When You Have Nothing Else To Lose...
_Dedicated to "Puppy" and "Alpha." They know who they are.
I'm going to put a disclaimer on this story. It contains depictions of graphic,
intense violence and torture leading to death. There is also blood, gore, and M/M
rape. Do not read any of these make you uncomfortable. Go get yourself a latte
and read Cosmo on the patio instead. For the rest of you, enjoy. Feel free to
rate and comment._
Welcome home..
I just served eighteen months in some of most god-forsaken lands on the
planet. Join the army, they said. See the world, they said. Whole lot of garbage
there. I won't repeat the things I saw or did there, but needless to say, when
I finally got home, it wasn't the warm welcome I was hoping for.
They were dead. Eighteen months overseas serving my country and I came home
to find my wife and son killed by the people I was trying to protect. I still
don't understand how it all happened. The police report stated that there was a
high speed chase, with the suspect car doing everything and anything to get away
from the cops. At some point, the chase ended up in my neighbourhood. That's
when the guns game out.
They didn't tell me how many bullets, nor did I ask. All I know is that my
reason for living was gone. I sold my wife's Nissan to pay for the funeral. I'd
be a liar if I told you I didn't cry. I did. A lot.
After that, things were really bad for me for a long while. I went through
bouts of depression. I couldn't live in the house anymore, so I sold it. Too
many memories. I packed up a few things and found an apartment in the inner
city. It was cheap, and no one knew me there.. And it was closer to my target.
During my depression, all our friends gave me their condolences, and told
me that I would learn to move on. But I couldn't. It pissed me off so much that
I had to spend eighteen months overseas, away from my family, only to come home
to find them dead. God dammit! Luckily for me, I had a friend in the local PD.
Fed me what they cops knew. They didn't catch them, either. The fucking street
gang punks that killed my family were walking free. That's when I made the
decision. I went to the local pawn shop and bought a couple guns. I did a bit of
shopping, but I couldn't make up my mind. So in the end, I bought a 1911 and a
Glock.
After a quick stop at K-Mart, I was fully loaded. I was starting to feel a
little better.
I also stopped off at a surplus store and picked up a few other supplies.
A few hundred dollars later, I had the supplies I needed. Rope. Some chain. Some
of those detective holsters caught my eye, so I bought a couple of those too.
One of those cool shoulder holsters, and a conceal carry hip holster. I tossed
my supplies into a rucksack, loaded up the guns, and I was ready. I was
going hunting.
Now, I admit. Moving right into the heart of the city was a bit of a dumb
move. I stood out like a sore thumb, being the only wolf living in a ten block
radius. In knew that moving in, though. I didn't care. My wife and son were
taken from me. I had nothing left, except my desire for revenge.
According to the police report, the suspects got away. When they were
caught, they didn't have enough evidence to convict them. So they were free. My
wife and son were in the ground. I was gonna fix that. No way I was going to let
a bunch of street punk cats get away with murder.
Yeah. Cats. They called themselves the 'Los Gatos Rey' Pride. Pride. What a
fucking joke. A group of low rent drug pushers and convenience store knock off
yuppies calling themselves a pride. There were only five of them. Five cats.
Lucky for me, they weren't hard to find either.
The first one on my list was a cougar who used the street name Fingers.
Supposedly, he earned the name by being the gang's pickpocket. I didn't care. I
did find out that he did all his pushing down at the local strip joint. He was
very easy to find. I dressed simply. Hooded sweatshirt, cargos, my steel-toe
Wescos, and a leather jacket thrown on top. My wife loved this jacket on me. She
always said how it matched my jet black fur. Dammit. Can't stop thinking about
her..
I had my guns and rucksack with me when I went into the strip joint. It was
a rather seedy place, even for a strip club. Dirty old girls, and even dirtier
old men frequented the place. I pushed past the first gauntlet of skanky felines
and took a seat at the bar. I paid for the overpriced beer and took a quick look
around. Fingers wasn't hard to spot. He didn't even try to keep a low profile.
The fucking cat was decked out in nylon track gear, and had so much gold on Fort
Knox must have felt empty. I could see him slinging his product to some college
kids. I watched as a fox handed him money, and he slipped the kid a baggy.
Crystal Meth. Cheap shit drug of choice around here. Pathetic.
I downed the rest of my beer, and my paw slipped into my jacket. I was
about to grip the hilt of the .45 when I stopped myself. Too messy. Too many
witnesses. The cougar headed out the front door, and I got up to follow. By the
time I got outside, Fingers had already gotten into a cab. I flagged down the
next one and ordered the cabbie to follow at a distance. The cabbie was good,
like he'd done this many times before. I gave him a big tip.
The trip ended down by the river docks. Fingers got out of the cab and was
headed towards one of the warehouses. If it wasn't for the moon and the distant
harbour lights, the place would have been pitch black. Lucky for me. I made my
move, and dashed from shadow to shadow. He didn't know I was coming. I drew the
1911, but I didn't fire. Instead, I made a mad dash to close the last twenty
feet between us.
Fingers heard my footsteps and turned. I saw him reaching into his pants,
probably for a piece. Little good it did him. I shoved him hard, and I heard the
gun clatter off in the darkness. I followed it up with a pistol-whip blow to his
face. The feline screeched, then dropped to his knees like a whore with a John.
I raise my paw again, and brought the handle of the 1911 down on top of his
head. That knocked him out cold.
I quickly looked around, keeping my gun ready. I waited for few minutes,
but no one came. I guess no one heard or saw that assault. All the better. I
reached into my bag and pulled out some of the rope. I quickly tied him up with
a harness I learned in the army. His paws bound high up on his back, I also
looped the rope around his neck a few times. If he tried to lower his arms, he'd
strangle himself. I also tied his ankles together in case he tried to make a run
for it. I reached into my bag again for some duct tape, and used it to gag the
cat. I was satisfied that he was properly trussed up, and slung him on my
shoulder.
I thought I was going to shoot him, but I thought that would be too good
for this piece of shit. I carried him along the river's edge, looking for a
suitable place to talk to him, when I heard it. The drawbridge was lifting, and
a freighter was making its way down the river. I'd be a liar if I said a grin
didn't cross my muzzle.
