Junkie/Jagger Bonus Scene

Jag confronts the old Boss

 

I glanced down at the spray of arterial blood covering my shirt and clenched my hands around my knives. Getting dirty was part of the job. The blood never bothered me. I couldn’t allow it to. It was all part of the job. My pulse was racing from the thrilling rush of killing my coworkers, Ducky and Eight Ball, the two brainless thugs hired to guard the innermost sanctum of our boss, Ricardo “The Wolf” Ochoa.

The door to his private suite stood in front of me. For a few seconds, I stood there and breathed in and out a few times to gather my wits and focus on the mission. My mission. The only thing I’ve cared about for six months.

Get inside, kill Ochoa, and get my sister the fuck out of here.

Unknowingly, I’d spent the last five years working up to this very moment. As a teenager, I began working for Ochoa as a street runner, never in a million years expecting to end up here, in his house, waiting to kill my boss. When I joined the organization, it was simply an easy way for a kid to earn decent money. I had to keep a roof over my little sister’s head and food on the table. It didn’t take long to prove my worth and get promoted to a dealer, then an area head, consistently showing my loyalty to Ochoa. And I was loyal, all the way up to the day Ochoa gave me a reason not to be, a motivation other than money to rise through the ranks of his ruthless organization to get close to him.

Rose.

The day Ochoa decided my little sister would make the perfect sex slave to fulfill his desires, to use and abuse at his whims, he signed his death warrant.

Ever since the Boss brought Rose into this sick world, I did everything I could to earn Ochoa’s trust. Kill, torture, maim… I became his enforcer. His cleanup man. Six months of doing the dirty work for the disgusting prick, all while imagining literally hundreds of different ways to make him scream and beg for death.

Today, I would finally get the satisfaction of extracting my revenge, one slow, deep slice of my blade at a time. Behind this door was where Ochoa kept Rose. No one was allowed into the Boss’s private quarters. No one knew what happened in there. Tonight, everything was going to change.

I reached for the knob and turned. I smiled. Ochoa’s ego was so huge this was exactly what I was counting on. The door was unlocked.

Stupid, irresponsible motherfucker.

His pride would be his downfall. His sense of immortality, of being untouchable, would put him in his grave. Ochoa should have known by now, in this line of work, no one was untouchable. Stupid fucking idiot never vetted me when I became his enforcer. Never asked questions. Never found out that Rose was my sister. He assumed my loyalty as a dealer ensured my loyalty at his side. If he had bothered digging around before bringing me so close, I’d have been dead the minute one of his dealers brought Rose to Ochoa to serve as his plaything.

Using the back of my sleeve, I wiped the blood out of my eyes and exchanged one of my blades for the gun I kept tucked in the back of my waistband. With a deep breath, I held the up gun and went inside.

The first room was a sitting area, two couches and a couple chairs arranged around a stone fireplace, a fancy bar set up against one wall. It was empty. I glanced around, cocking my head to listen. Silence. I crossed the space like a ghost, stopping at an open arch leading to the next room, peeking around the corner. Ochoa’s office. Also empty.

There was a closed door on the opposite side of the room, behind an enormous, elaborately carved desk. Like a reaper out for death, I silently circled the desk and paused. Muffled sounds came from the other side of the door. I heard crying, a woman crying, and a man speaking in harsh tones. I couldn’t make out his words, but the intermittent sounds of something striking flesh were unmistakable.

My fingers were wrapped so tight around the weapons my knuckles ached. For the first time in years, I felt genuine fear. It landed in my stomach like a two-ton anvil, twisting my insides. My sister screamed and rage overtook fear, flooding my veins with white-hot fury. My vision turned a hazy shade of red. Jaw clenched, every muscle pulled taut, I opened the door slowly and slipped inside, not making a single sound.

