The Mute and the Menace Page 9

  What the fuck?

  I push off the side of the house and walk up to the door, pull it open with too much force and I see the both of them shoot their heads up and eyes go wide.

  “Now was is this about you giving my fucking baby up for adoption?” I bark.

  Cara’s face pales and Rose looks at Cara and stands up. “I’m going to let you guys talk. I’ll be back soon.” Rose walks up to me and stops. “Be nice to her. She’s going through a lot.”

  My nostrils flare but I don’t say anything.

  Rose rolls her eyes and stomps off. I slam the door on her ass. Looking back at Cara, I see her pale face with a tinge of green, and my anger drops.

  Slightly.

  I walk over and sit on the couch.

  And stare.

  “What’re you doing here?” She asks.

  “You don’t look good.”

  She frowns and turns away from me. “Yeah, it’s called being pregnant, Jackson. Can you go, please?” She runs her fingers through her hair. “I don’t want you here. Not now.”

  “What were you guys talking about? You said you were going to give the baby up for adoption?”

  Her eyes shift to the ground. “I don’t have any other choice.”

  “What the fuck you mean you don’t have any other choice?”

  She slams her hands on the couch and looks at me with a fire lit in her eyes. “I mean I don’t have any other choice! Look at me, Jackson. I just graduated, I have no parents, I have no money, I have no job, I have no father to my child. Look at me! There is no way in hell I can have a baby right now. Probably ever!” Her chest heaves and tears run down her face and I swear, my entire being tears straight in half.

  I move over next to her and drape my arm over her shoulder. “Stop crying, please.” I hold her while she cries into my shoulder.

  I swallow and relax myself enough to speak. It’s fucking difficult when it’s more than just a few words. When I need to go and speak an entire conversation, it’s like my body needs to prepare for it, otherwise no words will even come out.

  “I don’t care about any of that. It really doesn’t matter, because we’ll figure it all out. I do have something to talk to you about…” I swallow and give her a look. “How are you sure it’s mine and not Logan’s?”

  Her face pales, then turns beet red. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “No.”

  “I wouldn’t tell you that the kid is yours if it isn’t yours!” She screams an inch away from my face.

  I grab her by the shoulders and push her against the back of the couch, moving with her and getting an inch away from her face this time. “How the fuck do you know, though?” I grit through my teeth.

  I feel a gust of wind and then a stinging in my cheek. My eyes go wide and I bare my teeth.

  The bitch slapped me.

  “If I say the baby is yours, the baby is fucking yours! I got my fucking period the day Logan died, okay? But I haven’t had it since we had sex.”

  A part of me is still apprehensive about the situation. Could it still be Logan’s? But I don’t want to argue with a pregnant girl. And to be honest, I don’t have a fuckin’ clue about women and pregnancies and all that girl shit.

  “Okay.” I say.

  All I can hope is that when this child pops out of her, it doesn’t have Logan’s blonde ass hair.

  “I’ve made an appointment with an adoption agency.”

  And my anger fires back up again.

  “No, you’re not.”

  She stands up and looks down at me, pointing her finger straight in my face. “If you’re going to sit here and tell me what I can and cannot do with my baby, you can get the fuck out, Jackson. I wanted your help when you found out. I’m not asking for it now.”

  “So, it’s our baby when it suits you, but then it’s also your baby when it suits you. Yeah, real fair.” I scoff and stand up. “You know what, Cara, I’m leaving. But just know that you are not giving my fucking child up for adoption. Not over my dead fucking body.” As much as I want to stay right now, we get too worked up around each other. I have to be careful around her now because she’s pregnant.

  “Jackson, please don’t walk away like this!” She runs in front of the door and puts her arms up to block my exit.

  Leave or go? She can’t make up her mind.

  I look down at her and melt. Her five one to my six four. There’s something about her tiny self with her big eyes staring at me with that look that makes me crumble.

  “Come ‘ere.” I grab onto her bicep and haul her to me. I smoosh her to my chest and wrap my arms around her waist.

