both dead now from one disease or another, good riddance as far as he was concerned. The other two were brothers, and although Yasmine only mentioned one attacker in her witness statement, he suspected both had been at play. He had no proof, but he was about to get it.

Marching down to the church’s garage, he pulled the sheet off his black beauty. The glistening Hummer always called his name. He gently ran his hand over the hood like he would a lover before opening the door and slipping behind the wheel.

He plugged in his phone and connected it to the built-in AI and brought up the GPS. Pulling the keyboard toward him, he waited for the system to fire up. The Hummer was a gift from The Righteous, and thanks to his own and their secretive sources, he’d tactfully acquired many sweet ass upgrades for this beautiful beast. Including some very secretive military-grade tech that was on the ‘do not ever talk about’ list. A few keystrokes later and his windshield transformed into a massive map with his target’s location.

He’d already slipped a tracker onto the car of his objective and had been monitoring him in live time for a couple of days as he established a pattern to his behavior. Guys like this were predictable, and predictability got you killed. Not that he cared, it made his life easier to hunt stupid prey, but their screams of agony before their sweet death still held the same satisfaction. The Hummer revved to life with a roar.

“Sexy, is there anyone in the parking lot?” he asked the AI that was part of the built-in tech.

“No heat signatures detected in the vicinity.”

Hitting another button, the automatic garage door he had installed slid open, and he pulled out, gearing the bitch up. She roared around him as she lurched forward at his command. His black-gloved hands flexed on the steering wheel.

Marilyn Manson’s “Beautiful People” blared through the speakers as he raced down the back road. He rarely took main streets, too much scrubbing to do to make him a ghost.

The map and red dot on his windshield were getting closer, and the digital display showing a countdown of how long until he arrived at the location. He had to travel further than he liked outside of his hunting zone. He had no issue with hunting those further out, but he preferred to know where he was because he knew the camera’s locations and possible issues they could cause, like the back of his hand. But, this mission was important enough to break his rules. As he neared the city limits, he slowed and pulled onto the main street of a large industrial area.

Long, identical grey buildings, each sporting a different company name, lined either side of the road. Dean flicked the radio off and tapped a couple of buttons on the screen. Each color that showed up represented a different threat. Orange meant other humans, blue meant video cameras, and flashing red meant any form of emergency service.

However, nothing stirred in the darkness. This was the beauty of this type of area—the lack of activity. He pulled into a driveway on his right, a few buildings over from where he needed to be. He parallel-parked between two large garbage bins to conceal his Hummer from any random passersby. Putting Sexy into park, he hit a few buttons on the keypad and then reached into the back. The bench seat flipped open, revealing an array of guns. He didn’t need his sniper rifle tonight. For what he had planned, it was all about being up close and personal. He grabbed the HK416 and a couple of clips before relocking the hidden compartment.

“Sexy, blackout all cameras in a one-mile radius.”

He could hear the whir as the small satellite stood at attention.

“Wipe all images of us arriving into the city.” He removed his cap and slipped on a sleek black helmet with flick-down multi-vision capabilities. “Sexy, connect to the helmet.”

“Cameras are disabled, wiping has begun, connection has been established,” Sexy answered.

“You really are the best fucking bitch. You know that, Sexy?” Dean said as the screen now glowed in front of his eye.

“I’m sorry, I do not understand that command. Would you like to try another?”

Dean smirked at the vehicle as he got out. “Sexy, set the alarm, code-word Yasmine.”

“Code-word set, alarm engaged.”

“Good girl,” Dean mumbled. Melding into the darkness, he slinked toward the back of the building then silently broke into a jog. The night was cold, but there was no snow here, which would help him avoid making tracks, easier. He spotted the rusty Chrysler vehicle with the old wood-paneled sides. It glowed like a goldish piece of shit in the dim light. A very distinct car nowadays. No one was inside, the windows were not steamed, and the hood was as cold as the evening itself.