I quickly closed in on the bridge. It was just past midnight, and no cars
ever crossed this bridge in the dark. It was just too perfect. I slugged the
unconcious cat to the bridge's edge and dropped him on the ground. I ripped off
the tape gag, and then slapped his face a few times.
"Wake up!" I had to shout, the bridge bells rang loudly in my ears.
Fingers slowly woke up. He saw me, and he immediately tried to fight. Of
course, with his paws bound the way they were, he only manged to half-way
strangle himself to death. He quickly learned, and stopped struggling. I
pointed my gun at him. "Los Gatos Rey.." I spat the words like acid. Fingers
spat back at me, and hissed. "Do you know who you're fucking with, ese?" I
pulled back the hammer, and he stared at the gun barrel when I shoved it in his
face. "I know you, Fingers. You piece of shit pusher. King Cats my ass. You may
think you're big and bad, but you made a big fucking mistake."
The cougar was still staring at the gun. He continued to sling curses at me
until I kicked him in the ribs. "Shoot out with the police. Temple Drive. Your
bullets killed my wife.. And my son.. He was only six years old, you feline
fuck!" I growled. My hand was shaking with anger. He saw me shake. He thought I
was soft.
Fingers laughed at me, and I lost it. He knelt down and smashed him in the
face with the gun. I saw him spit, and knew he lost a couple teeth. I put the
gun away, and dragged him towards the edge of the bridge. The boat underneath
was clear of the bridge, and the automatic system was beginning to lower it. I
sat on his chest to hold him down.
The look of panic on his face was priceless. I could still remember the
taste of the bottle of champagne at my wedding. I could still smell the scent of
my son the day he was born. The expression on Fingers' face as he watched the
bridge coming down ranks right up there with those memories. He struggled and
cried out, but I held him fast. The bridge was almost closed.
The bells of the bridge covered it up, but I felt it; I felt his neck snap
as the bridge took off his head. His body convulsed underneath me, and then went
still. I slowly stood up. There was so much blood. I've been around death
before, and it always made me feel a little dejected inside. But this time,
after seeing the headless corpse.. I felt elated. I felt justified.
In the desert, the knowledge that I killed someone made me sick to the
stomach, and often led me to lose my lunch. Tonight was different. After dumping
Fingers into the river, I was hungry. I walked across the river and onto MLK.
The street always busy, even in the dead of night. I'm surprised no one could
smell the blood on my paws. I slipped into an all night diner and went right for
the bathroom. I cleaned my black paws off of the sticky red fluid, and that's
when I decided I needed a pair of gloves.
Back in the diner, I took a seat at a booth and ordered two meals. I don't
know what came over me, but I ate it all. I haven't eaten that much since before
I shipped out with the army. For the time being my hunger for food was sated,
but my hunger for blood was just starting.
I went back to the surplus store and bought a few pairs of gloves.
Normally, I'd question why a surplus store would be open twenty-four hours a
day, but tonight they were catering to my needs. I picked up a few other things
that caught my eye. I paid for everything and stuffed my new supplies into my
bag.
The word on the street was Lefty was the guy to talk to if you wanted guns.
He was Los Gatos Rey's gunrunner and enforcer. Wasn't hard to find him either. A
few twenties in the right paws, a couple cell phone calls later I had an
appointment to buy guns. I gave the contact guy a fake name to pass along to
Lefty. I caught a cab and headed for the meet.
The cabbie looked at me crazy when I told him to drop me off on some lonely
mountain road. I paid him his fare and watched him take off. The meet was at a
mountain lookout point that offered a great view of the city below, that is, if
you could see past the smog.
I waited half an hour for Lefty to show up. A decked-out Hummer rolled into
the parking lot blasting heavy rap music. The engine was cut, and the driver
door opened. Out stepped one of the biggest panthers I'd ever seen. He probably
cleared seven feet tall, and maybe three hundred pounds of gym, maybe even
prison muscle. I stood there in the headlights of the Hummer. There was no way I
was going to be able to take this guy in a fight. I might have to shoot the
bastard.
"Yo mang, You Dietrich?" he called out.
"Yeah." I lied. "Where we doing this?"
Lefty took a few steps forward, but kept his distance. He was smart. He was
wearing a pair of jeans and a black leather jacket. I could see a pair of
chromed berettas tucked into his belt. Tacky. He gestured to the back of his
Hummer. "I got the goods with me." he rumbled.
I don't know what it was. I must have made a mistake somewhere. He got
tipped off. Whatever it was, he drew his guns and fired. I was lucky I saw it
coming. I dove behind the low rock safety wall and damn near slid off the
mountain. I pressed myself up against it as bullets flew overhead. I pulled both
the .45 and the glock. I listened to the berettas and counted rounds.
Twenty-two, twenty-three.. I raised my glock up and pulled the trigger a few
times. He backed off. I poked my head up real quick to take a look, and then
ducked back down again. He pressed forward again, guns blazing, held sidesways
in that 'gangsta' style the street punks use. Never understood that one. Can't
hit shit all that way. Imagine his frustration when none of his bullets got me.
Twenty-nine.. Thirty. I heard the slides snap back. That's when I made my
move. Lefty was reaching for new magazines when I stood up. Unlike him, I knew
how to aim. My shots were precise. A .45 slug ripped through his left kneecap,
destroying it forever. A couple 9mms into his shoulders and he dropped his guns.
I put another .45 into his right thigh, and then climbed over the wall and moved
towards him. The giant cat was laying on the ground screaming in pain, cursing
up a storm, and bleeding profusely. Excellent.
I put away my guns, and kicked away his. "Sorry I lied to you, Lefty." He
looked up at me and spat in my direction. I moved forward and stepped on his
knee. He roared in pain. It was music to my ears. "I'm not here to buy guns. I'm
here to kill you."
I quickly searched his pockets, and I found a few thousand dollars in cash,
a cell phone, and two pagers. I stuffed them into my bag. I thought they could
come in handy later. I looked back to the bleeding, suffering feline and thought
he could be in a little more pain. I put my boot to his shoulder just to see him
cringe.
