The Psycho (The Soldiers of Anarchy 1)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Adam

Iknew the side roads in Brinton Manor like the back of my hand, and I drove as fast as I could to get us to the warehouse. We could hear banging and shouting coming from the back of the van, but after a minute or two, it died down. Tyler and Will must’ve gagged him and managed to chain him up to stop him thrashing about. I knew, despite how relaxed and carefree he looked when he went out into that smoking area, this guy was a master at worming his way out of things. He hadn’t received proper justice before, but he would now. He couldn’t trick his way out of this one.

The van started to bounce around as I pulled onto the unsteady ground around the back of our warehouse, and Colton and Devon both held onto the dashboard for support. No doubt, I’d be hearing about my shitty driving for the rest of the night from Tyler and Will in the back, but it was a hazard of the job. I wasn’t going to apologise to anyone.

Once we were parked up with the side door of the van adjacent to the entrance to the warehouse, both Colton and I opened our doors and got out of the vehicle. We stretched our legs and rolled our necks, ready to start the next phase of the job, total and utter annihilation of the fucking scum that thought he could destroy a little girl’s life and terrorise her and her family.

“I am so fucking pumped,” Colton said, jumping on the spot and rolling his shoulders like he was a fighter about to go to war. “Let’s get him out of there and get this show on the road.”

I couldn’t agree more, so I pulled the side door to the van open and found Tyler and Will standing over him. He had masking tape wound tightly around his mouth, but he was still trying to talk through it, spluttering and making a dull scream as he thrashed against the chains that were holding him in place in the van. He turned towards the open door, squinting from the sunlight behind us, and when he saw me, his eyes went wide and he kicked up his resistance a notch, jerking his legs as he tried to get away from us.

Colton leant his arm against the top of the open door to the van and with a smirk he said, “You might want to save some of that energy for later, mate. It’s not like you’re going anywhere, and with what we have planned for you, I think you’re gonna need all the energy you can get.”

Karl just panted out his breaths through the space Will and Tyler had very kindly left for him to breathe through when they shut him up. With each laboured breath, snot began to pour from his nose, creating bubbles to form where he was snorting out his disgust. He glared at Colton like he was giving him a warning for daring to speak to him like that, and Colton threw back his head and laughed.

“If looks could kill, hey?” Colton sang, then he sighed with fake sadness. “But they don’t.” He tapped his finger on his bottom lip and pretended to look thoughtful. “But you know what does kill? Us! So buckle up, Ches. You’re in for a bumpy ride.”

Tyler and Will both grinned and yanked the handcuffs chaining him up off his wrists, and then, with each one taking an arm, they hauled him up and dragged him out of the van and into the warehouse.

I was the last one in, and I shut the old metal door, twisting the locks to make sure we weren’t disturbed. Tyler and Will were busy getting Cheslin strapped into the chair. They started with the legs, but surprisingly, he didn’t put up much of a fight. But when they cut the cable ties from his wrists, he lashed out, making a feeble attempt to try and grab his freedom. It was pointless. Within seconds they both had him restrained. There was no getting out of that chair once you were locked in, not until we’d finished with you.

Tyler moved over to the video equipment to make sure it was all set up, and I walked slowly down the middle of the room, my eyes fixed on the dirty fucker that was panting out his putrid breath, his eyes going from desperate and pleading to fury and vengeance.

“Welcome to your final game of consequences, Mr Cheslin,” I said, my voice sounding muffled through the material of the bandana. I cocked my head to the side and took another step closer. “Did you think we’d just walk away? Did you think you could end the game yourself?” I tutted and shook my head. “Wrong. We decide when it’s game over, and this is your final task.”

I squatted down in front of him, staring right into his eyes as I reminded him of his crimes before delivering his sentence.

“We’re here to bring justice. A justice you’ve avoided for far too long, just like the fucking rat you are. But not anymore, Karl. That ends today.”

I took out the photograph of the little girl that Michael Felton had emailed to us from my back pocket. The one he wanted us to show Karl and taunt him with. And I held it up to his face, forcing him to look at it.

His eyes went wide, and he started shaking his head and crying out a muffled, ‘No,’ as he made one last attempt to save himself. They always did when they got to this stage. Funny, they didn’t show any mercy to the victims they’d hurt when they were the ones in control, and I told him that exact thing.

“See that, right there?” I pointed at him. “That look of fear in your eyes, is that what she looked like, that little girl you stole from the streets and violated? That same girl you taunted for months and months from your shitty little prison cell?”

He was sobbing now. A pathetic mess of a man. Fucking spineless.

“Well, guess what? That camera set up behind me?” I pointed over my shoulder to the stand holding the equipment that was ready to capture his demise in every glorious detail. “That’s gonna record every second of your final hours, and it will be hours; long, painful, drawn-out hours. Your days of terrorising little girls are over. You’re about to face justice, soldier style. And when it’s over, we’ll show that family what we’ve done to you, so they can have some kind of peace knowing that you were sent to hell in the worst way possible. There’s no place for a rapist, trafficking low-life like you in Brinton. We are doing the world a favour by taking you out.”

