The warehouse reeked of soiled concrete and industrial paint fumes when we walked in. It was located on the outskirts of the industrial park in the city. Tyler knew about it because a lot of drug deals went down here and meetings between different gangs. It was in a remote area, so if there was a huge shootout or anything, nobody would really hear anything or draw attention. I’d taken more lives here than I’d like to admit.
The kid squirmed against my grip and I held him tighter, putting my gun to his neck. I could practically smell the fear radiating off of him.
“You owe Scar.”
“I-I-know.” He stuttered.
“So, where the fuck is the money?”
“I have it, I have it man I swear! Please just don’t kill me!”
“What makes you think you can just run out on drug dealers, that’s a big no-no. You got involved with people who you can’t even comprehend how dangerous they are. I could make you disappear and no one would ever find your body.”
The kid was trembling at this point, whatever ego he thought he had went out the window when I pulled my gun on him. He practically broke down and cried, begging me not to kill him.
“Cough up the cash, kid.”
He reached into his pocket, throwing out hundred-dollar bills onto the ground. Scar circled around us, counting them as they hit the floor.
“Who carries over a grand in cash on them?” Scar asked me.
“Rich college kids, that’s fuckin’ who.”
“I’d say that’s about equal to what he owes me.”
I started to ease my grip on the kid as Scar picked up the bills, double counting them and putting them into his wallet.
“Do we collect interest?” I asked, smirking.
“We’d better. Don’t want ’em thinking they got off easy.”
Before the kid could get too comfortable, I gripped his left wrist, twisting it hard enough and hearing a satisfying snap; a trick I picked up in jail. The kid cried out, buckling to the ground and I released my grip on him fully.
I wasn’t about to let some stupid college kid go running back to his friends about how he got off easy ripping off a drug dealer who had affiliations with the Bloods. Hell no. Broken bones got the point across. And I was Shane Voss, people knew who the hell I was. I was known as one of the most dangerous members of the Blood and a cold-blooded killer at that. I’d chopped off tongues, various limbs and took my time slicing and dicing people to get answers out of them. I had a reputation to uphold.
“Get back in the truck and I don’t wanna hear you cryin’.” I snapped, putting my gun in my waistband.
Scar hopped in the passenger seat and the kid got in the back.
“Did Tyler and Curtis split the shit back at your place?” Scar asked me once we were on the road again.
“Yeah. We can take what’s ours and head out later tonight. I need some cash flow again.”
While Nikki and Mark dealt, it was no harder than coke. Scar and I were the only ones who slung anything harder than that. I usually had crack and heroin on me so we’d go to the slums at night, a place close to the harbour. That was where the majority of junkies and homeless addicts lived. It was a dangerous place at night- even for us. I was the only person who Tyler trusted and was confident that I wouldn’t get hurt, and if I did; I could handle it. Scar was my right-hand man.
Scar was the main connect to drugs and I was the muscle behind the operation.
We pulled up to the block where the kid lived and I unlocked the doors. This wasn’t a damn limo service and I wasn’t dropping him off on his doorstep with a broken wrist.
“Don’t let me catch you pulling that shit again or I won’t be so nice next time. We clear?”
“Yeah man, we’re clear.”
He all but ran down the street, clutching his wrist to him.
Scar let out a laugh. “Fucking rich kids think nothing can touch them.”
“He’s lucky I’m in a good mood today.” My eyes shifted over to Scar. “Where are we going next?”
“Keep your eyes open, I really want you to watch what I’m about to do to your little friend here.” I said to the guy that Scar had pinned against the ground, gun at his head.
These fuckers decided to try and outrun us when we pulled up to them and then they tried to fight us off in a pathetic attempt to get away again.
The one Scar was holding had a black eye and a shattered nose from where I hit him.
“N-no please don’t! We’ll pay you back! We promise.”
His friend, a scrawny crackhead was struggling in my grasp as I tied him to one of the steel beams in the warehouse.
“Your promises don’t mean shit to us,” Scar snapped, “You had your time. We were more than generous with you and you try to fight us and run away like the pathetic pieces of shit that you are.”
“I’ll do anything.” He sobbed and I shook my head.
Fuckin’ crackheads. If you couldn’t pay your addiction, that was your problem. You don’t take drugs and run out on the money you owed.
“Too little too late, buddy. You still don’t have the money? You’re almost five grand in the hole.”
“Come on man! I’m begging you!” Scar’s guy said and then was muffled as Scar landed a kick to his side.
One thing I hated more than crackheads that rip you off? Crackheads who didn’t shut the fuck up when you went to collect payment.
I was pissed off at this point that the guy wouldn’t shut up. What sent me over the edge was when he tried to kick at me from where he was tied down to try and trip me. Oh hell no. This guy had a death wish.
The Jekyll and Hyde in me flipped the switch and I stalked over to the truck.
“Where are you going?” Scar asked me, but I ignored him. I was seconds away from flying into a blind rage and now I was starting to see red. I grabbed my machete out of the box and stalked back over to the guy writhing around, trying to get free when he realized I wasn’t about to cut him loose.
“Oh fuck.” The guy said, when he processed what was about to happen.
“Oh, hell yeah! He got the machete.” Scar grinned manically. “Shane ain’t fuckin’ around now!”
“Hope you’re not too attached to that hand.” I said, before bringing the knife down.