Good, the guy must be inside. Dean didn’t know if the guy worked nights here or if this was one of his play areas, but he was about to find out. Why prostitutes still got into this cocksucker’s car was beyond him. They all talked to one another. Even the ones that hated each other still had a code when it came to sick fucks like this.

Dean had only glanced over the arm’s length of complaints and arrests on this prick, yet, he’d easily spotted the words sexual assault over thirty times. The charges would never stick, the girls never followed through. Being a prostitute meant that you were never taken seriously when it came to sexual assault. Dean didn’t agree with that, but the law was flawed, which was why The Righteous existed.

The lock was nothing fancy, just a standard cylinder style, and he pulled out the small case of lock picking tools. He could blow the lock off, but he preferred to have surprise on his side. This was a mission that required a silent, in-and-out, or he would draw too much attention too early and not retrieve the answers he sought. The door clicked, and he gently pulled it open to reveal a dark cavernous space filled with all sorts of crates.

He felt at home in the pitch black. Like a black panther, he stalked his prey from the shadows. This dark space before he killed those who deserved it, was where his soul lived. His father always told him that he had what it took to lead, to kill, and to do it without guilt.

Dean’s rage bubbled under the surface of his skin like it did every time he thought of his father. He hadn’t wanted to believe the fucker. His father would pat his head and tell him that he was his Pequeno Asesino. His father had seen the depravity burning in his heart, and he didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to think that he was anything like his psychopathic father.

But, he’d been right, at least about the lethal portion. You didn’t become a demon of death by being weak. You became one by turning your mind, body, and soul into a perfect killing machine and by turning off your morality and doing the job you were assigned without question.

“Sexy, turn on all visual features,” Dean whispered, and the screen over his left eye began to flip through the settings.

“Hold.” He was able to see through the walls of the building, and two heat signatures appeared much further down inside the building.

Well, the man definitely wasn’t working.

Picking the best route, he jogged into the belly of the beast. As he drew closer, he was able to hear soft whimpering and a distinct cracking sound of a whip as it echoed after each strike. Hiding amongst the shadows, he crouched low by the last of the towering shelves to take in the scene.

A young woman was stripped naked and hanging by her arms from a pulley attached to a winch in the ceiling. She swung like a slab of meat, her dirty feet barely skimming the floor. The girl’s long, sparkly earrings were the only things she wore and made a strange contrast to the tableau before him. Her back was riddled with angry red welts and already drying blood from the night’s abuse. A ball gag was strapped around her face, muting her whimpers and tear-filled cries as another blow from the leather bullwhip snapped across her back with a loud crack. The woman’s slim body arched as blood splattered across the floor. Dark eye make-up stained her cheeks as her strangled wail reached him.

“You like that, whore? Oh, I bet you’re fucking wet for me now!” Another crack, more strangled whimpers. The guy paused to give his cock a few strokes, shoving his hand crudely down his pants to do so. He grunted, and Dean’s lips peeled back in a silent snarl.

“Bet you won’t turn your nose up at the next cock you’re paid to suck. That’s the problem with women these days—they don’t know their place.”

Slipping the large knife out of the sheath on his chest, he stalked toward his prey.

“Say it! Say you want my cock in that bitch mouth of yours!”

The woman mumbled helplessly around the gag, and the guy laughed hard, his beer belly shaking. “No, you don’t want to say it?”

The man was completely focused on his sick task and raised his arm to inflict yet another blow.

Dean roughly grabbed the man by his wiry, greying hair and jerked him back hard as he kicked out the man’s knees. Shock stopped the man from yelling as his body slammed to the concrete floor, his whip rolling away. He let out an oof as the air rushed out of his lungs. Dean knelt on the man’s chest and held the massive blade against his throat.

Dean studied his prey’s features—light blue eyes that were wide with confusion, a ferret-like face that only a mother could love, and unkept balding hair that stood in all directions.

“You and I need to have few words, but first.” Dean yanked the man by the hair until his feet scrambled to keep up as he was dragged toward a large piece of machinery.