I didn't want to take any chances, so I pulled out some rope and tied a
tourniquet around his thigh. Didn't want the fucker to bleed out before I was
done with him. He wasn't going anywhere, so I took a look in his Hummer. It was
all done up, rapper-style. Huge spinning rims that cost more than the army pays
me in six months. TVs and DVD players for every seat. A stereo system that makes
dance halls jealous. I opened the back, and a small hoard greeted me. This guy
was selling these things? All he had were a handful of AK-47s and a random
assortment of 9mms.
Something else caught my eye. A half-full jerry can and an emergency
roadside assistance kit. I grabbed a flare and went back to my prey. He was
still laying where I left him, moaning and cussing. I opened up the gas can and
splashed him with the contents. The pungent odour of gasoline wafted up to my
nose. It was like the scent of the heavens. The gas hit Lefty's wounds and he
screamed again. I bent down and held my face a few inches from his.
"Hey Lefty. Got a light?"
Lefty looked at me with one eye.. The other was burning from gas fumes.
"No mang, D.. Don't do it!" he cried. Big fucking tough feline begging for his
life. I sparked the flare. He started screaming and begging again. I don't
remember what he was saying. I ignored him as I walked away. I tossed the flare
to Lefty. "Catch."
Not since I was in the boy scouts have I seen a fire so beautiful. If I had
marshmallows, it would have been fucking perfect. Ah well. Can't have everything
I suppose. I picked up Lefty's discarded guns and put them in my bag. Didn't
want some kids to get a hold of them or something. I jumped into Lefty's Hummer
and drove off down the mountainside, back into the city.
The clock on the dash said 3:12. At that point, I was out of leads. That's
when I remembered the cell phone. I pulled into a parking lot and looked through
the phone's memory. Jackpot. There were listings for the other three gang
members. I dialed up my buddy the cop.
"It's me. I need a few phone numbers traced."
"Man.. I could get in serious shit for this.. You know that right?"
"Yeah. But you're going to do it for me anyways. Cause you owe me big from
that other thing."
The voice on the other side of the line sighed. "Yeah.. Yeah, I'll do it.
Give me the numbers." I fed him the three phone numbers, and gave him Lefty's
cell. "Call me back on this number."
"Yeah. Be careful."
I hung up the phone. Damn, I was hungry again. I drove the Hummer through
the nearest McDonald's and had a couple Quarter Pounders on Lefty. I was just
finishing my coke when the phone rang. It was my cop buddy. He gave me the
address of one of the numbers. The other two were trickier because they were
cell phones. I scribbed down the address on a burger wrapper and drove off. I
was headed for the beach.
I parked the Hummer a few block down the road, and walked the rest of the
way. I could see the boardwalk in the distance, and could hear the sounds of the
ocean waves crashing against the beach. Gods how my son loved the beach. Once
he was in the water, it took a miracle to get him out of it again. Fuck. I had
to get a hold of myself. My thoughts kept wandering at a time I needed to focus.
I took a deep breath of ocean air, and thought about what needed to be done.
Just off the boardwalk was a neighbourhood of low-income houses and
apartments. The address I was given led here. They say that one in every five
homicides somehow leads back to this neighbourhood. Even the cops were afraid of
it. I put the hood of my sweatshirt up and made my way down the road.
It wasn't hard to find where I was looking for. It was a pathetic armpit
excuse of an apartment building, and I wondered how the hell anyone could stand
to live in such squalor. I quietly made my way up the stairs, and around the
back side. According to my info, the apartment belonged to Firestone. What a
cheesy name, and yet somewhat appropriate for the gang's wheelman.
I came up to apartment 207. I quietly tried the doorknob, but it was
locked. I looked this way and that, but the coast was clear. I pulled my knife
and pick out of my bag, and started to work the lock. I still knew a few tricks
from my misspent youth. The lock opened without much incident, and I quietly
cracked the door and peered inside. It was one of those bachelor apartment jobs,
one room with a kitchen in the back, and a bathroom off of that. I didn't see
him, but then I heard movement in the bathroom and I knew he was there. I slipped
into the room, closed and locked the door, and crept in. I drew my .45.
I quietly crossed the room to the bathroom. I could hear someone taking a
piss. I was about the kick open the door when it opened, and I was face to face
with Firestone. He looked shocked.
"What? Didn't even wash your paws?" I jeered.
He snarled. I popped him in the nose with a left hook, and it sent him into
the bathtub. I pounced on his back, and pistol whipped the back of his head. I
watched his jaw bounce off the filthy porcelain. I put my knee onto his neck,
and reached into my bag. For a moment I thought I lost them, but I felt the cool
nickel plated handcuffs. I pulled them out and snapped them onto one wrist, then
the other. For good measure, I clocked the skinny leopard on the head again.
"Fuck, pendejo.. Who the hell do you think you are?" he asked, groggy and
bleeding from the mouth and nose. I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and
forced him to look at me. "I'm the guy who's family you killed." The feline gave
me this look, like he didn't know what I was talking about. Like I fucking cared
about what he remembered or not. I glanced down at the toilet. It was disgusting
just like the rest of the apartment complex. At the moment, it was also filled
with piss. "Thirsty?" I asked, then shoved his face into the bowl.
For a skinny little cat, I must say he fought pretty hard. Of course, I had
a good foot of height and hundred pounds of muscle on him. I held his head under
the water, letting him get a taste of his own piss and god knows what else. He
continued to kick and struggle, but I could feel his strength waning. Even after
I felt his body go slack and stop moving, I continued to hold his head in place.
I wanted to make sure he was dead.
I took a step back and looked him over. I unzipped my pants, fished out my
sheath, and released three large cokes worth of piss. It splashed on Firestone's
head before dribbling into the toilet bowl. When I was finished, I tucked away,
zipped up, and flushed the toilet. I washed my paws in the sink, looking down at
the lifeless body beside me. "Next time, wash your paws." I kicked his ribs and
think I felt them crack. Somehow I don't think he noticed.
