Against the Rules Read online

  “Your punishment is to stay in this cage until you are cleansed and ready for me.” He pushed her foot back through the bars and clamped a manacle around each of her ankles securing both inside the cage. He reached inside and rearranged her body.

  “How long you stay here, in this cage, is completely up to you. You’ll find it terribly uncomfortable, but that is the point to all punishment, now, isn’t it, Chantel?” His eyes stared at her as if she were an insect he was considering squashing. “Once your body has washed away all evidence of your whoring ways, I may grant you a pardon and begin your training.”

  He turned abruptly and left. Her head refused to turn. She couldn’t see the door to freedom. How was she going to escape if she couldn’t even turn her head? Far off, in the distance, she heard him moving around. God, what was next?

  Ed was off his rocker. He had always been a bit odd, strange and stand-offish. Not psychotic, though, with true evil oozing from every pore. How had they missed something like that?

  This would kill her father. If he ever found out, it would kill him for sure.

  She could hear sounds. Wood scraping. Keys on a computer? Was he typing something? Clothing being moved about. Soft groans. She didn’t want to hear any more. Bile rushed into her mouth and spewed down her chin, her mouth still refusing to operate.

  As his footsteps came closer, she shut her eyes. A hard smack across her face jolted them back open.

  “Keep them open, Chantel.” His voice was hard and firm, demanding obedience. “Face the camera at all times.” He lifted her chin and pointed out the small green dot near the ceiling.

  He stomped into the bathroom then returned with a washrag. With his finger, he opened her mouth and wiped inside. She wanted to turn away. To spit in his face. To kick or scratch his eyes out. Yet nothing worked. Nothing happened. Her body locked in whatever position he chose.

  More tears fell down her cheeks. He simply wiped them away as one more nuisance he was forced to deal with.

  “Eyes open, facing the camera,” he repeated his dictates. “Do not piss me off, Jasmine.” The sound of a knife clicking open sent fear skittering down her spine.

  He’d called her Jasmine. He was definitely losing what little grasp on reality he had. He held the blade mere inches away from her face, the silver glistening with light from the single bulb that dangled freely from the ceiling.

  This time, as he left, she heard the door close and a deadbolt slide securely into place. She began to close her eyes, a reflex action to the relief of him leaving her alone, but his words rang clearly in her mind. “Eyes open, facing the camera.” Even alone, she was afraid. He could be watching her at any time. She’d seen the pictures. She knew what he was capable of. Yes, she had been terribly naive. There were worse things than death.

  * * * *

  Minutes had turned into hours, which he was sure had turned into a lifetime, though his watch told him otherwise. The knot in his stomach, now tight and painful, kept him on constant edge. Channy was in trouble. Something had gone terribly wrong. He knew it. Knew it. And here he sat, waiting for these bastards to make their move. Teague glanced up at the sound of the door opening. He twisted his head and heard a satisfying pop relieving some of the pent-up frustration centered in the base of his neck. Action time had finally come, and he was more than ready.

  Stairs slid smoothly into place with Sammy taking the point. Teague spared Foster a quick glance, still wondering whose side he was on. Sammy’s pistol was steady in his hand as he stayed several feet in front of G. Stepping into the center of the room, he ordered both men to show their hands. Leaning just to the side, Teague allowed his tie wrapped hands to show. Foster did the same. Teague was thankful that he’d taken the time to cut out the catches of the tie wraps allowing them to slide on or off easily.

  “It’s clear, G.,” Sammy assured his boss.

  What idiots! Both Sammy and G. stood between the two men. Teague couldn’t ask for a better set-up. G. was dressed in business-casual attire. He could have been an affluent salesman for any business. He’d yet to see G.’s hands. That worried Teague. G. was known for a hot temper. From what he’d learned about G. over the years, he could snap and shoot him just as easily as talk good-naturedly. You just never knew.

  “I remember you.” G. nodded in Teague’s direction. “You installed computers at two of my warehouses.”