  She curls into me like she wants to burrow inside of me. I run my hands up and down her back. I think more than anything, I just want this girl to be happy. Seeing her like this is tearing me apart, and I think if I walked away from her crying and pregnant, Logan would dig out of his grave and fucking kill me.

  She turns away from me, and my hand glides from her side to her front. She’s a tiny little thing, so when my hand runs over a slight bump, it makes me pause.

  I grab her forearm, reaching forward with my other hand and placing it over her stomach. A lump forms in my throat when I think about a tiny human growing inside of her. It’s only a slight, barely noticeable bump. Not something anyone would notice. I notice because I’ve felt her flat stomach enough times to know that what’s happening right now—this baby—is the real deal.

  “Please don’t give this baby up.” I whisper, fingers curling around her stomach. I feel connected to it already, and I’m not sure if it’s because I know it’s my child or if I fear it may be my best friend’s child, but I want to protect it either way.

  And I will.

  Cara wraps his small fingers around my long ones, holding them tight. “Jax… I can’t. Please understand, I can’t have this baby.”

  I rip my hands out of hers. I can’t take this. I want to rage and rip this house apart. I can’t very well do that with her in here. Opening the door, I say, “I need to get out of here.”

  “Jackson…” Cara starts.

  I hold up my hand and shake my head. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  I hear a cry burst out of Cara, but I keep walking this time. I can’t risk going back there right now. I’m fucking wound up and there’s only one cure when I’m like this.

  I need to go fucking kill someone.

  7

  Jackson

  With a chip on my shoulder, I walk over to Easton’s house with only one thing on my mind. I need to get out of this park, and I need to do something. I need to spill blood. I need to cause pain because I need to get rid of my own.

  When I get to the front of Easton’s house, I see him walking out the door with his keys in hand.

  “What happened?” He asks as he walks down his steps.

  “Where you goin’?” I ask, feeling like I’m minutes from exploding.

  “Rich texted. Gotta head to the east side. You want to come with?”

  “Fuck yes.” I head to the passenger side door, and when Easton gets in and pulls out of the park, I get the details.

  “What’s this about?”

  “Some low runner was tryin’ to pull one and not pay up. He’s been runnin’ but was spotted over on the east side. Rich wants me to take care of it.”

  “I got it.” I mumble.

  He looks over at me. “You want to take it?”

  I nod at him.

  “Sounds good to me.” He keeps driving for a few minutes then turns to me again. “So, are you going to tell me what happened at Cara’s house?”

  I sigh and open up Easton’s glove box, grabbing a cigarette pack from the spare carton and slide one out. Lighting up, I roll down the window a bit and take a drag. “She’s pregnant.”

  He laughs. “Well, obviously, dumbass.”

  “No, I mean, she’s really pregnant. She’s getting a little bump and everything.” I take long drag. “She’s talking about giving it up for ad
option.”

  He slams the steering wheel. “I fucking knew something was up! Shit, what’re you going to do?”

  I burn out the cherry on the cigarette with my finger. “She ain’t giving my baby away.” Is all I say.

  We don’t say anything else for the rest of the drive. Letting the music drown out my thoughts, I watch the world pass by until we get to the east side of the city.

  “So, what’re we looking for?”

  “Red Ford. Short dude with curly hair. Hugo said he’d be holed up in some junkie house off Rice Avenue.” Hugo is Rich’s bodyguard slash in charge of everything guy. He’s a massive fucker and about as friendly as a fucking sandpaper.

  “There.” I point to a house with boarded up windows and weeds as tall my knees. A red Ford sits in the driveway and I know, without a doubt, I’ll be killing the fucker behind those walls.

  “How do you want to do this?” Easton turns towards me as he drives down the street a little bit. The last thing we need is a nosy neighbor spotting out Easton’s truck and telling the cops about it. Not that they’d do anything. Rich has about every cop in the city in his back pocket.