Before I left, I took a quick look around the apartment. Other than filth,
I found an awful lot of drugs. Mostly meth, but there was a lot of pot and
exstacy as well. I grabbed a magazine off the table and went into the kitchen.
This was too perfect. I rolled up the magazine and jammed it in the stove. I
turned on the gas and left. on my way down the stairs, I pulled the fire alarm.
I could still hear the alarm and the screaming people when I got bcak to the
Hummer.
I checked the clock and it said 4:02. I was just dirving around the city
streets, listening to the local rock station when the phone rang. I checked the
call display. "Yeah?"
"This one's been in the same place all night. Lots of calls. The old arena
off the East Canal. Still trying to find the last one."
"Thanks."
I knew exactly where he was talking about. I used to play hockey there as
a kid. It shut down a few years back, and now it was little more than a city
storage warehouse. I hung up the phone and drove over.
I didn't want the Hummer to be recognized, so I parked a few blocks away.
I walked over to the old arena, but I didn't see anything. Not even a car in the
parking lot. I slipped around the back of the building and looked around. Still
nothing. I was beginning to question my intel. I checked one of the arena doors
and found it unlocked. I drew my gun and quietly snuck inside.
The arena was dark, save for the safety lights high up on the walls. There
wasn't enough light to see clearly, so I waited and let my eyes adjust. I
remember when this place was the only ice rink for miles around. Now it was a
dumping ground for random sports equipment. Old hockey nets and sticks were
strewn about. Bins of basketballs and soccer balls as far as the eye could see.
There was even a dumpster full of worn baseballs.
A bright light turned on, and I thought I was caught. I hid behind a box of
baseball bats. When I looked up, I saw the light in the upstairs office was
on. Someone was in there. I grabbed a bat, then quietly made my way around to
the stairs.
I made it all the way to the office door. I put my ear against it and I
could hear a voice talking. I slowly and carefully peered through the window and
saw a tiger on a cell phone. According to the cell phone info, this guy's name
was Vincent, and he was the businessman of the gang. He was decked out in an
expensive italian suit, matching shoes and tie. His jewellry rivalled the shit
Fingers had on. With clothes like that, I wondered why he was hiding out in this
dump.
I stood at the side of the door and knocked on it with the bat. The .45 was
in my other hand. I could hear the voice on the other side.
"What the fuck, Smiley! I told you the deal was at noon!"
I knocked on the door again. Vincent wasn't impressed.
"Smiley, you fuckhead. Soemtimes you royally piss me.." The door opened,
and he didn't finish that sentence. I swung hard and hit him in the side of the
head. It dazed him a little, but he still managed to draw his gun. I shot his
paw and the gun dropped to the ground. I swung again and clocked him in the gut,
and once more broke one of his knees. He crumpled to the ground.
"That's a nice suit." I said. "Sorry I had to mess it up." Vincent mangaged
to lunge at me, swiping the claws on his good paws at my thigh. I growled as I
felt him tear into me. I brought the bat down in the middle of his back, and
then stomped on his paw. I could feel everything under my boot break, and
judging from the tiger's roar, he could too.
He started yelling at me in spanish, which I don't understand. I kicked him
in the face to shut him up. I guess I kicked him too hard, cause it actually
knocked him out. This was too easy.
I dragged him down the stairs and into the rink. I saw some portable
bleachers that I figured would serve my needs. I broke out the rope from my bag
and managed to secure him spreadeagled to the supports of the benches. I even
doubled up the security by duct taping his limbs and his chest to the metal
bars. He wasn't going anywhere.
With the tiger in place, I went wandering around the arena. I found exactly
what I was looking for; a pitching machine. I dragged the thing over to where
vincent was bound, and found an outlet to plug it in. I shoved the dumpster of
baseballs over and loaded up the hopper. I walked up to Vincent and slapped him
in the face a few times. Slowly he woke up, and he was seriously pissed off.
I walked away from the tiger and turned on the pitching machine. It fired
off the first ball, which hit Vincent square in the chest. The tiger roared in
pain and started growling at me in more spanish. I looked him square in the eye.
"No Habla Espanol, Motherfucker."
The second ball hit him in almost the exact same place. More growling in a
language I didn't understand. Not like it mattered to me. At least the language
of suffering was universal. I looked at the dial on the machine, and noticed it
was set to thirty miles an hour. I turned the dial to the top. One hundred five
miles an hour. The pitching machine launched the next ball, and it smashed him
in the shoulder. I think something broke. For the next three minutes, I watched
MLB speed fastballs drive themselves into Vincent. The basket was empty, and the
machine beeped.
"If you're feeling up to it, you can take your base now." I grinned. He
glared back at me with those hate and pain filled eyes. He coughed up a mouthful
of blood, and then muttered something. Not like I could understand him anyways.
I refilled the basket and turned on the machine again.
For the next hour, I watched as the pitching machine pulverized the hanging
tiger. He occaisionally coughed up more blood, and I knew that his chest was
thoroughly destroyed. About midway through the basket, the tiger went into a
gasping fit. He went into convulsions, and then went limp. I turned off the
machine and sauntered over. I checked his pulse. Nothing. I prodded my paw into
his chest. It was like squishing an air mattress. I smiled and left the arena.
"Take me out to the ball game. Take me out to the crowd.."
By the time I left the arena, sunlight had just started to peer over the
eastern mountains. I got back in the hummer and drove around the city a bit. I
was waiting for my PD buddy to find me the last address. I parked on top of a
downtown parking garage and waited. My mind started to wander.
I was daydreaming about what I was going to do the leader of Los Gatos Rey.
I heard a few things about him on the streets. He was a real street thug. I was
told he had his paw in absolutely everything in this city. Drugs, guns, hookers,
gambling. He even had some low-rent recording studio that supposedly helped
rappers make their demo tapes. From what I heard, although he dabbled in every
business out there, the serious players didn't give him any respect. He would
forever be a two-dollar player. The phone rang, and I snatched it up. This was
the call I was waiting for.
"Hey. Ran a trace on that last number. It's a known crack den on the west
end. Near the 110 and 405 junction." He gave me an address and I scribbled it
down. "I gotta warn you." he continued. "The department's onto your work. They
found Fingers and Firestone. I heard it wasn't pretty. Listen.. They don't have
a description yet, but it's only a matter of time. Be careful."