  Teague shrugged, trying hard to look scared and non-threatening. “That’s my job. I install and repair office equipment. I might have installed some for you. I don’t remember. Why did you bring me here? I didn’t do nothing, man.”

  “You’re going to show me exactly what you planted into our computer system that allows the fucking feds a window’s view into our business.” He watched Teague closely. “Don’t piss me off by denying it. I’ve destroyed those computers. Got all new equipment and still the fucking feds know my business. For that, you’re gonna pay.”

  Foster sat to the side of G. He saw an ice pick concealed behind his back, though why he bothered hiding it was beyond him. “What about me? I gave this bastard to you. You should be paying me a king’s ransom, not tying me up and throwing me in the same hellhole as him.” Foster lifted his chin toward four-six-two.

  For the first time, G. turned to look at Foster. Drawing G’s attention had been a calculated risk. Foster knew it wasn’t likely that he’d make it out of this compound alive. He didn’t care as long as Sammy didn’t either.

  “Shut him up,” G. ordered Sammy. “Then bring him,” he said, nodding toward Teague, “upstairs. I wanna pick his brain for a while.” G. brought the ice pick into view, turning it. The pick caught the light. He chuckled at his own private joke.

  “No way, man. That’s not funny! I didn’t do anything. You got the wrong guy.” Teague struggled to get to his feet.

  Sammy kicked his feet out from under him. He stuck his handgun in Teague’s face and asked, “Did I tell you to get up?”

  Instantly, Teague stopped moving except to shake his head.

  G. put the sharpened end of the pick underneath Teague’s jaw. “Do you know how much you’ve cost me? The money? The men? Lost merchandise?” He waited a few seconds then applied more pressure. “Answer me, asshole.”

  In order to speak, Teague had to drive the pick farther into his skin. “No,” Teague mumbled between clenched teeth.

  “No, what?” G. taunted.

  “No, sir.” Blood began to run down Teague’s neck.

  “Remember your manners,” G. goaded him further. “Your antics have cost me plenty and I intend to collect in full.”

  Foster was watching the exchange, amazed at four-six-two’s restraint. He knew that Teague was armed and could have killed G. if not for Sammy protecting him. For them to escape, they needed to kill both G. and Sammy without a weapon being fired. That amount of noise was bound to bring an army of men after them.

  “Don’t believe a word of it. The G. man is a welch,” Foster taunted.

  “Cut out his tongue. He won’t need it anyway.”

  He was taking a hell of a chance, but it was the break that Teague had been waiting for. Sammy holstered his forty-five and started toward Foster.

  He squatted in front of Foster, twirling the knife he’d pulled from his boot.

  “We’re gonna do this the slow, painful way to help pay for all the trouble you caused. You’re the piece of shit who blew up my bike. Aren’t you?” Sammy asked.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Sammy’s little show now had G.’s full attention. It was time to act. Teague had already quietly removed the tie wrap. With the knife firmly in hand, he rose to his feet and was behind G. in one smooth, fluid motion. From this position, he had a double advantage.

  He was in the perfect location to kill G., and use him as a human shield if Sammy turned on him. Teague clamped his left hand hard across G.’s mouth and nose, yanking his head back exposing his throat to the knife. He sliced fast and deep wi
th the blade. G.’s body went limp after only a few seconds, signaling the end of one of the world’s most ruthless drug lords. Why was it that the bigger the badass, the easier he was to kill? This SOB went down without a fight.

  The sound of the ice pick dropping to the floor, however, had Sammy coming out of his crouching position and reaching for his pistol. If he got off a shot, all hell would break loose. Men would charge the room. They’d never make it up the stairs or out of the compound.

  Foster slid out of his modified tie wrap and grabbed Sammy’s right arm then pulled downward as his fist made hard contact with Sammy’s jaw. The knife dropped as the two men fought.

  Allowing G.’s body to drop to the floor, Teague watched as the two men wrestled for control of the gun. Sammy outweighed Foster by an easy fifty pounds, but he was holding his own. Still, Teague wasn’t taking any chances. Fair play could go straight to hell. This needed to end. Now.