I stood up and turned to address the others.

“Have you all chosen your weapons? I hope you’ve left me something good.”

Tyler held up a pair of wire cutters, Will a machete, Colton held a barbed-wire covered baseball bat in the air and whooped, and Devon stared at his Katana sword like it was his first born.

“Time for me to choose.” I walked over to the table, pulling my hoody off and then ripping off the bandana. We had black ski masks laid out on the table, and I took one and put it on. Bandanas were fine, but when you were really in the zone, ski masks were better, they didn’t slip.

The others followed suit, masking up, and then we turned back to Karl Cheslin who sat whimpering in the chair as he hung his head in defeat and squeezed his eyes shut tightly, so he couldn’t see what tools we were about to use on him.

“Too scared to face us?” I shouted across the warehouse. “Too fucking scared to open your eyes and see what we have for you?”

He didn’t bite, just kept his eyes closed and shook his head as he moaned and gave a few feeble attempts to yank on his restraints.

I walked over to him and leant down into his face.

“Just so you know,” I whispered. “I chose the scalpel. It’s one of my favourites. Very… precise.” And I ran the blade down his cheek, flames of satisfaction burning through me as he cried out and jerked away. I’d drawn the first drop of blood, but there’d be more where that came from.

“We need music,” Colton announced, flinging his arms to the side dramatically. “I think an event of this magnitude calls for something epic.”

We had a sound system set up in the warehouse to help focus and channel our energies. Some songs seemed to lend themselves to moments like this. But when the sound of Dizzee Rascal’s Bonkers came on, I snapped.

“No. Not a fucking chance. Turn it off.” I stalked over to Colton, and he laughed.

“Have you got any better suggestions? I mean, we are fucking bonkers. I thought the lyrics might be ironic.”

“I don’t want irony. I want emotion. Pain. Pure fucking agony.” I flicked through the playlist and found just what I was looking for.

Linkin Park’s Papercut.

I turned up the volume for maximum effect, and as the song started playing, you could feel the venom working its way through our bodies. Like a drug injected into our veins, it crawled and consumed us all.

All five of us moved to stand around Karl Cheslin, singing the words to the song as we stared at him. We were wired and ready to create fucking mayhem and he was our canvas. Our muse for the masterpiece we were about to produce using his flesh, blood, and bones.

He looked at each of us in turn with a pathetic plea in his eyes, but once the chorus hit and that crescendo of notes mixed with the voice that was the master, Chester Bennington, penetrated through the air, Colton swung his baseball bat and smacked it right into the back of Karl’s head.

The fucker slumped forward in his seat, but we weren’t letting him get away with anything. He wouldn’t be allowed to pass out. We had buckets of water ready and other, less humane, methods of rousing him back into a lucid state on hand.

I stalked forward and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head up. Then when the words of the song talked about the face that we all had inside of us, being right beneath our skin, I took my scalpel and ran it along his hairline, pushing in deep and laughing when I saw the blood trickle down his face and into his eyes. He wouldn’t look at me. Instead, he gritted his teeth and hissed as I dug my scalpel in harder, wanting him to feel every second of pain, every slice of the blade. The rush of adrenaline was truly hedonistic and I savoured every cry and scream. I was in the zone and nothing could stop me now.

Will stepped up beside me, and I moved to let him swing his machete into the fucker’s legs, slicing his thighs through his blue jeans and turning them a deep purple from the blood that was soaking through the thick fabric. Two or three strokes of the blade and the filthy bastard looked like he was about to cave, so I picked up a bucket of water to douse him in reality. There would be no escape for him. Not yet.

I didn’t mind sharing a kill with my soldiers, but this one felt personal, so I threw the scalpel down and pulled my knife out. Then I moved to stand behind Cheslin, grabbing his face and pulling it back so I could gouge the tip of my knife into his eyes, his cheeks, anywhere to inflict maximum pain. When his screams intensified, I ripped off the tape covering his mouth and then angled my blade in between his lips, pushing against the soft flesh of his face, cutting into his cheeks and right up to his fucking ears, giving him a Chelsea smile that’d make The Joker envious.

We made sure we gave Cheslin our five-star treatment. Tyler stood in front of him with his wire cutters ready and a shit-eating grin on his face. Like the seasoned pro he was, he held Cheslin’s hand still and clamped the cutter down hard onto his finger, grunting as he used every ounce of power within him to cut it clean off. The crunch as the bone connected with the metal and then broke off was pure satisfaction.

Sitting in the chair, covered in blood and stinking of shit, Cheslin gasped for breath as he writhed and moaned in agony. That made me laugh even more because we hadn’t even started yet. Once Devon got his hands on him, he’d wish the wire cutters were the worst of it.

Songs on the playlist changed. Our torrent of torture continued. And all the time, Cheslin fought the will to give in.

We took breaks to recharge, and we found new ways to utilise our tools. Tyler switched his wire cutters to pliers, and we all stood back and watched the duo that was Tyler and Devon go to work. Tyler clamped the pliers onto one of the nails on Cheslin’s hand and then held onto the handle tightly as he ripped it backwards, yanking Cheslin’s nail out as the fucker screamed and thrashed. Once Tyler had pulled it out, he threw it to the ground and let Devon step up in his place.