"Thanks for looking out for me." I replied, then hung up. Shit. The cops
were onto me. I was running out of time. I thought about it for a few moments,
and realized something; what was I expecting? Did I honestly think I'd murder
five felines and no one whould notice? Did I really care?
As I drove through the streets in the stolen Hummer, I realized that I
didn't care. I knew the cops would probably find me out sooner or later. It
really didn't matter if I went to jail, because my wife and son were gone. I had
nothing else to lose except maybe my life. Life was meaningless to me now.
It was a good half-hour before I made it to the address. Luckily for me,
morning commuter traffic was going in the opposite direction. Now that the cops
knew Lefty was dead, I had to ditch the Hummer. I crashed one of the flood-gates
and drove down the service ramp. I found a drain tunnel that was big enough for
the Hummer and drove inside. I grabbed my bag and opened up the back door. I
checked the jerry can, and there was a few splashes of gas left. Enough for what
I needed it for. I emptied the can over the guns and ammo. I tossed in Lefty's
cell phone; I wasn't going to need it anymore. I lit a flare and tossed it
inside the Hummer and slammed the door. Then I ran.
Luck was with me that day, because there was no expected explosion. At
least, there wasn't one while I was within blast radius, or even within earshot.
I didn't want the cops to find the Hummer. I certainly didn't want some street
punks finding those guns in the back.
In the morning sun I made my way over to the address. It was in a terrible
neighbourhood under the freeway. There was no one on the street, but I kept my
eyes and ears alert, and my paw near my guns. I came to the entrance of the
house, disgusted by what I saw. The building should have clearly been condemned.
On the front porch there was a male fox and a female jaguar just laying there.
By the looks on their faces, they were a million miles away. I was tempted to
put them out of their misery, but pity stayed my hand. Besides, I might need the
bullets for later.
There was no front door. Correction.. The front door had rotted off its
hinges and lay where it fell. I quietly stepped inside and found a dozen or more
furs like the ones outside. most of them didn't even notice I was there. The
ones that saw me just didn't care; they were too busy cooking or shooting up
their fix. I drew both guns and searched the main floor. Nothing.
I went to look upstairs. The steps were creaky and noisy, and probably
would have alerted everyone in the house if they weren't so stoned out of their
skulls. The freeway nearby was also loud enough to cover up my movements. How
the hell could anyone live so close to such noise?
I stopped at the first landing and looked up. I could see the bathroom and
three other doors. Two were open, and one was closed. I quickly cleared each
room in an orderly, military fashion. The bathroom had a once-pretty collie girl
laying in the tub, a syringe still stuck in her arm. I wasn't even sure she was
still alive. The first bedroom was empty, and the second had a deathly skinny
college aged ferret laying on the floor. He was twitching slightly, and staring
at the ceiling. I glanced up, curious as to what he was so enraptured with. I'm
afraid I'll never know what that guy saw.
The only place I hadn't checked was the bedroom with the closed door. I
perked my ears up and listened closely. I'm quite sure I heard the sounds of
light snoring. There were cracks in the wood where termites had eaten through
the door, and I carefully peeked inside. I could see a lion laying on a grungy
bed. I turned the knob slowly and cracked the door open. By some miracle it
didn't make a sound, and I carefully crept in. The lion was naked on the bed,
casually sprawled out. On the nightstand I saw a gold plated desert eagle and a
cell phone. I put away my glock and reached for the gun.
The lion grumbled and rolled over. He was facing away from me now. I
grabbed the gun and put it into my bag. I pulled out some rope, and at that
moment I wished I bought another pair of handcuffs. I cocked the .45 and saw
his ears twitch. He slowly moved his paw under his pillow.
"Try it and I'll paint the walls with your brains, asshole."
He didn't move. "Slowly put your hands on your head, stand up, and face the
corner." The lion didn't move at first. "NOW!" I ordered in a low, but meanacing
voice. I don't know why, but at that moment I was suddenly hungry.
The lion put his paws on his head and was still facing away from me. He
slowly stood up and walked to the corner. I took a few steps back in case he
tried something stupid. "Do it. I dare you.." I goaded.
The lion growled softly. He was facing the wall. "You trying to rob me,
bitch?" he asked. "Go ahead.. Know this.. You a dead man. You just made the
biggest mistake of your life."
I smirked at him. "El Violador. The violator. That's quite the street name.
Did you pick that yourself?" I took one step closer, gun still trained on him.
"Pendejo, I own this city! By the time I'm done with you, you'll be nothing
but fish food!"
"Didn't answer my question. Ah well. We can do this the easy way or the
hard way. Your choice."
To say he wasn't very smart was a bit of an understatement. He continued to
curse and growl at me. He said a bunch of stuff in spanish I didn't understand.
I made up my mind. I darted forward and clubbed him in the back of the head with
my gun. He instantly dropped. They teach you all sorts of things in the
military. "Easy way it is."
I grabbed the ropes and bound him quickly. He wasn't a very big cat, maybe
a few inches shorter than my six foot three. He was pretty bulky though, had one
of those super-sized fries builds. I rifled through his clothes on the floor and
found the keys to an Escalade. Probably had big spinning rims too. What's with
thugs and SUVs anyways? I pocketed the keys and slung my next victim over my
shoulder. I carried him outside rather easily. Some of the druggies looked in my
direction, but no one said or did anything to stop me. I didn't see the Escalade
outside, but I spotted a garage in the back. I opened the rickety doors, and
sure enough there was a fancy black SUV there. I dumped him in the back and got
behind the wheel.
The Escalade was much nicer than the Hummer. I started the engine and drove
off, heading north. I don't know how much evidence the cops had on me, but I had
to get out of the city as quickly as possible. After about an hour, I stopped at
a rest stop. I stretched my legs some, got a bite to eat. I filled the gas tank,
being careful to avoid the gas station's cameras. Paid cash and left.
