Cowboy Gangster 02 - Gunnin' for Love (CMS) (MM) (12 page)

Ryder’s legs tried to buckle as the man walked him to the “bathing area” and Ryder got a good look at his impending fate in the vision of Tucker sprawled on the cold, wet floor in a pool of bloody water –his clothes hanging from his body in tattered shreds, his flesh torn and bleeding.

“Strip,” the cowboy ordered.

Eyes wide, Ryder stared at him.

“Don’t make me tell you again.”

Ryder swallowed hard and began shedding his clothes, his hands shaking as the excruciating pain in his wrists nearly rendered them useless. When he was standing naked before his captor, the cowboy looked him over. He brandished the knife and Ryder went rigid with renewed fear at the feel of the cold metal blade touching his cock. He squeezed his eyes shut against the horror he was sure was about to ensue.

The pain struck sudden and forceful –not in the form of a knife slicing into flesh but a steel-tipped cowboy boot drilling him between the legs. The force of the kick lifted his feet from the floor a few inches then dropped him hard on the concrete. His vision went black momentarily, throat closing and thwarting the scream trying to surge out of him. Tears rushed down his face and his lungs constricted as all breath was knocked out of him and refused to return.

“The more you back talk and try to piss me off,” the cowboy informed him with dangerous clarity. “The slower and more creative I will become. Now get up…unless you’d like me to
help
you up.”

To Ryder’s horror, he wasn’t sure he
could
get up on his own –but he somehow summoned the will when the cowboy took a step toward him.

His plan had failed. The cowboy hadn’t taken the bait. There would be no swift death.

♦

Clint took his time “bathing” Ryder, making sure his ass and cock were
extra
clean. When he shut off the water, he left the man hanging by his wrists and returned his focus to Tucker who lay in a heap on the floor, trembling and possibly on the verge of going into shock –but still conscious and aware. That’s all Clint needed of him, that he be aware of what was about to happen.

“Bring me the chair,” he told Cochise. He didn’t have to specify –they had used it before. “Let’s get this party started.”

The Egyptian dragged the compressor out of the way and faded into the shadows again.

Clint walked around in front of Ryder. The man’s head hung down, chin against his chest, eyes heavy and bleary and leaking a steady stream of tears. Bloody drool dripped from his lips. Clint smacked his cheek with an open palm to make him focus. “You’re going to want to watch this.” He smiled coldly. “Then we’ll see if not getting to fuck my boy is your
only
regret from that night.”

♦

The Chair
–upon first glance –didn’t look much different than the chairs he and Tucker had been strapped to for two days; heavy wood frame with a solid back and strong, wide-set legs. The Arab carried the chair over near the other chairs, out of Ryder’s line of sight, and set it down.

The cowboy stooped over Tucker and used the knife to cut away his shredded clothes until he lay naked on the cold, wet floor. “Come on, Tuck,” the man spoke low, a deadness to his voice. “Up and at ‘em, we’re not done with you yet.”

Ryder tried to see what was happening but the slightest movement caused his body to scream. His legs shook as he attempted to support his body weight on his toes to prevent added pressure on his raw wrists, but the concentrated attention of the pressure washer on his ass and groin had practically immobilized him from the waist down.

His consciousness fluctuated as he became vaguely aware of the cowboy hauling Tucker to his feet. Tucker cried out weakly and tried to plead with his tormentors, warranting him what sounded like solid body punches before he was dropped into the chair.

A bag unzipped and metal or iron objects clanked together as someone rummaged in the bag.

Footsteps led back to the chair and apparently Tucker was at full awareness now because he began to screech in horror at his intended fate. It was a chilling sound that froze Ryder’s blood. A sudden trickle of warm wetness ran down his inner thigh, stinging his raw flesh, and the strong odor of urine mingled with the scent of his own blood. Pissing himself was hardly of concern right now, but rather –what the
fuck
were they doing to Tucker?

“No!
No!”
Tucker screamed and struggled –then more fists to flesh. This time in the mouth, Ryder guessed, as Tucker’s words seemed to be knocked out of him. He continued to cry and whimper in panic. “It-it wasn’t us…it wasn’t our idea…we were
hired to grab him.”

His words went ignored. The cowboy walked over to Ryder and twisted him around so he was facing the “activity”. The Arab was securing Tucker’s ankles to the chair legs, which were spaced just wide enough to spread open Tucker’s thighs. The seat of the chair was gone, leaving a hole in the center…which caused Tucker’s cock and balls to hang loosely beneath him. A deep, swelling nausea coiled Ryder’s guts.

“These…” the cowboy raised the tool he was holding; long handled with short curving blades at the end. “…Are what we call on the farm –lopping sheers.” He pulled the handles apart, opening the small blades, then snapped it closed again. “We used them to prune fruit trees…and occasionally for castration in steering season.”