  Teague leaped over the body, ready to deliver Sammy the same end he’d just given G. Before he could get to the target, though, Foster threw his leg out, caught Teague in the thigh and pushed him back causing him to slip in G.’s blood and drop to one knee.

  Teague was still gaining his feet as Sammy got the upper hand. He shoved his gun into Foster’s side and fired several times.

  Foster grinned, the crazy bastard, as he swept Sammy’s own dropped knife across the man’s jugular sending him straight to hell.

  For several seconds, blood sprayed across the wall then dripped to mingle with Foster’s.

  Teague scrambled over to Foster. “Why did you do that, man? I had it.”

  “My kill.” Blood pooled in his mouth and dripped from his lips. “I wanted—” His breath came in ragged, shallow gulps. “The pleasure.”

  When the triumphant gleam turned to a deathly pallor, Teague knew that Foster was gone and if he didn’t get moving he wouldn’t be far behind him.

  The pistol being buried against Foster had dampened the sound, but not enough. He heard men calling out and footsteps running toward him. Teague knew he was screwed. He scrambled to the darkened corner behind the stairs, grabbing Sammy’s Colt as he went.

  While they’d waited, Teague had found a tunnel entrance, but what good would it do? It would be simple for them to be waiting at the other end. Shadows spilled into the room. The goons stayed at the top of the stairs arguing over who would go down first. Imbeciles!

  The stair mechanism caught Teague’s eye. A plan began to form. He was willing to admit, at least to himself, that it wasn’t a very good plan, but what other options did he really have? Hastily, he ripped open the entrance to the tunnel, not caring that the sound was loud and obvious. He scrambled on all fours back behind the stairs allowing his feet to scrape over the concrete, glad that the lighting was less than stellar. In the confined space, he hoped that the sound resembled him moving down the tunnel.

  In a risky move, he pocketed his weapons and sprang into the air using the stair mechanism as a drawbar. With his feet stationed on the sides of the two-by-fours framing the steps, he squeezed his body as far into the rafters as he could manage, grateful for his dark clothing and the subdued lighting.

  Automatic gunfire riddled the bodies before the goon squad filtered into the room.

  Teague’s arms shook from exhaustion. His legs were taking the brunt of his weight and tremors in his calves could be felt in the wood. Luckily, no one had noticed. Yet.

  “Son of a bitch! Marco, you shot Mr. G. Holy shit, man. You shot G. Hey, Tico,” Joey shouted back into the upstairs room, “Marco shot the old man!”

  “Shut the fuck up. I didn’t shoot him. He was already dead.”

  “Then why did you riddle his body with bullets? Damn, man, I don’t wanna be you.” Joey’s tone taunting, clearly amused by his partner’s difficult position, he stepped away from Marco. “Shit, man, you shot Sammy too. High-five, man.” He raised his hand. “I hated that son of a bitch.”

  “Who’s this other fucker?” Tico toed the knife away from Sammy’s neck.

  “How am I supposed to know? Marco shot him!” Joey continued to harass his buddy.

  “They were already dead, you dumb motherfuckers.” Marco spat the words past clenched teeth.

  “Were there two guys down here?” Tico asked.

  “Maybe, I don’t know. No, no. I remember. There were three,” Marco agreed.

  How in the hell did these assholes ever get anything done? Their incompetence was amazing. Complete blithering idiots. And slow. Good God, they needed to get the show on the road. Otherwise, Teague was going to fall out of the rafters and splat along the ground, adding to their confusion.

  “Shit,” Marco muttered as he sank closer to the ground and spun around searching the shadows for two more assailants.

  “Look, the tunnel’s open.” Tico pointed toward the gaping hole in the wall.

  The two men peered into the tunnel opening, shining flashlights into the darkness. Marco shouted upstairs, “Radio Eduardo. Tell him to get someone out to T-3.” Both men stood up and made their way back up the steps.