The man’s shock was wearing off, and he began to fight. In his prime, he may have been a medium threat, but he’d let himself go over the years and was reduced to no more than a rodent with a beer belly. His legs annoyingly flailed as his hands smacked Dean’s much stronger fist.

“You’ve gotten lazy picking on defenseless young women. Big mistake.” Dean roughly twisted the man around. The man letting out a loud yelping sound as the little bit of hair he had left tore from his scalp.

Now with the sicko in front of him, Dean slammed his free fist into the soft tissue of the man’s stomach and followed it up with an uppercut to his face. The man’s head rocked back, his teeth clamping shut and jawbone crunching as fist met bone.

That definitely broke something. And Dean smiled at the thought.

Dean had to contain his wild rage, or he would kill him too soon. Dean threw the man up against the massive conveyor. Sheathing his knife, he quickly secured his hands above his head with large zip ties. Dean then secured his legs. Once satisfied, he searched the man’s pockets until he found the car keys.

He wandered toward the wide-eyed woman, his eyes scanning the area for her clothes. She was visibly shaking, but he had to give her credit—she didn’t make a sound. Spotting the meager articles that she’d been wearing, typical clothing of her trade, he scooped up the small glittery pile and turned to grab the lever that controlled the chain. Gripping the handle, he pulled back, and the machine whirred to life, slowly lowering the woman to the ground.

The woman sighed and then whimpered, her face contorting in pain as her arms were lowered. She shakily clawed at her face and winced as she tried to reach the buckle securing the ball gag.

“That will be easier with your hands free. Here, take your clothes.” Like he was approaching a wild animal, he slowly walked the short distance and held the clothes out to her. She clutched the small pile to her chest. Now with his hands free, he flicked through the keys on the keyring and found the one for her cuffs. He made quick work of the locks, the metal springing free from around her wrists.

“Turn around,” he ordered, and the woman turned but kept an eye on what he was doing. The strap was pulled extremely tight and had to be hurting her.

“I’m sorry this is going to hurt to undo.” He pulled hard a small whimper escaping her around the rubber ball, but the buckle released. The woman made a gagging sound as she pulled the spit-laden contraption out of her mouth and dropped it to the floor.

“Go straight to the hospital and get your back checked out. But do me a favor and delay telling them where you were. It will give me more time with our friend over there.” Dean nodded towards the man. “Do you understand?”

The young woman nodded as he handed the man’s keys to her.

“And may I suggest you find a new line of work? You could end up like this again, and I won’t be around to save your ass. Now get going. You don’t want to see this.” She took a moment to look over at her abuser, now the one in the precarious position, and then back up at him.

“Thank you,” she said. Her voice sounded scratchy from the screaming. She took a step and then looked up at him again. “Are you going to kill the fucker?”

“Most likely.”

Her eyes lit up. “Good.”

“I’m happy you approve, now get out of this building. I have work to do before the police arrive.” The woman needed no more encouragement and limped the way he’d come, disappearing into the shadows of the tall aisles.

Coughing had his head turning toward the man as he spat blood on the floor. A tinkling sound followed, and Dean smirked at the tooth lying on the floor.

“Who the fuck are you, and what do you want?”

Dean casually walked over to his prey.

“I’m going to ask you a couple of questions, and depending on how you answer will dictate how this goes for you.”

“Fuck you, you mother fucking, cunt sucking, spic…”

Dean sighed loudly as the man continued to swear a blue streak. But inside, his inner darkness stood up and fucking cheered. He didn’t need any encouragement to torture the fucking shit out of this man, but when they were stubborn pricks, his juices flowed a little faster. Dean looked around and spotted a large crowbar leaning against the wall. Grabbing it, he came back and held it out toward the man.

“Would you like to revise your previous answer?”

“Go fuck yourself, you boarder hopping trash!” The man spat at his feet, just missing his boots.

“An abuser and a racist, very well.”

Taking his stance, he lifted the crowbar up onto his shoulder like a baseball bat and swung. He visualized the man’s kneecap as a beautiful white baseball and heard him yell, “No,” as the metal came down.

