Chapter 95 - Power of Ice

Chapter 95 - Power of Ice
Third Person

The Deltoro Brothers got the text from Matlock and smiled wickedly. They had just extracted the old man Brutius from a small mountain safe house. He thought he was safe. Only six men guarded him and were taken out within two minutes. For someone so rich and powerful, his security was lacking basic training.

They had kicked in the front door and caught the old fart with his pants down in the bathroom. They wasted no time hog-tying and gagging him before dragging him out, bare bum and all, into the cold winter night and throwing him into the trunk of their car.

After a six-hour car ride, they arrived at their destination. They informed Matlock they had their assignment, and he permitted them to continue their mission. One of their old country homes came into view, one of several around the country that they use for their more unholy methods of persuasion. The old man’s muted screams and pointless kicks to the roof of the trunk only made the men smile more. Their adrenaline started pumping in their veins.

They needed this to go right. They were in the doghouse, and one false move and Matlock would order their execution. They still had some broken ribs each from the Anderson twins from their training session. They had resigned themselves to word for Matlock, hoping they could one day be worthy of Sophie’s forgiveness. After finishing the Brutius mission, they head back to their home city on the other side of the country to give Sophie her space until she is ready, which could never be.

Zach pulled the car into the garage. The ‘house’ was on a ten-acre lot, so no one was around. From the outside, it looked like a family home, a little rustic and worn down with age but still neatly kept. There was a bright blue door and large bay windows looking outside to the small front garden. A porch light was the only indication that someone was supposed to be home.

Inside, though, it was a murderer's playroom. The rooms of the house were stripped down to the bearings. The rusted steel and blood splattered wood with the concrete floors, creating an eerie, desolate nightmare.

Caleb and Kevin dragged the old man inside while Zach turned on the lights. They brought him into what would have been the living room. Thick shipyard chains were hanging from the rafters. They made quick work of securing the scumbag to the chains in a Y formation and lifting him so he could barely touch the ground with his big toes. His arms were stretched to the max, and the old man grunted in pain as his muscles pulled too far.

“Now, old spice, this is how tonight will work. You are going to tell us where your son is hiding or where you think he is, and you will die a relatively painful death, but not too much pain. Refuse to tell us what we want to know, and you will be begging us to kill you, understood?” Zach asked, slapping the old man on the cheek playfully.

Old Man Brutius responded by spitting in Zach’s face. Zach’s playful demeanor turned sour instantly, and his eyes dilated to black, making him look demonic. Old Man Brutius's eyes widened in fear, and he began to tremble.

Caleb left his brothers momentarily only to return with a blue cooler. Zach grinned happily, and Kevin looked like he was about to get a new toy. Zach took the cooler and placed it on a corner table. There was a wooden box already sitting on the table. He opened the lid and pulled out an old-fashioned-looking revolver. Zach spent a few minutes playing with the spinning barrel.

“You see this old man?” Zach asked, waving the gun. “We are going to play a little game; maybe you have heard of it. It’s the Mafia version of Russian Roulette, which, oddly enough, is not actually Russian. The theory of probability can be a high-risk stake if you bet on it poorly. But this gun was specifically modified for our needs. You see…” Zach said while opening the cooler. A puff of white smoke escaped once the lid was lifted, adding to the dramatic effect. He lifted a pair of large tweezers and reached inside the small cooler, pulling out an ice bullet. It was so cold that you could see the dry ice smoke still coming off the small object. “We discovered that ice when sharpened and frozen at a specified temperature, using dry ice, can make some nasty little weapons. Let’s see how many bullets it will take before you give me the information I want!”
Zach carefully loaded the bullet into the chamber and spun the cylinder like a fidget toy before clicking it into place. He walked over to the hanging man, raised the gun, and pointed it at his extended shoulder. Zach clicked the release before pulling back the hammer. “Now, where is that filthy bastard you called a son?”

“I don’t know,” the old man breathed.

“Wrong answer,” Zach tsked. The old man closed his eyes, waiting for the pain. Zach smiled and pulled the trigger. Click. The old man let out a sigh of relief.

“Where is your son?” Zach asked again. “I don’t know!” The old man continued with his denial. Click.

“The probability of you getting shot is increasing,” Kevin mused.