  “You go in the front. I got the back.” I take the knife out of its holder and look at it. It’s still got a little bit of blood on it since the last time I used it. I haven’t been on a run or done anything related to the business at all since Logan died. They let us take our time to grieve, but I’m ready.

  I’m so fucking ready.

  Mostly after today, after dealing with Cara and the pregnancy and the adoption…

  Yeah, I’m ready.

  Easton parks his truck down the road in an alley. We hop out and split up, me walking down the alley towards the back of the house and Easton walking on the road towards the front.

  My knife glints in the sun as I inspect the flecks of red blood dried up on the tip. I wipe it on my jeans as I walk up to the back door.

  Fast or slow. Fast or slow.

  Do I want to kill this fucker fast or slow?

  I can never decide.

  On one hand, if it were up to Easton, he’d usually just kill them in one go. Gun shot to the head or some shit. I’m messier. I like the blood to get on my hands and watch as it covers their body. I love the metallic scent that permeates the air and I love to hear their last breath leave their body. Absolutely love it.

  Once I’m at the back door, I press my ear up against it and listen.

  When I hear the doorbell ring, I smirk.

  “Oh, what the fuck.” Comes a nasally voice.

  I hear the front door open, and then, “What the hell!”

  I open up the screen door and swing back, kicking forward as hard as I can and watching as the lock on the door breaks, swinging open and slamming against the wall.

  “Fuck! Get out!” The short, curly haired fuck screams from the other side of the room. Easton has him by the back of the neck, towering over him in a mass of anger.

  “I think you know why we’re here. You paid up, but that wasn’t all of it, was it? Where is the fucking rest?” Easton squeezes his neck so hard his fingertips turn white. I watch as the guy’s face scrunches in pain and it brings a smile to my face.

  “Where. Is. It?” Easton asks again.

  The guy lifts his hands in the air as he uses all his might to move away from Easton’s hand. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll get it. I-I just need a little time.”

  “Time’s up, bud. The Reaper is here to collect.” Easton shoves him forward, and I grab him around the front of the shirt as he tumbles to the ground.

  I shove him over on his front, watching him squirm around like a fucking worm. I place the toe of my shoe right between his legs over his crotch. Pressing down ever so slightly, I puff out a silent laugh when he screams in terror. “Please. Please, don’t, Oh, God. Please! I promise I’ll get you the rest of the money. Just give me a couple days!”

  “Too late.” I mouth at him and watch as his cries stop as dread seeps into his eyes.

  “P-please.” He whispers, tears flooding his eyes.

  I shake my head no, almost feeling guilty that I don’t feel guilty. But I don’t. I feel satisfaction that this guy will be dead, and I won’t have to breathe the same air as him anymore.

  He gets another wind, struggling to get out of my hold and I press all my weight down on his dick, looking up at Easton as this guy screams in horror.

  He nods his head, walking towards the window and looking to see if we’ve caught any attention. He looks back to me and nods his head. I lean over, slapping him across the cheek. He looks up at me in shock.

  I press my finger to my lips.

  He turns into a blubbering mess at that, tears falling down his cheeks in wobbly rivers.

  I sigh.

  I prefer a fight, honestly. Not some ball of tears.

  I lift my foot off his dick and step back. He presses his heels into the carpet moves back from me quickly. Rolling over onto his knees, he pushes himself up with his hands and makes a break for the door.

  I smile. Finally.

  I walk up behind him and with the heel of my palm, I slam it roughly into the back of his head. It crashes down to the floor, and he grunts as his forehead slams into the ground. Grabbing him by the hair I pull his head back and watch as blood drips out of his nose. With my knife, I place the blade against in neck and listen as he swallows audibly.

  “P-please.” He whispers, the word wet from the blood dripping between his lips.

  I roll him onto his back and press my blade against his lips. He quiets, his eyes growing wide in terror. Blood smears across the bottom half of his face and I kid you fucking not—my dick grows hard.

  As always. The blood gets to me.