What I saw rendered me speechless, slamming into my gut like a bowling ball. I was inside a bedroom. An enormous bedroom with the biggest bed I’d ever seen, but the bed wasn’t what had me frozen in place while my entire world fractured, my mind splintering into irreparable pieces. Strewn throughout the room were several implements of torture. Wood and leather benches outfitted with cuffs and chains, a dozen different whips and floggers hanging from hooks on the walls.

This was so much worse than I ever imagined. Ochoa was going to pay for this, for locking my sister in this room and beating her for his perverted pleasure. They were on the other side of the bed, where I couldn’t get a good shot.

I could, however, see what the sick fuck was doing to her. Bile rose in my throat and sweat broke out on my forehead. I had to swallow several times to keep from throwing up. My Rose was naked, chained to the ceiling by her wrists, dangling like a piece of meat, her toes barely touching the ground. Rose’s entire back was spotted with bruises, both new and old. Ochoa, the soon to be slowly dismembered dead man, wielded a long thin cane or whip, and was striking Rose’s back, buttocks, and thighs, leaving behind red streaks of broken skin. Fresh blood was smeared all over my sister’s skin. What wasn’t black and blue was bright red.

Gun raised, I aimed it at Ochoa’s midsection. No way did this fucker deserve the quick, honorable death of a head or chest shot.

“Ochoa!” I shouted.

The man dropped the cane and pushed his sweat-soaked hair out of his face. Then, the motherfucker grinned. My finger touched the trigger, but before I could pull, Ochoa grabbed Rose’s battered body and held her in front of him, using her as a shield. She didn’t flinch or react. Her head sagged, chin to chest, hair hanging around her face. I could count each and every rib of her emaciated form.

She looked nothing like the girl I remembered. Six months was all it took for the bastard to destroy everything beautiful about her.

“Ah, my loyal Boz, you are here for tu hermana, no?” Ochoa said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. How did he know about Rose? His mouth turned up in the corner and his dark eyes flashed. “You did not think I knew?” Ochoa laughed. I shifted positions, moving to get a shot, but the prick simply rotated my sister on her chains, keeping her body between us no matter which way I went.

I pressed my lips tight, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of answering. Unbidden, a growl tore from my chest causing Ochoa to laugh harder.

“You think me estupido? Boz…” My boss made a clucking sound with his tongue. “You should know me better by now.” Ochoa produced a gun and pressed it to Rose’s temple. “I’m never unprepared. I’ve been waiting for this day.”

“That makes two of us,” I snarled, shifting to the right. Ochoa spun Rose, never giving me a chance to shoot him. “I’m going to kill you,” I said, fighting to stay calm. I couldn’t save Rose if I allowed the rage to overtake me.

“I think you have a choice to make, Boz. Kill me, or save your sister. You shoot me, I shoot her.”

“You filthy fucking son of a bitch,” I said, stalking closer until I was only a few feet away. If I could get Ochoa to aim at me, Rose would live. But what would happen to her if I died? She’d still be chained here and whoever got her first would kill her or keep her.

Was there really no way out for her? At this point, all I could hope for was that I’d take Ochoa out before he could kill Rose and we’d both live.

“Maybe I am,” Ochoa said. “But this one…” His free hand wrapped around her chest to fondle her nearly non-existent breasts. “This one has been quite fun. She loves heroin, you know. It makes her do things she would never do, very dirty things.” Ochoa looked right at me and smirked. “Not that I give her a choice.”

That was it. I fucking snapped. I aimed the barrel of my gun between his eyes and fired. Blood and brain matter splattered across my face, in my eyes, mouth, ears, fucking everywhere. I scrambled to wipe the shit out of my eyes. When I finally cleared my vision, I wished I hadn’t.

Ochoa lay dead on the floor, a neat red hole between his eyes, the back of his skull and its contents covering the wall behind him. My sister. My sweet, sweet sister was hanging limp from her chains. Half of her face was missing and I had a pretty good idea where it went.

I bent over and retched, heaving over and over until I collapsed to my knees. Tears ran down my face, making rivulets through the bits of Rose clinging to my skin.

I was positive I’d never feel clean again.