Some ways down the road, the lion woke up. I could hear him shouting, and
he was thrashing around in the back. I quickly pulled over and hopped into the
back seat. Without prejudice, I start punching the blankets. I felt my fist make
a few good contacts, and my victim calmed down some. I peeled the blanket off
his head and looked at him. He didn't look so tough now, with a glassy look in
his eyes. I grabbed the duct tape and gagged him. I also released the ropes and
secured him in a hog-tie instead. It was harder for him to move around. I tossed
the blanket over him again, and got back behind the wheel.
Around noon I stopped for lunch and gas. I treated myself to a great
American delicacy; I had myself the daily special at the truck stop. It was
greasy as hell, but there was tons of it. And it tasted good. I was good for a
few more hours now. I left a big tip and headed back to the Escalade. When I got
inside, there was an awful smell. Apparently the lion had pissed himself at some
point. I managed to buy a can of air freshener at the convenience store. I used
the whole can spraying the feline down.
I drove for the rest of the afternoon, careful to stay under the speed
limit. I didn't want to be pulled over. I stopped for dinner and more gas in the
evening. I also hit up a grocery store in a small town and picked up a few
days worth of goods. By the time I found the dirt road I wanted, the sun was
already gone. The clock on the dash read 8:15. I drove on the unpaved road and
could hear the lion groan and mumble each time we went over a bump. I grinned.
I used to take my family up here once a year. Some millionaire had bought a
giant chunk of forested land and built a series of cabins all throughout. All
of the cabins were at least a mile away from each other, offering incredible
privacy and quiet. Many of the cabins were on or near small lakes and ponds as
well. I was the perfect place for what I had planned.
I pulled into the main office and went inside. I didn't recognize the old
badger behind the counter, but he was friendly enough. I gave him a fake name
and address, some lame excuse about an impromptu trip out of the city, and paid
him cash. He smiled and handed me keys and a map to my cabin.
The eight mile ride to the cabin took thirty minutes. I parked the Escalade
behind the woodshed and went inside. The door opened into the main room. Off to
the left was a kitchen area sectioned off with a bar. To the right were three
doors. Two were bedrooms, and the middle was the bathroom. It was perfect. I
suddenly felt bad. I was about to ruin this cabin. I made the decision to leave
the rest of Lefty's money for the owners.
I picked the front bedroom as mine, and the back was for my new friend. I
stepped outside and carried the lion from the Escalade to the bathroom. I threw
away the smelly blanket, then dumped the lion into the tub. At that point, I was
glad he was already naked. Made my job easier. I stepped into the main room and
decided to make myself a little more comfortable. I tossed my jacket and hoody
on the couch, then took a look through the kitchen drawers. I found a large pair
of scissors and carried them with me into the bathroom.
I drew my .45 and pointed it at him. He freaked out and tried to thrash
around. I knew that his legs and arms would be weak, if not completely useless
by now, having spent most of the day bound up. I watched him writhe around for
a bit before setting the gun down on the counter. I took the pair of scissors
and grabbed a pawful of his mane. He growled in protest, but I easily ignored
him. I started to trim down his mane, which must have been quite the emotional
trip for him. At some point he stopped protesting and started crying. It was
beautiful.
I wished I had a pair of clippers, but I did the best I could with the
scissors. I got rid of most of his mane, and it made him look silly. I scooped
out most of the hair and tossed it in the trash. I reached over and turned on
the shower. Just to be cruel, I blasted him with cold water for a while. Once
his fur was rinsed out and the piss smell was gone, I turned off the shower. I
cut his ropes with my pocket knife, and just as I predicted, his arms and legs
were too sore to even more. I grabbed the nearby towel and dried him off. I hate
the smell of wet feline.
I dragged him out of the tub and into the living room. Just for fun I stood
him up on his feet, but he just collapsed into the couch. I laughed. When I
picked him up again, he was eyeing me with fierce hate. I pulled him into the
bedroom and tossed him onto the bed. I was going to tie him to the bed when I
realized I was all out of rope; I cut the last of it when I untied him in the
tub. I cursed a few times, and took it out on the lion. His nose was bleeding
some when I was done.
I looked around for extra sheets or blankets, but there weren't any. The
cabin had a bare minimum of supplies. I looked the prostrate lion over. He just
glared back at me with those angry eyes. He still thought he was tough. I wanted
to fix that.
He growls at me as I climbed up onto the bed with him. I could see him
sturggle to move his arms and legs to fight me off, but he had nothing. A trick
I learned in the army came to my mind. I grabbed his right wrist, and held him
by the shoulder. I pulled hard on the arm and twisted his body away from me. The
result was a sickening pop as I yanked the joint from its socket. The lion
screamed like he was dying. In a sense, I guess he was. I was glad I had his
muzzle still taped over.
I did the same for his other arm. Another pop, another series of screams. I
waited patiently for him to stop screaming. His eyes were red and full of tears.
He flinched when I put my paw on his ankle. I could see the fear in his eyes as
I dragged him to the edge of the bed. With his leg hanging off the edge, I
straddled it between my legs. I took a firm hold of his ankle and yanked
upwards. I could hear and feel the pop. The lion howled in pain again. It took
him twenty minutes before he calmed down.
The lion had his eyes closed. I reached over and ripped the tape from his
muzzle, pulling off a good deal of fur and whiskers with it. "Tell you what.."
I offered. "You tell me your name and I won't rip out your other leg."
El Violador looked up a me.. After all that screaming, he was having a bit
of trouble finding his voice. I thought I heard him say something. I put my paw
on his ankle and he freaked out. He was rasping and coughing it out, but at some
point I distinctly heard him say "Francis."
"Francis. Your real name is Francis?" I laughed, and I could see the look
of hatred return to his face. "The leader of Los Gatos Rey is named Francis..
That's just too good." I said. I got the duct tape out again and put a new gag
on. I lifted up his leg and wrenched it out of place. Again he screamed. I had
no intentions of keeping promises with this scumbag.
I pulled him back to the center of the bed before walking out of the room.
I closed the door. He wasn't going anywhere. I went back to the Escalade and
unloaded my supplies. The fridge in the kitchen was from the 1960s, but at least
it still worked. I still couldn't imagine what it took to get power lines out to
each of the cabins.