Horror and panic exploded through Ryder and his wide eyes jumped to Tucker, now strapped securely to “the chair”.

No…no…no fucking way!

The cowboy tapped Ryder’s jaw with the sheers, snapping him back to full attention. “Any other…
regrets
…cropping up from the night you meant to put your cock in my boy?” He scraped the tip of the closed blades down the center of Ryder’s chest and stomach to his raw and bleeding cock.

Ryder’s breath surged hard and fast, his chest heaving and hitching. “Yes…” he choked, gasping for air that labored to flow through his constricted throat. His eyes filled and drained over.

“Good to know,” the cowboy murmured. He snapped the sheers just inches from Ryder’s cock and Ryder yelped in terror, his body instinctively jerking back. The cowboy smiled. “It’s not going to save you, but even so…it’s good to know.”

Ryder’s whole body shook as the cowboy walked back over and handed the sheers to the Arab who knelt before the chair and Tucker.

His head whipping back and forth, Tucker cried,” No…no…no…please, God, no…I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please don’t…oh God…
I’m sorry!
”

The cowboy slid his fingers through Tucker’s wet hair and stroked gently. “No, Tuck,” he murmured softly. “No, you’re not
sorry
.”

“Yes!” Tucker cried. “Yes…I am! Oh fuck…I’m sorry-I’m sorry -
I’m sorry!
”

“You’re
scared
, Tucker.” The cowboy continued to comb his fingers through his hair. “Not
sorry
.” He leaned down close to his ear. “And you’re right to be scared.” His fingers curled, gripping drenched strands. “Because you see…I’m a selfish motherfucker and I…don’t…share what is mine.
Understand?
” His face tightened and he head-butted Tucker in the temple, releasing his hair.

Tucker’s head lolled to the side but he remained conscious. “I…I understand…” he choked on hard, broken sobs. “I-I won’t…I won’t ever…”

“No,” the cowboy muttered in that dead tone. “You
won’t
.”

The Arab yanked open the sheers and thrust them beneath the chair. Ryder jerked his head away and squeezed his eyes shut as Tucker’s screams exploded throughout the cold, brick room, ricocheting flatly off the thick, solid walls.

♦

“Let’s have a chat.” Clint unfastened Ryder’s wrists and the man collapsed to the floor, his eyes squeezed shut, refusing to witness the carnage. Grabbing his arm, Clint lifted him to his feet. The man staggered and nearly feel again but Clint caught him and kept him upright. The guy was shaking, his breath so quick and uneven he was at threat of hyperventilating. And it only grew worse as Clint took him to the chair.

Cochise dragged Tucker’s body from the seat and threw him on the floor. The man wasn’t dead just yet as he jerked with small convulsions, his eyes wide open and staring blankly.

When Ryder’s ass hit the chair –he lost it, exploding with panic. He tried to come up off the chair and Clint’s fist tore through his lip, knocking him back down again. Cochise was right there, cinching his wrists and ankles.

“
No!”
Ryder screamed and bucked. “You sick fucks!”

Clint punched him again then grabbed him by the hair. “The very first bastard who called me a sick fuck…” Clint whispered in his face. “Got his cock sawed off with his own fucking pocketknife.” He produced a small, handheld tool. “You see this? It’s called a hoof knife. Used for trimming horse hooves.” He touched the curved blade to Ryder’s cheek. “Got to keep them damn sharp. Some of those horses have fucking hard hooves. Also good for separating a man from his cock.” He withdrew the tool. “For now, though, you get to keep your cock while we have us a talk.”

We were hired to grab him
.

Few men spewed lies at the very end. So what the
fuck
had Tucker meant? A chill settled into Clint’s heart at the implication. Were they somehow associated with Axel’s brother Wade? Had that motherfucker somehow orchestrated Axel’s assault from behind bars?

Whatever the case –Axel is safe. Cory had his back.
Wade Anders and his cronies would be dealt with soon enough.

Tucker began to shake violently, going into severe shock. Clint tugged out the Beretta and stepped over to the fallen man. “I’ll see you again,” he said and aimed the weapon at Tucker. “In hell.” Clint squeezed the trigger. Tucker’s head jerked and smacked the concrete, and his body went still.

Clint turned on his heel and looked at Ryder, gun in hand. Ryder shook, face streaked with tears and blood, terror in his eyes. Clint felt nothing –but the need to make him suffer even more than Tucker.

“Don’t worry,” Clint told him. “You don’t get a bullet. Nothing so quick, clean and easy.” He put away the gun and leaned down, gripping the back of the chair. “You’re gonna tell me just what the fuck your buddy was talking about. Who the fuck hired you?”

