Author's Note: All characters in this story are eighteen or older.
*****
The motel room was small and dirty and smelled like perfume if you mixed it in with a little bleach, but Tommy didn't mind since he and his clan were only staying there for a few more minutes. We're gonna have fun tonight, he thought, and looked around at his people. There were only four with him tonight. Dustin, Hunter, Max, and Trista. The others were back at the hideout. They better not be going through my whores, he thought. If there was one thing Tommy liked about his hideout, it would be the dungeon he'd built underneath it. It was bigger, darker, and wetter than the rest of the place, and it had several cells where he collected women he deemed fit enough to use again and again and again.
He had told his clan they were not allowed to go in there for any reason, but, even though they worshipped him like a god and swore that they would obey his every word, he couldn't help think that they were going to break his rule tonight and it made him feel uneasy. I swear, he thought. Let me catch them in there. It'll be the last thing that they do. He grabbed his glock and loaded an empty magazine into the chamber, then cocked it. They fucking better not.
Trista, who had walked over to his side at some point, said, "Canine, you know there are no bullets in there, right?"
"What?" he said.
"The mag. You didn't put any bullets in it."
"Oh," he said. "Turning the gun over in his hand. "I know." He pointed it at her. "It's all about intimidation, Bunny Rabbit. They think there's a shit load of bullets in here ready to send them straight to heaven and they'll do anything for you."
"So we're not going to kill em?" she said.
Tommy smiled. "No," he said. "We're not gonna kill them. So don't worry you're pretty little head over it."
"Okay," she said, sounding relieved.
Trista was a good girl and all, but she was way too sweet. Always hoping for more peace and less chaos. Maybe that's why he liked her so much...No, he thought. No. Her big tits, apple bottom, thin body, blond hair, and pretty face were the reasons why he liked her so much. The fact that she was so sweet probably just made it more fun to have total control over her life. He wasn't sure. But he had a feeling his childhood psychiatrist, who he'd buried alive, would've told him that that was the reason why he liked having her around. Maybe I should've left him alive so I could find out, he thought.
A phone rang. Tommy looked in its direction and saw Hunter pick it up. Hunter was very tall and muscular, but he had a soft voice that would make anyone think that he was the offspring of an angel. "It's okay. Goodbye." He hung up.
"Who was it?" Tommy said, not an ounce of concern in his voice. Around these parts, Tommy was well known by the police and none of them would dare cross his path, so he didn't expect any of them to be laying a trap for him or anything like that. It was probably just a wrong number.
"Wrong number, My Lord. Some guy looking for a David."
"Okay. Good." Tommy looked at the curtain hanging over the window. He could tell it was getting dark out. "Let's get going, fellas. It's late enough."
"Yes, sir," Hunter said.
Dustin, who's voice was much deeper, said, "Ready when you are." He was about two feet shorter than Hunter and three times skinnier, but with a shotgun in his hand, anyone looked terrifying. He cocked it.
"Now remember, everybody," Tommy said. "No killing. Not this time. We're here to push an agenda, not send a message. Everybody got that."
He didn't think they got it. In face, he didn't even understand what the hell he had just said. But in unison, Dustin, Hunter, and Max said, "Yes, master."
Trista said, "Sure thing, Canine."
Tommy looked at her and nodded. She knows she's special, he thought. Good. And they know it, too. Hopefully they'll remember that if they ever get the urge to touch her while I'm not looking. "All right," he said. "Let's go."
The farmhouse looked like any other farmhouse in America. It was tall, white, and had a large porch and dirt road that cut through an army of corn stalks in front of it. Standing about fifty feet behind the house was a huge red barn. Inside were horses, hay, the works, and about thirty feet to the left of that sat a chicken coop. Tommy and his clan crouched as they passed by them, trying their very hardest not to disturb any horses or chickens or the people inside the house. Tommy wasn't sure how many people were inside, but the lights were on and it sounded like there was a war film playing on a television somewhere. So somebody had to be in there.
Once they reached the back of the house, Tommy took out his pistol, held it military style, looked back at his people, and clicked his tongue once. Dustin and Hunter were already trained enough to know what that meant. They had to go up to the front of the house and kick open the door.
As soon as they disappeared around the corner of the house, Tommy and Trista hurried to the back door and stood on either side of it.
This was it.
No turning back now.
The fun was about to begin.
If anyone wanted to leave now, it was too late, because if Tommy caught them trying to go AWOL, he would've put a knife through their back and let them choke on their own blood.
Tommy looked at Trista. She looked back at him. The light from inside the house helped him see her face enough to wish it could be on his cock on right now, sucking like a whore in heat. "You ready, Bunny Rabbit?"
She nodded.
"Good."
He held his hand in the air and pointed a finger at the door. Trista nodded again and positioned herself right in front of the door.
Twenty seconds passed.
Then twenty more.
Finally Tommy heard the front door burst open and told Trista, "Go!"
Nodding again, Trista took a step back, then, with all her might, kicked the backdoor open and the two of them ran inside the house, aiming their guns at everything in sight, hoping to catch anyone who may be trying to head out through the back of the house so they could stop them and threaten to shoot them if they didn't obey their orders. Fortunately or unfortunately (depending on how you saw it), there was no one trying to make it out the back. Only a lonely loser who cried for mercy in the living room.
It had been a year since Tommy had seen Alexander Shultz, and that was far too long. Far too fucking long.
So as soon as Tommy stepped into the living room and saw the bastard laying on the floor, his hands up to Dustin, Hunter's, and Max's guns (as if he could block their bullets with his palms), he put his gun down, marched over to him, and rammed his foot right into the motherfucker's ribs.
Alexander cried out as he struggled to move away from Tommy.
"Hey, Alex," Tommy said. "Long time no fucking see!" He kicked the bastard again, this time even harder. If that were possible.
Alex let out another cry, this time throwing in a "Tommy Please!" and a "I'm sorry!"
