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Chapter Twenty-five
Rayne
Rayne wasn’t expecting to see a house full of men with various weapons standing over his uncle.
“What the hell have you done, Rayne? Who are these—?”
Mike nodded to one of his guys, and he was fast to respond to the order, his ruthlessness difficult to watch. Rayne let out a startled gasp as a bald man with a flaming skull tatted on the back of his head punched his uncle square in his jaw, sending crimson blood spraying across the dingy floor. The sound of a leather-clad fist connecting with flesh made terror and exhilaration simmer in Rayne’s belly. Two other angry-looking men violently hefted his uncle off the carpet and tossed him into the recliner as Mike walked toward him.
“Don’t ever say his name again,” Mike growled with one arm still wrapped tight around Rayne’s waist. “I will kill you. Do you understand?”
His uncle nodded so fast his neck popped. Rayne shuddered at the calmness in Mike’s tone. At how easily he’d made that declaration, and Rayne could tell he’d meant every word.
“Please… I don’t want any trouble,” his uncle begged through bloody teeth, his body reeking of cheap bourbon, piss, and fear.
“You were asking for trouble, and now you’ve found it.” Mike nodded again, and his uncle was struck three more times. Rayne cringed and tucked his face into Mike’s neck at the sound of bones cracking, but he didn’t come to his uncle’s rescue. Not after all the bullshit and bullying he’d had to endure just to have a roof over his head.
“So what were you gonna do to him?” Mike asked. He released Rayne, and before he could protest, Manny and a man he didn’t recognize pulled him away and tucked him behind their large frames like two personal bodyguards.
Rayne could barely see around their bulk, but he caught a glint of something metal and shiny in Mike’s hand as he whipped it around in a circle. When he was finished, there was a long blade pressed against his uncle’s jugular. Oh shit. Was Mike really about to slash Robert’s throat like it was nothing? His uncle’s sobs became hysterical as he tried to squirm away, but too many men were holding him down.
“Please don’t. I have a wife and kids.”
“They’re better off without you,” Mike growled.
“No. I’m begging you. Please don’t!”
“I asked what you were gonna do to Rayne, you sick fuck?” Mike pressed the blade deeper into his uncle’s sweaty neck until a trickle of blood leaked down into his collar.
“Nothing. I swear.” His uncle sputtered out lie after lie. “He tried to seduce me and steal my money. I caught him robbing me. That’s who he is, it’s what he does. He—”
With lightning-fast speed and precision, Mike slashed his blade across his uncle’s cheek, making Rayne yelp, then clamp his hand over his mouth. A scream tore from Robert’s mouth as blood poured down his jaw and saturated his beard. Oh god. Rayne’s stomach rolled over.
“You’re a pervert and a liar. And I’m gonna show you what I do with perverts,” Mike scolded. He turned his head and motioned to the behemoth of a man who was standing guard at the back door. “Bring me the bitch.”
Holy shit. As much as Rayne despised the man groveling at Mike’s feet, he couldn’t watch anyone get killed—shit, not even Zelda. It wasn’t her fault she was made into a vicious weapon by her master.
Rayne made his way around Manny, but the guy they called Score was holding him back while Mike worked. “That’s enough. Please stop, okay? I don’t want this. Let’s just go, please.”
No one moved, and Robert didn’t blink as they all waited for Mike to make the call. After several tense seconds, Mike did a single head dip, and the man at the back door removed his hand from the knob. Mike squatted in front of his uncle and gripped his chin so hard it had to have jarred a couple of molars loose. “You should thank Rayne for saving you, you filthy piece of shit.” Mike stood and mashed his boot into his uncle’s throat. “I was gonna make you fuck your dog.”
“Make sure he knows how much I hate cops,” Mike told his men, then took Rayne’s hand and left out the door with Manny and two other scary gentlemen who had black handguns tucked in the front of their jeans.
Rayne covered his ears when he heard more terrified screaming and furniture breaking as they made their way to Mike’s truck.
“Manny. You, Marcus, and Score drive my son’s truck back to the trailer. Rayne’s gonna ride with me.”
“You got it, boss.”
Rayne was a jittery mess as Mike helped him into the truck and strapped his seat belt around him. Warm fingertips caressed his cheek; hands that’d just dispensed ruthless vigilante justice were now gentle and comforting. “You’re okay now,” Mike told him, and Rayne believed him.
He truly believed for the first time in his life that he was going to be okay.
Mike
Rayne’s hands were still shaking by the time Mike pulled into the driveway. It was a little after eight now, still early, but the trailer was dark when he killed the engine. Rayne wasn’t looking at him, and his breaths were shallow and unsteady. He’d just seen firsthand how cruel and savage Mike could be, but it was best he learned that now instead of later.
“Are you afraid of me?” Mike asked.