  I smile and trail my blade down the center of his body, going deeper by the second. When I get to his chest, I can feel the blade break through the skin, and I watch as drops of blood start to drip from the slice. When I get to his stomach, the tip of the blade is fully embedded in his skin and the bastard in front of me starts screeching like a hyena.

  Easton makes quick work, grabbing a cloth from somewhere and shoving it inside of his mouth. “This place is sketch. We need to take him with us if you want to have some fun.”

  I look down at chubby and think on my options. I can take him with me, but he doesn’t seem like that much fun. He’ll probably either cry the entire time or end up dying early from fucking shock. Neither sounds like a blast.

  I shake my head. Not this one.

  The guy on the floor is panting so heavily he’s nearly hyperventilating. His entire body rocks with his breaths. With my blade in hand, I shove it into his side near his kidneys and twist. The sound coming out of this man is almost comical. Even with the cloth in his mouth, his scream reverberates off the walls and it’s enough to know we have to leave. Now.

  “Come on, man.” Easton urges, clearly feeling the same type of urgency I’m feeling.

  The bleeding man in front of me passes out. I pull the blade out of his side and slide it back in, this time right on the side of his neck. His eyes pop open in shock for just a moment. Then he twitches, and this time, he’s gone for good.

  I watch as the mass of blood on the floor grows bigger until Easton taps me on the back, “Let’s go.” He grabs his phone and punches something in before putting the phone to his ear. “It’s done. Hurry. Oh, okay. Bye.”

  It must have been Hugo. He’ll send someone to do a quick clean up.

  We exit out the back door and make our way back to Easton’s car. When we hop in, Easton cranks on his car and turns to me. “Rich wants to see us.”

  I stare at the blood on my blade as I turn it around in my hands, watching the blood glint off the evening sun.

  I wipe the blood off the knife and sheath it, turning to Easton and giving him a nod. “Okay.”

  8

  Jackson

  Arriving at the warehouse, we silently exit the truck and meet Hugo, whose waiting for us at the entrance.


  “Hugo.” Easton slaps his hand against Hugo’s, and I give him a nod as we pass through the door.

  “Boys. Easton, how’d it go?”

  Easton nods his head towards me. “Jackson took care of it.”

  Hugo gives me a look like he knows I’m in that type of mood and leaves it at that.

  We walk silently towards Rich’s office, nodding every so often to the workers that are bustling around.

  The warehouse is attached to The Pit, where Easton does his fighting. The warehouse is where Rich conducts most of his business and has most of his higher-ups working here throughout the day, too. My dad and Logan’s dad also work here, but they also have other offices throughout the city, so aren’t here as much as Rich is.

  When we get to Rich’s office, Hugo knocks on the door.

  A voice barks, “Yes?”

  Hugo opens the door, walking in first and the both of us trailing in behind him. Papers are sprawled out in front of him as he reads the documents in a concentrated fashion. When the door shuts, he lifts his gaze and pushes the papers away from him.

  “How did things go?” He asks.

  “Good. Cleanup should be finishing up now.”

  “Any issues?” Rich squints.

  “None.”

  “Good. Now, there’s something that I wanted to discuss with you. Jackson, come here.”

  I usually stand in the back and just observe the entire conversation and they let me. It’s not like I’m going to really contribute much to the conversation. I know that I’ll be taking over the business someday. Logan was supposed to be taking it over with me, and I don’t know what the fuck is going to happen with that now. Easton was going to bow out and focus his time on fighting and The Pit, but now there’s been some talk about him staying in the business, at least in some way.

  I step up and stand next to Easton, hands fisted behind my back as I wait for whatever it is that Rich has to say.

  “I know this shit with Sanders devastated us all. It’s over, and thank fuck for that, but the damage from Logan’s death and everything…” He sighs and shakes his head. “We’ve all been in a funk for a few months now, but I think we all need to start getting back into the groove. I’ve been putting off some of the business, but things need to be done. I think it would be best for you guys to take on some of the bigger jobs and get more acclimated. What happened in Wisconsin… you all handled it really well, and we’re all really proud of you, regardless of what happened.”