I fixed myself a sandwhich and I downed a beer before heading back into the
bedroom. I found Francis face down on the floor. "Were you going somewhere?" I
asked. I walked over and boot my boot on his shoulder and applied pressure. He
grunted and groaned in pain.
Francis was crying again. I hoisted him up onto the bed again. "It's just
you and me, Francis. We're going to learn an awful lot about each other." I
stood up. "Well. It's late and I'm tired from all the driving. Have a good
night." I shot him a cruel grin and closed the door.
I took a long hot shower and washed away the days grime from my fur. I
took my time drying off and brushing my fur. My wife used to love brushing my
fur for me. She could do it for hours. Gods I missed her. I would have done
anything to have her and my son back. I went into my room, and the instant my
head hit the pillow I was asleep.
Amazingly enough, it was the best sleep I've had in a long time. I woke up
refreshed and alert. I went into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee, not
bothering with clothing. Nature called, so I went into the bedroom. The lion was
just laying there on the bed. Somehow he managed to get to sleep. I grabbed him
by the neckruff and arm and dragged him up. He screamed in pain, which I
ignored. I tossed him into the bathroom and back in the tub.
He was still crying in pain when I aimed my sheath at him. His eyes went
wide for a moment, and then they shut tightly. I let loose my morning piss all
over his face. He struggled and shook his head indignantly, but there was no way
for him to prevent me from marking him. When I was done, I washed my paws and
went back into the living room. I could hear him grumbling.
I left him there for about an hour before I came back in. Once again I gave
him a cold water shower. I dried him off and put him back on the bed. He just
sort of lay there, glaring at me again. He mumbled something through the gag
that I didn't understand, but I'm quite sure it was some sort of insult. Still
trying to be tough. I needed to take him down another notch.
With a flick of the wrist, I grabbed the tape on his mouth and ripped it
off. He growled out loud as it unrooted fur and whiskers. The lion looked up at
me a snarled, and spat out a series of curses. I punched him in the nose, and
then rolled him onto his stomach. I leaned over the bed and whispered in his
ear. "You call yourself El Violador.. Well, you're about to feel what it's like
to be the one violated."
"Don't you fucking dare, motherfucker!" he growled at me. I gripped the fur
on top of his head and mashed his face into the mattress. With my free paw, I
stroked my sheath. After emptying my bladder, my morning wood came back, and I
intended on giving it a home. With his face mashed against the bed, the lion
couldn't say much. I leaned down and growled lowly into his ear.
"My name is Lykos, bitch. Remember it, because you'll be screaming it in a
few moments.."
I hiked up his tail and pressed my cock to his hole. He started to growl and
struggle in protest. I held the base of my shaft in place, and then shoved into
my new bitch.
His scream was like the sound of angels singing. His ass was amazingly
tight, and unlike anything else I'd ever fucked before. The way it clenched at
my cock was incredible. I growled deeply and started to power fuck the feline.
I had no intention on going easy on him.
Truth be told, it had been a long time since I had gotten any. some of the
other soldiers paid for some tail, or 'helped a brother out', but I always held
off and waiting to get back home. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't against the boys
getting it on with each other. In my younger days, I played both sides of the
fence. But I had my wife and was true to her. Had. Was. All in the past. All I
had to fuck was this piece of shit murderer. I was going to enjoy it while it
lasted.
He was making all sorts of noises underneath me as I raped him. He sounded
like he was crying and shouting at the same time, like it was the most painful
thing he's ever experienced. I gripped the remnants of his mane and yanked his
head back. I had never been more turned on in my life than at that moment. The
lion's screams were like a drug, and I pounded my cock into his hole harder and
faster.
My knot was fully formed and plunging in and out of him. I knew it must
have been ungodly painful. I knew I tore something. The fucking became wet and
smooth as his blood lubricated the way. Before long, I reached my peak. With a
rough shove, I plowed every last inch of myself into his ass and unloaded seed
into him. I shoved his face back down into the mattress and let him struggle for
air.
It was a glorious climax, and when I finished I roughly yanked my knot from
his ass. Francis screamed again, and couldn't do anything else. Blood and cum
dripped from his freshly used hole. I wiped myself off on his fur and then bend
down to whisper in his ear. "You've just been violated."
He snared and growls and spit curses at me in english and spanish. I just
smiled as I taped his mouth and left the room. With the door shut, I barely knew
he was there. I took a shower, made some breakfast, and just sat around the
cabin.
Hours later, I decided to check up on my cabinmate. He was exactly where I
left him; face down on the bed, arms and legs uselessly splayed out. He looked
up at me with fearful and angry eyes. I just looked back and grinned. "Ready for
round two? I certainly am." I rubbed my sheath. It didn't take long for me to
get hard again.
I admit it was a trivial sort of attack, but when I moved behind him, he
whipped his tail at me and slapped me with it a few times. I wasn't about to
have any of his gumption, so I decided to punish him harshly. I went into the
kitchen and came back with a large cooking knife. He looked at me and thrashed
around in protest. He didn't make it anywhere. I grabbed his tail just above the
base. I felt around for a nice spot between bones and applied the knife. It was
suitably sharp, and the cut was quick and rather clean. There wasn't even as
much blood as I was expecting. I tore a strip off the pillow case and used it to
bandage the cat. He was crying profusely.
I picked up his tail, and hefted it a few times. I leaned over the bed and
tickled his nose with the tuft at the tip. He didn't seem to appreciate the
gesture. I thought it was fucking hilarious. I got back into place behind him
and fucked him again. This time was a little different, as I took my time and
let myself really enjoy it. Just to add to my fun, I used Francis' tail and
flogged his back with it the entire time I fucked him. Great times.
Once I unloaded my balls into him again, I tossed the tail aside, cleaned
myself off on his headfur this time, and left the room.
This went on for a few days. Eventually I started feeding him cold canned
soups. When I wasn't actively hurting him or fucking him, I just left him in the
bathtub to wet or soil himself. Turned out to be a quick clean. After a week I
was running out of supplies, and I was getting bored with my new toy. I had no
idea what the heat on me was like, but I didn't care anymore. I was going to
finish what I started.
