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Vanished in Chicago (Vanished)

Page 34

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“Where is your future wife?”

“She is upstairs taking a nap.”

“I assume you are going to handle this?”

“Of course.” She studies me for a minute before she speaks again.

“I have never seen you the way you are with her. You really love her.” I am insulted at the incredulity in her voice. Sometimes I think she sees more of Miko in me than she or I would like.

“Tak.”

“I am happy for you. She is amazing, Jakub. She will make you a worthy wife and give me beautiful grandchildren. You have to get this situation with her family fixed.” I fucking know it. It is all I think about when I am not balls deep in her pussy or having to kill people.

“Will you stay here until she wakes up?” I don’t want her to wake up alone after the day she has had.

“You got it.”

“Thanks, mama.”

I am greeted at the backdoor by Stanislaw. I know of his family history and part of the reason I believe his loyalty is to me, is that I was solely responsible for getting his sister and two nieces out of Poland and away from her abusive husband. I can tell by his stance, closed and tight, that he is pissed about what happened. “How is she?” He asks me as we walk toward the back of the property.

“Shaken.”

“What kind of vermin tries to hurt a woman?” he asks, the grit in his voice matching my own.

“The dead kind. I need information on the guy who found her. I think she told me once his name is Paul Womack.” Every time I say his name it sounds familiar to me and sparks something in my mind.

“You got it boss.” I open the barn door and everything I was feeling when we picked her up comes back to me. He is sitting in a chair, tied to it with a gag in his mouth. The gag is unnecessary since it is on my property, but he must have been begging.

“Gentlemen, we have a predator in our midst. A rodent that preys on women. A piece of garbage, that rapes women smart enough to rebuff him.” I punch him in the gut with my solid gold knuckles. “I’m curious fellas, is there a man who thinks this piece of shit is a man?”

“More like dirt.”

“A bug that needs to be squashed.”

“Something I would like to stump.” My men all sound off their distaste for this dead fuck. I punch him in the face and once again in the stomach. He tries to yell out in pain but the gag in his mouth stifles his pleas.

“You thought you would touch my woman. Take something from her that I had already claimed? Something that didn’t belong to you. You touched her with your grimy hands, infecting her skin with your filth.” Crack. I break one of his fingers and walk away to my tool table. I listen as his muffled cries make my guy’s chuckle. “Morris, cut his pants and underwear off.” He begins shaking in the chair. Luckily the chair has been cemented into the ground. My back is still to the room. I need a second. “Done boss.” Excellent. I grab the big ass tailor scissors and turn around. Immediately I begin to laugh.

“This is what you thought was going to stuff my woman's pussy and make her what…want you? You were threatening her with this three-inch piece of sewage? Fellas do you see this shit?” The room erupts in laughter as his limp dick dangles barely between his legs. “I don’t even know what to call this. Certainly, isn't a cock that would have satisfied my greedy girl. Not when she has been getting stuffed with this ten-inch monster. Maybe I should show you what she gets night and day.”

I drop my pants and grab my dick swinging it in his face. You see this, you piece of shit, this is what you could never be. But you know what, don’t worry, since you have nothing to work with anyway, why don't I just remove it from you.” Gripping his sad excuse for a dick, I take the scissors burning my hand and snip it off. I pull his gag down so I can hear his screams and let it seep into my ears, penetrating my veins and turning me into Dr. Manhattan. I hear the groans of my guys through his blubbering moans. Weak shit is passing out. Can’t have that. “Al, wake up our friend.”

Turning back to the table, I grab my eight-inch carving knife from the table in enough time to hear him scream. His cry of pain is an injection of pure bliss. Seems Al had fun and poured acid on his open wound. In my head I know we have a short amount of time before he bleeds out, but I can't resist giving it all I got. “Now, let’s talk about your sad sack of balls. I mean I use the word balls lightly. They are more like grapes; would you say guys?” I hear agreement around the room. Since you don't need those anymore either, I figured I could take some of the baggage from you.” I plant my knife in his perineal raphe and split it up the middle. His blood squirts all over me and I am like a savage who is wearing the blood of his enemy as he defeats him in battle.


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