The sickening crunch was music to his ears as the knee snapped sideways, pushing bone through skin and staining the floor with more red. The man let loose a blood-curdling scream that echoed around the large space as he tried to collapse to the floor. The thick zip ties held the man in place as he gasped and wheezed. What Dean liked to call pain drool slid from the man’s mouth and dripped to the floor. He let the man have a minute to recover, which he thought was pretty fucking nice of him.

“Now, let’s try this again unless, of course, you’d like me to even things up?” He nodded toward the good knee. “I’m always up for a second home run.”

The man’s lips pulled up into a snarl, hatred radiating from his ice-blue eyes.

“What do you want?”

It had taken a long time to learn to control the beast that raged in his body, the beast his father infected him with because of his biology. Some of his early work had died much too fast because he hadn’t learned what he needed. The trick was to inflict max pain but limiting the damage to nonlife-threatening portions of the body. Dean’s dark urges screamed to rip this man’s heart out, to do his sworn duty and protect, but the rational part of his mind said not to rush things. This particular piece of shit would endure more pain if he drew it out.

“Much better. I knew we’d learn to get along.” He smiled cheerily, flashing his perfectly white teeth and resting the crowbar over his shoulder. “I want to know two things. First, where is your brother? Second, what was your role in the rape and mutilation of the Jacob’s girl seventeen years ago?”

“I haven’t heard from my brother in years, no idea where he is. And I don’t know what you’re talking about, what Jacobs girl?”

“You know it always amazes me that assholes like you are so stupid, even when you’re staring at excruciating pain right in the face. I thought we understood one another.” Dean tsked at the pathetic excuse for a man and raised the crowbar off his shoulder.

The man’s eyes bugged out as they followed the movement.

“No! No! Wait, I might know where he is,” the man blurted.

Before he could say anything further, he promptly threw up and jerked against the bindings, the visible kneecap twisting at an odd angle as he did so. Dean took a step back to avoid the second round of vile-smelling vomit that would curdle anyone’s stomach. Chunks of he didn’t know what mixed with blood and piss ran towards the small drain in the floor.

Disgusting, and yet so delightful.

Dean sighed and waited for the man to compose himself. “And?”

“And…” Beads of sweat dripped from his brow. Dean could almost hear the gears churning in the piece of shit’s brain. “I was the driver. There were supposed to be two girls, but my brother only managed to get one. We argued when he got back to the car, and he only had the one girl.”

“So what did you do?”

“Like I said, we argued. I suggested we share her because I wanted a good fuck, but that turned into a fistfight. I lost the fight, and I got this nasty scar on my face from that asshole to prove it. He took the car and the girl, and I was left on my ass at the side of the road. I don’t have a fucking clue what exactly he did after that, but knowing my brother, I’m sure it was fucked up.”

The man stopped talking and proceeded to gag, only dry heaves this time, but the retching sound was enough to make Dean want to end his miserable life.

“Trust me, that girl would’ve been better off if I won the fight. I mean, I like shit rough, and her little asshole would’ve gotten an education. You know what I mean? But she’d still be alive. My brother—he’s just warped out of his gourd fucked up. He likes to watch shit die, pluck wings off bugs and hang cats…”

“Yeah, I get it.” Dean interrupted the asshole. “So that’s why you stopped speaking because your brother was warped? Take a look around. You’re not exactly a stand-up citizen.”

“Fuck you, man. I’m telling you how it was. My brother was always pushing the limits, and he was going to get us arrested or killed—fuck, probably both. Unlike him, I stopped with the pre-teen girls after that night. It was way more risk than I was up for. I hadn’t even liked the snatch and grab idea, to begin with.”

“Oh no?” Dean rose an eyebrow in question.

“Again fuck you! Any bitch that gets into my car does so willingly.”

“I’m finding this hard to believe, but go on.” Dean waved his hand dismissively.