Devon smiled to himself and stood over Cheslin, whispering, “You’ve got no use for this now, have you?” And then lifted his sword up into the air and brought it down onto Cheslin’s wrist, taking his hand clean off. Now, that was the kind of irony I loved.

At this stage, Cheslin was so out of it, he was drifting in and out of consciousness. We’d done a pretty fucking good job of making him suffer, and the video had caught every single satisfying second.

“Time to wrap this up,” I announced, walking over to the table and taking hold of the axe that I’d been saving for this moment. Then I strolled back over to the chair that held the pathetic piece of shit, Cheslin. He was still wheezing and clinging onto this world, but it was his time to go. Time to meet his maker, the devil himself.

I didn’t waste time with bullshit speeches, I wanted this over with. So, I stood behind his snivelling, rotten carcass and lifted the axe high up in the air, bringing it down into the middle of his skull with so much force that the handle snapped off.

“Oh shit,” Colton laughed. “Looks like we need to go shopping for a new axe.”

The axe blade was imbedded into his skull and I walked around to the front of the chair, feeling pride ripple through me that I’d done this to him, that we’d all done this to him. I bent down to get a better look at his face, a mangled mess of flesh and blood, and I smiled.

“Game over,” I whispered over his corpse. “I hope you rot in hell.”

I glanced up at the rest of the soldiers that stood around me, and when I saw Devon’s face looking disappointed, I realised that I might’ve fucked up slightly. I had promised him the next kill, but it was too bad. I’d wanted this one, and I needed to see it through to the end. He knew better than anyone that my kill switch was broken.

“Sorry, Devon,” I shrugged, not really feeling sorry at all. “If you want to play with the corpse, be my guest.” I grinned and moved to the side. It was only fair that I let him create his masterpiece, after taking the kill myself.

Devon nodded and then approached the chair. He took a few deep breaths as he pumped his hand on the handle of his katana sword and said in a low, menacing voice, “I have a sister the same age as the girl you hurt. You deserved every single thing that happened to you today.” And then he stood to the side, held the sword firmly in both hands and swung hard through the air, slicing through Cheslin’s neck and cutting his head off.

“Holy fucking shit!” Colton shouted and we all stood and watched Devon as he took more deep breaths and a slow smile crept over his face. Finally, he’d gotten what he wanted.

He looked at his sword and then at all of us. “You know, a katana sword can cut a man in half.” He glanced back at the body of Cheslin’s carcass still restrained in the chair. “I did think about it, but I didn’t want to damage the chair.”

“Oh my fucking God, you are priceless.” Colton laughed. “Can I have the katana sword next time?”

“Not unless you practice. It could be very dangerous in the wrong hands,” Devon said, his facial expression blank, showing that he was totally serious.

“In the wrong hands,” Colton quipped, thinking Devon was hysterical. “Like either one of us have the right hands. We’re fucking maniacs.”

“I think we need to get cleaned up and get Gaz and his crew out here to sort this,” I said, grabbing a towel to wipe myself down.

From behind me, I heard a thud and turned to see Devon pulling Cheslin’s body out of the seat where it sat and onto the floor.

“Changed your mind about cutting him in half?” Will joked as Devon stood over the body on the floor, his eyes wide as he used the tip of the sword to lift Cheslin’s T-shirt.

“Or he wants to get a sneaky peak at his nipples,” Colton whispered under his breath.

But when Devon started to pant out the words, “No. No. No.” We all stopped what we were doing to look at him.

He lifted his head and swallowed before he spoke the next words that would send us into a spiral of utter chaos.

“I think we got the wrong guy.”

The blood rushed to my ears, blaring a siren through my brain that made me feel like I was about to explode right where I stood.

What the fuck was he on about?

We all stalked across the room to join Devon, looking down at the body that he was staring at.

“We didn’t get the wrong guy. That’s Karl Cheslin. I saw his photo. I saw him outside that fucking pub. It was him,” Tyler stated, gritting his teeth in anger.

“If that’s the case, then where is his tattoo?” Devon pointed his sword at the torso again, and Colton knelt down, yanking the T-shirt up so we could all get a better look.

“Maybe Jake Colt lied to us when he said he’d tattooed him in prison?” Colton said, looking back up at us all.

“No.” I shook my head, adamant that wasn’t the case. I couldn’t work out what was going on, but I didn’t believe for a second that Jake Colt would lie to me. “There must be some other explanation. Colt wouldn’t do that.”

Tyler reached into the pocket of jeans and pulled out what I assumed was Karl Cheslin’s wallet. He lifted a bank card out and then, as he read the name on the front, he held his hand over his mouth and said, “No fucking way.”

He opened the main compartment of the wallet, pulling out notes, and then he pulled out a photograph and his face went pale.

“This isn’t Karl Cheslin,” he said, nodding to the body. “This is Paul Cheslin.” He turned the photograph around so we could see the two men in the picture. “His twin brother.”