  Hours seemed to pass while they discussed the events. Teague had long ago lost all feeling in his arms and legs. He prayed that his strength wouldn’t go with it. He couldn’t stay there much longer.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Slowly muscle control began to return. She could flex her fingers and toes. Her eyelids grew heavy and she feared nodding off. As she sat imprisoned in her own body, her mind tormented her with the images from the photos of the dead women. She tried to keep her thoughts positive and failed miserably. Next, she tried to keep her mind blank. That, too, was impossible.

  Each picture had been forever burned into her psyche and somehow locked in a nightmarish slide show with no off button, every gruesome detail highlighted as a preview of what would eventually happen to her.

  As her lids began to drift shut, her mind’s eye made a connection. Her heart tripped rapidly as she realized that two of those poor women had had their eyelids superglued wide open. A small sound escaped her throat. Tears poured anew down her cheeks.

  The whirl of a small motor caught her attention. She glanced at the green light of the webcam in the corner of the ceiling and noticed that it was moving.

  Oh, God. He was watching her. She was afraid to even blink, fearing his wrath. She had seen proof of his madness.

  Scraping of metal and wood announced his entry into her jail. Her eyes darted to his as he entered farther into the room.

  “Very good, Chantel. You’ve followed my instructions very nicely. You’re learning. It won’t end your punishment, but I’m glad to see you can be taught. I don’t want this to be harder on you than necessary.”

  His evil glint told her just the opposite. He thrived on the pain and fear of others.

  “Stand up.”

  He had to be kidding. She could barely move her toes. What wasn’t numb hurt like hell, yet she tried. With intense concentration, she was able to wrap her hands around the bars. Her feet, though, refused to stay underneath her. The manacles kept them from sliding between the bars, but they were of little use in holding her up.

  “Do you know what this is?” He held up a long-handled device with a paddle on the end. “It will send an electrical shock through your entire body. There are several different settings. The lightest is extremely painful. The last setting is strong enough to induce heart failure if done correctly.” He flipped the switch and turned it on. “Chantel…” He paused until she met his gaze. “Each time I use this, I will increase the setting. Don’t push me too far.”

  Using strength she would have sworn she didn’t have, she pushed then pulled herself into a standing position. Her legs shook—from the strain or from fear, she didn’t know.

  “That’s better. I’m going to unlock your cage.” He smiled when she cringed. “Put your hands behind your back and leave them there.”

  Chantel complied immediately.

  Ed unsnapped the manacles about he
r legs then grasped her upper arm and pulled her through the bars. Her legs refused to work correctly and several times she stumbled. He didn’t seem to notice as he led her to a toilet.

  “Use it,” he demanded.

  Many replies came to mind. Refusal first and foremost. He must have guessed what was running through her head. He kept twisting and turning the paddle in his hand as if testing it for balance. She had to bide her time and wait for an opportunity to escape. Her chances would be much better if she could lull him into carelessness.

  Her bladder, though bursting, refused to work.

  “At higher settings, the skin will sizzle and burn. Do you like the smell of burning flesh, Chantel?”

  She shook her head as he literally scared the pee out of her.

  “It must be an acquired aroma. I rather like it. Stand up and spread your legs.”

  This time she knew it was fear that set her legs quaking. Through sheer determination, she forced them to work. She would do anything to keep from setting him off. In her mind she chanted, Please, God, don’t let that thing touch me.

  A wide grin drew his eye sockets deeper. His cheeks hollowed out, giving him a look of pure evil. How had they missed it all these years?

  She watched in utter terror as he tossed the paddle into his other hand and picked up the toilet tissue. He broke off a swath and handed it to her. “Use it.”

  Obviously, humiliating her was part of his plan. And it was working. He afforded her no privacy. When she was done, he led her back to the cage. She would have been mortified if horror hadn’t filled every cell of her body, leaving no room for such a mundane emotion.

  “I had wanted your homecoming to be an enjoyable experience for you, Chantel.” Once the cage was locked, he powered off the paddle and laid it near a footlocker at the end of the cot. Using a key, he unlocked the clasp and opened it. From Chantel’s position, she couldn’t see inside. “I never wanted to punish you. You forced me to do this.”