Ryder didn’t answer, his eyes wide and empty and locked on Tucker’s mutilated, dead body.

“You’re going to suffer either way,” Clint said. “But whether I leave you to die an agonizingly slow death or put a bullet in you…is dependent on whether or not you open that fucking trap of yours and tell me the name of the motherfucker who hired you.”

Ryder shifted his stare from Tucker and blinked. “I-I…I don’t know his name,” he trembled, voice thick.

“Are you sure that’s the story you want to go with?” Clint glanced at Cochise and the Egyptian picked up the sheers.

Ryder jerked back, chest heaving. “It…it’s the
truth.
I swear! He…he didn’t tell us his name. I swear to God…”

“You swear to
God?
” Clint murmured. “That’s supposed to mean something? Fuckers like you aren’t any more honest with God than you are your fellow man.” Ryder continued to shake uncontrollably, his bulging eyes on Cochise. Clearing his throat, Clint straightened up. “If you hope to get a bullet, you’d better give me something more than a fucking
I don’t know
.” Clint walked around behind the chair, gripped the back again and leaned on his hands. “What did he look like? The fine details.”

“I…” Ryder hesitated then choked out. “I don’t know. We didn’t meet him face to face. He called me. Said he would pay us twenty large to whack a guy.”

“Twenty thousand.” Clint sighed and nodded slowly. “Bet to a small time punk like you, that seemed like a pretty sweet deal. Take out one random guy. Who would even notice him gone, right?” Ryder trembled with a rush of sobs. Clint dipped his head lower. “
I
would notice, that’s who.” He withdrew a bit but held onto the chair. “Tell me everything he said.” There was a moment of hesitation in which Ryder watched Cochise. Clint kneed the back of the chair hard enough to jolt the man. “
Talk
, fucker.”

Unease tightened Clint’s chest; twenty thousand dollars? This wasn’t set up by Axel’s brother.

Ryder swallowed hard. “He…he said he would pay a third up front, and the rest when the job was done. He told us there would be a photo and instructions included with the first payment –who we were supposed to grab, where to find him and…and so on.”

“How did you get the money and instructions?”

“We were sent to a random location to pick it up. We didn’t see anyone, I swear. It-it was just waiting for us where he said it would be.”

Clint squeezed the back of the chair, his face like stone. He forced his heart rate to remain calm as fear tried to burrow in. “What did the instructions say?”

“We were given the route that he would be walking home, and the approximate time to expect him.”

Furrows cut across Clint’s brow. Axel had been late getting home from work that evening. If someone had been watching him to figure out his schedule…wouldn’t Ryder and Tucker have been given an earlier time to encounter him?
It would have also been daylight.

Axel had been late because of an out of the way delivery. Had that been setup as well? To ensure Axel would be walking home after dark? A deeper anxiety began to permeate Clint’s heart and mind –and he felt the sudden, urgent need to be with Axel now. He was with Dane and Angel, he was safe, but even so…Clint needed him in his arms, feel his warm breath on his face –see with his own eyes that he was all right.

But he wasn’t done here.

“What exactly did your mystery employer tell you to do to the kid?” Clint fought to keep his voice even when he was practically shaking with rage, his fingers clenching the back of the seat –to keep from clutching the motherfucker’s throat.

Ryder was well aware of the danger his answer posed and his breath burst out ragged and cracked. “He said to…take him out.” He shuddered hard. “Snuff him.”

Drawing a deep breath, Clint released it through tight lips and a clenched jaw. “Did he say how to do it?”

“No,” Ryder whispered.

“So let me see if I got this straight,” Clint shifted his hands from the chair to Ryder’s shoulders, and began to squeeze. “It was
your
original idea…” his fingers dug into the man’s slick flesh, causing him to whimper and try to cringe away. But there was nowhere to go. “…To
rape
the kid? You came up with that all on your own?”

Ryder cried out as Clint bore down with his grip.

“
Answer me,”
Clint growled, his chest rumbling. “You were going to rape him
for the fun of it?”

A wrenching wail twisted up Ryder’s throat. “Yes!” he choked, starting to gag as Clint’s fingers began to curl around his throat.

“Is that all there is to tell?” Clint demanded, low and cold. His hands remained on the man’s throat as he battled the need to rip his fucking head off.

Ryder nodded, coughing hard as Clint compressed his windpipe.

“All right then,” Clint muttered tightly and slowly withdrew his hands. He walked over to Cochise’s bag of
toys
and rummaged inside, found his toy of choice and returned to Ryder. He leisurely concealed the item behind his back and stood before the man.

Cochise rose to his feet and stepped to the side, bloody sheers in hand. Ryder’s wide, watery stare followed him, rivulets coursing down his face.

“Which hand did you touch him with?” Clint asked.