“My brother tried to talk me into a similar job a couple of years after, and I flat out refused. Said I didn’t want to know anything about it or him anymore and to leave me the fuck alone. I don’t know what happened to the job, and frankly, I didn’t care. I decided to cut all ties and stick to the whores that walk the streets.”

“Easier targets?”

“They’re already looking to put out, cops don’t give a shit, and their families, if they have any, don’t want anything to do with them. They’re the perfect partner for my games, but I never kill them.”

“I wouldn’t call what I walked in on a willing partnership.” Dean’s lip twitched, and his nostrils flared as he reined in the turbulent rage. “Where is your brother?”

“Are you going to kill me even if I tell you?”

Dean paused as if giving his question real consideration.

“Well, if you don’t tell me, I certainly will, and I’ll make sure it’s so painful that you’ll be begging to die for hours,” Dean growled.

The first threads of real fear reflected back at him. Like a fucking light turning on, he could see realization glinting in the man’s eyes. He was no longer the predator. He was the prey. It was like a great white knowing it was the king of the ocean until the killer whale shows up and fucks shit up.

“I don’t know what you want from me, man. I haven’t talked to him in years, but we had an old hunting cabin that’s not on any map. If he’s holed up somewhere, that place would be my only guess.” The man winced as he shifted his weight.

“Give me the address.”

Again with the long pause. Dean was growing tired of the silent act. His glove creaked as he gripped the crowbar tighter in his fist. He wanted this man’s blood so bad he could already see the red running down his body.

“Tell me, or I slit you open and pull out all your insides while you’re still alive. You could survive for hours before you finally die, and believe me, I will make sure you feel every excruciating moment as I play with all your organs.”

Dean pulled the knife on his chest free. It was so sharp and clean it reflected even in the poor lighting.

“Holy fuck, man, you’re a sick SOB. The place is on Pine Ridge Road. It’s due north of here. It’s a no-maintenance, off-the-beaten-path road that will rip the bottom right out of a car if you’re not careful. Take the fifth driveway on your right and then travel for another twenty minutes until you come to a dead end. The driveway was well hidden by the forest on the left. There are no markers, no numbers—it’s just a small gap in the trees and knowing that crazy fucker it’s probably also booby-trapped.” The man shook his head back and forth. “I won’t even go there for fear of stepping on one of the bear traps or getting strung up in a snare. Stupid fuck that he is,” the guy mumbled. “Now that I’ve told you what you want, can you call me a fucking ambulance? I’m going to be sick again.”

The man was pale, and the adrenaline that would have masked the majority of the initial pain would be wearing off by now.

“Not yet. I have one more question.”

“Fuck you! You said two, and I’ve answered both.”

“That’s fine. I don’t need to know how many women you’ve raped or abused. I’m sure there have been many.”

Dean laid the crowbar down at the man’s feet, who noticeably slumped in his bindings.

The calm before the storm.

Dean walked back the way he’d arrived and pulled the tall canister on wheels over, and went back for the rest of the welding equipment. Such a beautiful thing that this place welded conveyor belts. Dean’s initial thought had been to pull the man apart by attaching him to the conveyors, but this… this was going to be so much more fun.

“What the fuck are you doing?” the man asked. Dean ignored him.

He’d helped his buddies weld on many occasions while deployed and knew his way around a welder. He lit the end, the bright blue flame hissing to life.

“Fuck me!” The man jerked violently against the ties. “What the fuck, you crazy son of a bitch! I told you what you wanted to know!”

The screams came before the flame started to cut, the tone shifting from fear to terror and finally unspeakable pain, as his voice raised several octaves. The rancid stench of shit wafted through the air, and his jeans dripped with his piss. The scent brought Dean serenity. It was a physical reminder that he was completing his sworn duty.

The beauty about working for The Righteous was that they didn’t care how you killed your objective as long as it didn’t trace back to them. That was why only the best operatives from any agency were ever selected.