I made a trip into the nearest town and visited the hardware store. I
bought a bunch of rope, a few sets of heavy chain, and some padlocks. The bear
behind the counter made some small joke about having enough to tie up a bus load
of people. I chuckled and grinned and told him I had other uses for it. I paid
cash and left.
I also stopped into a couple clothing shops and got myself a few new things
to wear. All I had were the things I had left left, and they weren't exactly in
the greatest shape. Three hundred twenty-five dollars, seventeen cents later I
had a few new pairs of pants and a number of shirts and sweaters.
Lunch was a rather fancy ordeal. I treated myself to a T-bone and a few
glasses of wine. I didn't stay too long, I had a job to do. I drove back to the
cabin. I did my best to clean the place up. I wiped the place down for prints,
and burned all the bedsheets outside. I wrapped up El Violador in a blanket and
tossed him into the back of the Escalade with the chains and rope. After leaving
most of Lefty's cash on the kitchen counter, I locked the place up and left. I
dropped off the keys at the office, and headed north.
It was exactly the way I remembered it. The old amusement park had been
abandoned for years, and it just sat in disrepair. Old wooden concession stands
and rotted picnic tables dotted the property, and the only thing of note was the
rickety old ferris wheel. I parked the Escalade next to it.
I studied the ferris wheel for a little while, and although it was in awful
shape, it was in well enough condition to serve my needs. I fiddled with the
control box some, and was rather surprised to find that power was still being
fed to it. Most excellent.
I hauled the chains out of the back of the Escalade and used the padlocks
to fasten them to one of the gondolas. A few more chains, I attached to the
support frame. Glad I bought lots of chain. Damned near cleaned the store out of
it. Francis wasn't even struggling when I yanked him out of the SUV. It took
very little effort for me to drag him over to the chains. Before long, I had the
chains wrapped around his wrists and ankles a few turns each, and locked into
place with more padlocks. He just hung from the front of the gondola, wrists
attached to the handlebars.
I ripped the tape off his mouth. He barely reacted. I grabbed his chin and
made him look into my eyes. "This is the end. Now you pay for your sins." He
looked tired and weak, but still had that glimmer of defiance.
"Fuck you.." he rasped.
"We've already done that."
He scowled ever so slightly. I just grinned at him. He rasped back. "Look..
If it's money you want, I'll pay you. I don't even know who the fuck you are."
"Money's not an issue for me. You killed my wife. You killed my six year
old son in a drive by shooting in broad daylight." I spat in his face. I watched
the expression on his face, but it was clear he had no idea what I was talking
about.
"It's been fun." I gruffed, and made a lewd display of groping my crotch
for him. He said nothing. I went to the control panel and turned on the ferris
wheel. It roared to life, the motors whirring and rumbling loudly. I yanked on
the brake lever. It disengaged, but it also snapped off. It was uminportant
anyways.
The ferris wheel creaked in protest, like old knees after a winter in a
wheelchair. I was astounded that it still moved, though. The stubborn machine
started to come to life after its retirement, and as the gondola rose, it started
pulling the lion along with it. At first he groaned, and then that changed to
growls, and then to screams. The chains were taut at this point, and the lion was
completely suspended off the ground by his wrists. The wheel kept trying to turn,
and was groaning loudly from the forced inteference.
I checked over the control panel, but I didn't know what any of the dials
or switched did. The labels were worn or rusted off ages ago. I ignored the big
red button and reached for a lever. At the moment it was only half way up. I
pushed it all the way forward. The ferris wheel surged, the motors roared
louder, and I heard the lion cry out in distress.
I moved away from the panel and around the side of the wheel so I could
watch his torment. He was being streched out, the wheel trying it's damnedest to
turn. He was crying under the stress, and I could see every muscle in his body
straining. The ferris wheel continued it's work, and the sheer torque of the
machine won over the lion's body. His dislocated arms gave out, but the chains
didn't. The gondola went up, taking his arms with it. Francis slumped to the
ground, screaming and bleeding.
The area quieted down somewhat when I turned the ferris wheel off. Only the
sounds of El Violador's screams could be heard. There wasn't anyone for miles
around, so I didn't care. He was writhing in pain, barely able to comprehend
exactly what happened to him. Blood from his severed arms was dripping down from
the gondola and onto his head. He didn't seem to notice.
Before too long, blood was all over the place. It oozed out of his wounds at
a rapid pace, and he didn't have much longer to live. I could tell his body was
going into shock, and he would expire at any moment. He looked up at me with his
dying eyes and continues to scream, although they continued to grow quieter and
weaker. That look in his eyes, it was intense, it was incredible, and for some
reason it make me insanely hungry.
My stomach growled. The scent of his blood tickled my nose. I looked over
his twitching form and saw two hundred pound of fresh meat. My hunger became
overwhelming and I gave into the urges.
I really don't remember much about that meal. I have vague memories of my
teeth sinking into warm flesh, and pulling back violently. I don't really think I
was all that lucid during that time. I remember that when I was finished, my
stomach seemed satisfied, I was covered in blood, and there was an awful large
mess before me.
Blood covered my gloved paws, seeped into my pants, and drenched my shirt.
I stood up and visited one of the concession stands, praising my luck that the
water still worked. I decided my clothes were a write off, so I just dumped them
on the mess I left under the ferris wheel after washing out my fur. I changed
into a fresh set of clothes, and I felt considerably better.
As I got back into the Escalade, I looked over mass of flesh that used to be
a lion. "The King is dead. Long live the King." I closed the door and droves off.
I hopped onto the interstate, and my mood elevated. I was satisfied. I was more
than that. I was elated. I had gotten my revenge. It wouldn't bring my wife or
son back to me, but for me it was enough. The wrong-doers were punished.
During the drive, I idly thought about what I'd do, or where I'd go. I decided
I'd continue north. Away from people who knew me. Away from the city, and the
gangs. Yes, away from my dead family. I was going to start anew, perhaps in a new
country. I planned to ditch the Escalade, buy a cheap car, and cross the border.
I always heard spring is nice in Canada. It was time for me to find out for myself.