“You bastards are no better than us. We all know you will shoot me anyway, so just get on with it!” Old Man Brutius lashed out.

“Okay,” Zach shrugged. Click. Click.

“Fifty, Fifty shot,” Caleb exclaimed excitedly.

BANG! “AH! FUCK!” The old man screamed. It wasn’t the first time he had been shot, but this bullet was unlike anything he had experienced. The bullet pierced through his shoulder joint like it was a butter knife cutting steak. The man could feel his bones shattering, and the bullet began to burn inside of him, sending waves of burning heat through to his toes.

“Oh, that was fun! Let’s do it again!” Kevin said, bouncing on his toes. Zach just handed him the gun, and he went to reload it.

For the next hour, Click. Click. Bang. Click. Click. Click. Bang. Bang. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click—Bang, and so on. The old man was riddled with bullet holes when they were done. Twelve holes shattered both shoulders, several ribs, and internal organs, both of his femurs and his ankle. One of the best things about these bullets is that they cauterized the wounds, so there was no excessive bleeding, only pain.

The old man was panting through the pain. The last bullet hit his liver.

“He is clearly not going to tell us anything,” Caleb said sarcastically.

“You’re right. He’s too stubborn,” Zach replied. “Maybe he doesn’t know exactly where his devil spawn is, but I bet he knows something. Drastic times call for drastic measures. I think it’s time we put his loyalties to the test.” He smiled wickedly and left the room only to arrive with a branding iron.

The old man’s face widened in fear. He recognized the symbol.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” he chanted, pleaded. He knew what would happen if they branded him with that insignia. The brothers knew this as well. He was sobbing now. “Please don’t do this!” his cries fell on deaf ears as the brothers ripped open the back of his shirt.

Just as the old man could feel the heat from the now-orange glow of the hot branding iron, he screamed, “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you everything I know! Just don’t do this to me, please.”
And so he did. The cowardly old man gave the brothers everything he knew. He didn’t know his son’s exact location but knew he would stay close to their major port city. He gave the locations of several safe houses but also said that he suspected his son may have gone to one of his loyal men to hide out, too. There wasn’t much to go on, but it was a start.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Zach said, playfully slapping the old man again. “Brand him,” he ordered his brother Caleb.

“NO!” the old man shouted as burning flesh sizzled in the air, and the old man began to cry as his fate was now sealed. His cries of anguish were not from the pain in his back but from the pain in his heart. They knew exactly what to do to break him.

In the following three hours, the brothers took turns dismembering the man who caused so many problems in their lives. They took out all their family's pent-up energy and aggression as the old man reminded them of their dad. They broke every bone in his body one by one. They then carved parts of his skin before using a dulled knife to saw off his manhood. They shoved it in his back hole, giving a new meaning to the term ‘fuck yourself,’ which he muttered over and over again to his torturers. They finally ended his misery by stabbing his neck and letting him suffocate in his blood. Zach stepped outside to call Matlock with the news as his brothers started to clean up the giant mess they made. They would deliver his body to the front gates of his estate as directed.

A few hours later, in a little rundown safehouse apartment in one of the poorer areas of the next city over, the infamous ‘Uncle’ Brutius was gripping his phone with white knuckles. Tears threatened to run down his cheeks as his heart constricted with the news he just received. He screamed loudly and dumped the phone on the scratchy, spring mattress.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” he muttered under his breath. He was pacing back and forth in his hiding in the little room. He was outmanned, outgunned, and on the run. He lost everything. He knew he should have gone with his nephews and taken the whole army.

When his nephews were captured, it was hard. Now, he has learned not only are his nephews dead, but so is his father. And the worst news of all for him is that they branded him with the Anderson insignia and only returned part of his body. So now he can’t be buried in the family plot, just like his nephews. It is a fate worse than death for them. Their family name was everything for centuries. The Andersons took his family’s wealth, businesses, and the girl. And the treasure is missing.

He was the last of his name as the last blood relative. He let grief overtake him for about an hour before a sinister plan formed. The girl was his last hope. He would have to if his nephews didn’t bed her and produce a child. It was now paramount for the sake of his family legacy.

And his mind went dark as he decided that if he couldn’t have the girl, no one could. If his bloodline had to end, then so would hers. Sophie would either become a Brutius or be buried with them.