The bright blue flame danced in his eyes as he knelt, cutting through flesh, muscle, and bone. The man’s body whipped back and forth with obvious excruciating pain, his eyes bugging out as he watched his foot being cut off at the ankle. Dean looked up into his terrified eyes.

“Yes, this is really happening,” he said conversationally.

Once the foot was severed, he quickly cauterized the stump and then picked the severed offering up by the laces. He held it in front of the man’s face, it dangling back and forth.

“You see this? I’m going to cut off a body part to honor every single person you’ve hurt. I want you to remember their faces, remember their smell and how they felt as you brutalized them, and then remember that it all lead you to this moment.”

Dean wouldn’t settle for anything less than true suffering, and a quick death was too kind. He’d done this for more than one of his brothers. He’d gotten used to the stench, the screams, and the desperate pleading in their eyes. They were always torn between the choice of living or losing a limb. His brothers had always thanked him in the end for saving their life, but he doubted his man was going to thank him as he turned his attention to the second leg.

More screams, more begging, and more swearing echoed off the walls of the warehouse. What these walls must have seen over the years? Darkness was present in this place, the sensation of pain and death hovering around the space like a cloak and begging for more.

Only incoherent babble tumbled from the lips of the thing before him. Dean slowly stood and took in his captive. He stared at the top of his head and the balding spot that was oddly shiny before mentally checking if he held any guilt. Not finding any, he smiled. The sides of his lips pulled up, and he began to whistle his favorite tune as he continued his work.

The man was reduced to a blubbering mess as he lay on the floor, wailing incoherent nonsense. Dean appraised his work the missing feet and hands were lined up on display.

“I thought about killing you, and I’m sure you would’ve preferred that. The thing is, I’ve decided I’m going to leave you like this. Maybe one day you will walk again with the use of prosthetics, but you will never touch again, you will never be a danger again, and you will always remember what your sins have cost you.”

Dean knelt down, not really sure if the man understood, and was surprised that he hadn’t died of a heart attack, or at the very least, passed out.

“Most importantly, you will never see or hear again. You will forever be locked inside the horrors of your mind.”

“No, no, no, no…I’m sorry, please God, no.”

“God doesn’t judge you this night.” Dean placed a knee on the man’s chest, pinning him to the floor as he roughly squeezed his chin, pressing his cheeks hard until the man’s mouth looked like a stupid fish. Dean brought that deadly blue flame agonizingly slow toward the man’s eye, the flickering blue along with sheer terror reflected back at him.

“No, please,” the man blubbered.

Dean moved the flame a little closer, and the eyelashes began smoking, the scent of burnt hair curling in his nose. The skin around the eye pinked and would soon bubble. Tears filled and then rolled down the man’s cheeks. He clenched his eyes closed as if that might help.

“This is what it feels like to be the victim,” Dean whispered in the man’s ear.

The stubby arms comically beat at his bicep as the flame touched the delicate skin, melting it away and showing the bright blue for just a moment before it too started to melt. The strong stench of scorched flesh and hair hung in the air like a cloud. The man screamed higher than he had before, as the flame easily ate away one eye and then the other. Dean then did the same to his ears, standing to analyze his handy work once more.

“Emergency vehicles en route, T-minus fifteen minutes until arrival,” Sexy said in his ear.

Dean was tempted to take a couple of extra minutes to cut off the man’s dick, but he knew he didn’t have the time.

“You’re getting off easy, and the police are on their way.”

The man didn’t answer, and Dean didn’t expect him to respond. He grabbed the shackles that had strung the woman up and quickly wrapped the chain around the man’s waist and under his armpits, like a makeshift vest, before attaching the shackles to the chain. Looping the shackles over the large hook, he pushed the lever, and the crank hummed as it slowly lifted the man into the air. Now this man was the one on display as the woman had been. Dean only wished he could stick around long enough to see the look on the cops’ faces.

Would they be happy or disgusted?

Dean was in his Hummer and heading out of town, already planning his next attack, long before the police arrived. A sense of peace filling his body as the town disappeared in his rearview mirror.

One brother down, and one more to go.