Page 8 of Dark Side of the Cloth (The Righteous 1)
Dean’s father was yelling, the sound echoing off the stucco walls. Dean hated it when his father yelled. It meant he was really angry, and that meant someone was going to die. He pulled up on his window, but his father had installed new locks from the outside, so unless he was willing to take another beating for breaking the glass, he was trapped. Maybe he could hide. He wasn’t a little boy anymore, and hiding was more difficult. His eyes scanned the room and made a quick decision—he headed for the closet.
His bedroom door banged open, making him jump before he got even halfway across his floor. One of his father’s guardians appeared. His large shadow filled the doorway. He didn’t know the man’s name—he never bothered anymore. They were all the same, nameless, brainless muscle that died protecting his father or ironically died by his father’s hand.
Dean swallowed hard as he slowly backed up to the furthest corner of the room, which happened to be by his bed. His heart hammered in his chest as the man stepped further into the room. Dean’s eyes flicked to the gun in the guard’s hand and wondered if tonight was the night that his father lined him up for execution as he’d done with so many others.
“Tu padre te quiere,” the guard said.
“But he’s angry, and I don’t want to see him.” Dean moved a little further away from the guard. He had nowhere to run, but he didn’t want to get beaten again. The bruises were still dark that lined the left side of his body.
“Please don’t make me go. I won’t tell him that you did,” he begged and knew that if his father heard him, he’d be beaten within an inch of his life for sure.
The guard’s eyebrows drew down over his eyes, his jaw tight with obvious annoyance as he marched toward Dean. As the man rounded the end of the bed, Dean launched himself over the bed and ran for the door. Before he could make his daring escape, the man crashed into him from behind, and he smashed into the wall face first. Sliding down the wall, Dean landed hard on the floor, dazed, and gasping for air. He wanted to cry out as pain exploded behind his eyes. His bloody nose meant that it was probably broken, but weakness in any form would only infuriate his father further.
The guard grabbed his arm in his massive hand and squeezed hard as he was dragged to his feet. No matter how hard he tried to pull away, the iron-like fist didn’t loosen in the slightest. He knew where he was being taken. His father had a sitting room attached to his office, and this was where he spent most of his time and usually had most of his depraved fun.
As they neared the room his father was in, he looked up at the guard and tried one last time. “Please, not tonight. Let me go for just tonight, and I won’t tell him. All you have to say was that I wasn’t in my room,” he was trying for sympathy, but he should’ve known that wouldn’t work. His father handpicked the men that were around him all the time. They all had two things in common. The first was that they were loyal fuckers, and the second was that they all loved the same type of debauchery.
“Mejor Tu que yo.”
“And here I thought it was better you than me. I will remember this.”
Dean cast a dark glare up at the guard, memorizing his face in case the day ever came that he could escape. He had a list, a list of those that if they were not already dead, he’d make sure they were before he left.
The guard sneered at him as he tossed him through the wooden doors into the room. Dean stumbled, and his angry gaze lingered on the guard before he turned to look at his father. The doors closed loudly behind him, effectively sealing him in and to whatever fate his father had planned this night.
“Ah, my son.”
“Father.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest but bowed his head in submission. Better to not enrage him.
“Tonight, you become a man. Come look what I have for you.”
Dean flinched as his father wrapped his arm around his narrow shoulders. Dean had no interest in whatever his father had planned but followed him to the adjacent room that already held the lingering scent of metallic blood and fouler things. A man and a woman were on their hands and knees, bound and mouths gagged.
Dean thought he recognized the man as someone that did business with his father and the Cartels, but so many faces passed through the halls it was hard to be certain. The woman he didn’t recognize at all.
“This is your gift.” His father waved his arm toward the two people kneeling. “Well, what do you say?”
“Thank you, father.”
“That’s better. You need to learn respect. You are too much like your mother with that defiant mouth.” His hand unconsciously balled into a fist as his father dared to mention his mother.
“Well, have at it.” His father wandered over to the large wooden desk and poured himself a glass of whiskey. The bottle was already almost gone, which was also not a good sign.
“Father, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with them.” The glass slammed down on the desk sending alcohol flying. His father marched toward him, and he instinctively flinched back, then sucked in a breath to hold still as the fist came for his face. He closed his eyes a second before the blow struck. His already sore face took the powerful strike, blood flying as he crumpled to his knees. Groaning, he held the side of his face, and Dean stared across at the two strangers. His eyes locked with the man’s, and they shared a moment of understanding. Like flies in a spider’s web, they were all stuck.
“Get up!”
Dean pulled himself to his feet, his head pounded, and the room swam a little, but he knew that if he didn’t stand, the night was going to get a whole lot worse.
“This is why you need to learn your role. You should already know what is expected of you. You are going to run this cartel one day, son. I keep telling you that you should be more involved.”
Dean swallowed and tasted blood. He didn’t know what to say to make this night end faster. One thing was certain—he would never run the cartel. He would die before he was put in charge.
His father turned his large fist, sinking his fingers into the woman’s hair. She screamed through the gag as he pulled her crudely to her feet. He had a terrible feeling he knew where this was going, and his suspicions became a reality as his father bent the woman over the desk. His father snapped his fingers, and the guard that had been standing in the corner stepped forward and grabbed the rope that held the woman’s hands together.
The man on his knees tried to get up, but Dean shook his head at him, trying to tell him that was a mistake. The man didn’t take the hint, and the guard that had dragged Dean in here picked the man up like he weighed nothing, only to slam his ass down in a chair. The man struggled in the guard’s hold, but much like Dean had conceded to his fate, so did the man as the guard easily held him in place.
“Now, son, this is what you do when your father gives you a gift.” His father lifted the bottom of the woman’s dress, balling it in his hand at her waist. A tearing sound could be heard as he ripped the underwear she’d been wearing off her body. She wiggled and tried to scream again, fighting against the two powerful men.
