Page 18 of Iced Out

Axel laughed softly. “No. I’m fully aware. Trying to resist that cowboy was futile from the start.”

“Futile for him, too,” Kane murmured.

“And Cochise. According to Clint, he had convinced himself you were the last thing he needed or wanted. When in truth…” Axel smiled and gestured at the house and yard.

“Thank God,” Kane chuckled quietly. He exhaled slowly. “We both know we have to accept these men for who they are. And to be honest…” Kane let out another breath. “I feel safer with them being who they are. Not all the threats come from their world. Tae wasn’t grabbed by a gangster with a grudge. The ones who tried to abduct Jules, Rueben, and the twins weren’t from that world, either. Those were real-world threats that everyone is vulnerable to.”

Axel nodded. “If Clint and Cochise were normal, domesticated men,” he said quietly, “they wouldn’t have gone after those ICE agents; they would’ve tried to go through legal channels to get him back. By then, it would’ve been too late. Those agents would have assaulted Tae, maybe even…”

“Because of who they are,” Kane whispered. “Tae is home safe. And scores of other kids—including Luke—have been rescued from horrific situations.”

Axel was quiet for a moment, then murmured, “Whatever Clint wants to do, I’ll support him. If re-enforcing the Sanitini family is what he needs to do to keep his family safe, then I won’t ask him not to. Me, personally? I think it’s a good idea. He wants an official alliance with the Santiago family. They’ve already spoken to Cruz.”

Kane sighed and nodded. “I’ll support their decision. Cochise and Clint are men who need to know they can keep their families safe. It’s a part of their DNA. Feeling open and vulnerable is not an option for them. And I can understand that. I want my family safe, too. I want to know that if someone comes after our kids—we have men who will go after them.”

“Maybe Cochise needs to hear that.”

“He has,” Kane whispered. “But perhaps I need to make it clearer.”

Axel smiled. “Perhaps you do.”

Brad had no fight left in him when the men dragged him—lower legs dangling uselessly and smearing blood across the concrete—to the mounted bedsprings, the coils stained with Dan’s blood and clinging bits of his cooked flesh.

The wires cutting through his wrists were clipped and unraveled from his bleeding, bruised flesh. The agony was superseded by the pain screaming through his legs and up into his groin.

His head lolled listlessly as the men pinned him against the springs and wired his wrists and ankles to the coils, spread-eagled. To Brad’s horrific dismay, he remained just conscious enough to be aware of what was happening. Though ungodly pain surged through his legs, his full focus was pulled to his groin region when someone grabbed his cock and wired the tip to the coils.

“No…” he slurred, eyes puffy and leaking tears. “… don’t… please… my family…”

Brad gagged when a hand gripped his throat and squeezed. The cowboy’s huge friend shoved his face close to Brad’s. “I don’t give a fuck about your family,” he hissed. “We’re not the good guys.” His voice turned to a snarl. “We’re not fucking heroes. The only ones that matter are mine. I’ll burn the whole fucking world to protect my own.” He leaned closer, his breath scalding Brad’s ear. “And I don’t give a fuck who I have to sacrifice.”

The man stepped back, releasing his grip on Brad’s throat. Brad coughed desperately, gasping for air, before a wave of pain shot up from his legs, making it harder to breathe. Despite his suffering, he sensed things were about to get a hell of a lot worse.

The large man, who looked like he might be from one of those towel-head countries, looked at the two spics. “Bring me the knife.”

The younger spic approached the table, picked up the item, and brought it to the man. In some indistinct corner of Brad’s mind that somehow functioned on its own, he imagined what a haul it would’ve been if he and Dan had brought in all these filthy immigrants—especially the gigantic Muslim fucker; he would have been a prize worth gloating over.

A sharp smack to the face brought Brad back to the moment. The towel-head was in his face again. “Still with us, fucker?”

Brad desperately wanted to spit in his face, but he didn’t even have enough strength to work up a good loogie, even though plenty of foamy saliva filled his mouth and dribbled down his chin.

“Fuckers like you have targeted our kids and abused them too many fucking times.” His stern face was too close, and Brad watched the muscles pop as his jaw clenched. “It stops now.” He raised the small knife and ran his thumb along the thin blade. Brad wasn’t a knife expert, but he’d been fishing enough to recognize a flaying knife.

The one they used to skin Dan’s cock.

Now it was Brad’s turn.

His head flopped to the side, and a stuttered sob broke in his throat. “No… please…” It was all he could say at this point; he had no argument they would accept.

“I told you…” the man snarled in Brad’s face. “… men who use their dicks as a weapon lose their privilege to have a dick.”

The cowboy, who had wired Brad’s cock to the springs, stepped out of the way, making room for the towel-head to take a knee before Brad. A surge of strength from an unknown source tore through Brad. He thrashed his hips and fought the wire securing his wrists. “No! No! Nooo!!” His shrill screams ricocheted off the impenetrable brick walls and fell heavily to the floor, dying in the confined space.

Grabbing more wire, the cowboy wrapped it around Brad’s waist and hips, pinning him tightly to the springs. Every movement after that sliced the thin wire into his flesh.

“Please don’t…” he whimpered, his words blubbering off his wet lips. “Please… I won’t ever hurt anyone again… I swear… I SWEAR!! PLEASE!! GOD!!”

“God don’t listen to child fuckers,” the big man muttered as he touched the tip of the razor-sharp blade to the top of Brad’s dick at the root.