I pushed open the creaky motel door, stepping into a dimly lit lobby reeking of stale cigarettes and desperation. The air was heavy with the scent of decay, and the flickering fluorescent lights above cast an eerie glow on the worn linoleum floor. The clerk, a hollow-eyed man with a scruffy beard and sunken cheeks, looked up from his newspaper, his gaze barely registering my presence.
"Room, please," I said, my voice firm and authoritative, my eyes scanning the area to ensure I wasn't walking into a trap. The clerk nodded listlessly, handing me a key from the row of hooks behind him.
"Room 217. That'll be $50," he drawled, his voice devoid of enthusiasm.
I paid, taking the key and shoving it into my pocket. The plan was never to occupy the room. It was a ruse, a disguise to blend in and gather information without arousing suspicion. My real target was Frankie, and I knew he was just a door away.
I walked down the corridor, my footsteps echoing off the thin walls. The sound seemed to amplify in the deserted hallway, making me feel like an intruder in a place where secrets lurked around every corner. I stopped outside Frankie's room, listening intently.
Muffled laughter and groans seeped through the door, mingling with the creaks and groans of the old motel. I recognized Frankie's voice, and my grip on the gun in my pocket tightened.
I pulled out my gun, the metal cool against my palm. It was a reassuring weight, a reminder of the power I held. Covering my face with my shirt to conceal my identity, I swiftly kicked in the door.
Frankie and the prostitute froze, caught off guard. They were entwined on the bed, their clothes scattered across the floor. The prostitute's eyes widened in terror as she took in the scene.
I lunged, gun pressed to Frankie's temple. My movements were swift and precise, calculated to maximize fear.
"Don't move," I growled, my voice low and menacing.
Frankie trembled, his eyes darting wildly.
The prostitute screamed, her voice piercing the air.
"Shut up!" I yelled.
She silenced, her eyes fixed on me.
"Where's Drew?" I demanded.
Frankie's eyes darted to the prostitute, then back to me.
"I-I don't know," he stuttered.
I dug the gun deeper into his temple.
"Tell me!"
Frankie gasped.
"H-he's with Vinnie...at the warehouse...please!"
I yanked Frankie up.
"Get dressed. We're going."
The prostitute whimpered.
"Stay quiet," I warned.
As Frankie stumbled into his clothes, I kept the gun trained on him. My mind was racing with possibilities, but one thing was clear: I had to find Drew.
We left the motel, bound for the warehouse.
As we arrived at the warehouse, I knew I had to silence Frankie permanently. His knowledge of my involvement would put me at risk, and I couldn't afford to leave loose ends. With a swift motion, I struck Frankie's temple with the butt of my gun, rendering him unconscious. His body crumpled to the ground, a temporary obstacle eliminated.
Next, I turned my focus to the warehouse. I approached cautiously, scanning the perimeter for potential guards or surveillance cameras. The building's crumbling facade seemed to blend seamlessly into the surrounding industrial landscape, a nondescript hub for illicit activities.
I slipped inside, my footsteps masked by the creaking of old wooden beams. The air was thick with the stench of decay and stale smoke. My eyes adjusted slowly to the dim lighting, revealing two figures huddled in the corner.
Vinnie and Drew were engrossed in their task, oblivious to my presence. They worked with practiced efficiency, packing leftover drugs into duffel bags. I noticed Drew's hands moving with a nervous urgency, as if he knew the risks of stealing from his employer.
My anger simmered, fueled by the knowledge that Drew had betrayed me. Yet, I needed him alive, needed the information he possessed. Memories of our past flooded my mind, but I pushed them aside, focusing on the task at hand.
I crept closer, gun at the ready. Vinnie's laughter echoed through the warehouse, followed by Drew's nervous chuckle. They were too distracted to notice me.
With calculated precision, I struck. I aimed at Vinnie's back, my gun firing a single shot. The sound echoed through the warehouse, a deafening crash that left Drew spinning wildly.
Vinnie's body slumped forward, lifeless. A faint smell of gunpowder hung in the air.
Drew's eyes locked onto mine, shock and fear warring for dominance. His face contorted, a mixture of guilt and desperation.
"Please, don't kill me," he begged.
I aimed my gun at his forehead.
"Where's the Kingpin?" I demanded.
Drew's words spilled out in a frantic rush.
"He's at the docks...the old cargo ship...but you'll never get out alive! He has men everywhere."
I smiled grimly.
"We'll see about that."
Drew's eyes darted wildly.
"You don't understand...he'll stop at nothing."
I leaned in.
"I'm willing to take that risk."
I dragged Drew and Frankie, still unconscious, back to my home, a place where secrets would be uncovered and justice would be served. The darkness seemed to swallow us whole as we entered the abandoned house, its walls bearing witness to the horrors that had driven me to this point. The air inside was stale, heavy with the scent of decay and forgotten memories. I had prepared this place carefully, ensuring that every detail would contribute to the terror that would soon unfold.
With calculated precision, I chained them to chairs, securing their wrists and ankles. The sound of rattling chains echoed through the room, a haunting reminder of their predicament. I made sure the chains were tight, leaving no room for escape. As I worked, my mind replayed the events that had led me here – the murder of my family, the betrayal, the endless nights spent planning revenge.
Next, I poured cold water on Frankie's face, rousing him from his unconsciousness. His eyes fluttered open, confusion and fear etched on his face. He blinked rapidly, taking in his surroundings. Drew's eyes were already wide with terror, his mind racing with the implications. They exchanged a panicked glance, their faces pale.
And then, they saw me. Their gazes locked onto my face, shock and terror registering simultaneously. "It can't be," Drew stammered, his voice barely audible. Frankie's voice trembled, "You're...you're dead." I smiled, a cold, calculated grin spreading across my face.
"Merry Christmas, boys," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Their confusion deepened, evident in their furrowed brows. "What do you mean?" Drew asked, his voice laced with fear. "It's the season of joy, isn't it?" I continued, my tone mocking. "A time for family, love...and revenge." Frankie's eyes darted wildly, searching for an escape. "You're insane," he spat.
I chuckled, the sound echoing through the room. "You have no idea," I said, my eyes glinting with determination. Drew's face contorted, his mind reeling. "How did you...?" he began. I leaned in, my voice taking on a sinister tone. "Survive? That's the best part. You see, I've been planning this for a long time." Their faces paled further.
Their eyes locked onto mine, horror and despair reflected back. "You'll never take us alive," Drew sneered, attempting to hide his fear. I laughed, the sound sending shivers down their spines. "Oh, but I already have," I said, gesturing to their chains. The silence hung heavy, punctuated only by their ragged breathing.
"You'll pay for this," Frankie threatened, but his voice lacked conviction. I shrugged. "I'm already paying. Every day without my family is payment enough." Their struggles intensified, but the chains held firm. "We'll never tell you anything," Drew spat.
I leaned forward, my eyes blazing with intensity. "We'll see about that." My words hung in the air, a promise of the torment to come. Their faces fell.