Kristen Ashley - Wild Man

Hank Nightingale, Eddie Chavez and Jimmy Marker, the first two men he’d known awhile since they worked vice. Their relationship had been strained due to Brock’s second to last job going bad and both of them having a strong negative opinion about the plays Brock had made during that job. Now, considering Hank was Lee Nightingale’s brother and Lee was Chavez’s best friend and Brock was working with Hector and Vance, two of Lee’s boys, not to mention he’d moved from the DEA to the DPD and paths were crossing, they’d come to an uneasy détente. As the days turned to weeks then months, this détente improved as they got to know each other’s histories, personalities and work ethics. He couldn’t say they were best buds but he respected them.

Jimmy Marker was a veteran cop, highly decorated, intensely dedicated to the job and close to retirement. There wasn’t a cop in the Department who didn’t respect him, including Brock.

It was Jimmy who had spoken.

“What’s up?” Brock asked.

“In Cap’s office,” Jimmy returned.

That was when he knew it. He felt it. He saw it in their guarded eyes, their alert stances.

Something was wrong. Something big was wrong. And that something big was very big and it was also very wrong.

Fuck.

He said not another word, folded out of his chair and moved to the Captain’s office, Jimmy, Eddie and Hank following him.

The minute it came into view Brock saw the Captain had eyes to the window of his office.

Waiting.

Fuck.

He walked in, the men walked in with him and the door closed instantly.

“Have a seat, Lucas,” the Captain ordered, his eyes not having left him.

Brock didn’t move nor take his eyes off Cap.

“Tell me,” he ordered.

Cap held his eyes.

Then he stated, “You know Josiah Burkett was released on parole four months ago.”

Bile crawled up Brock’s throat.

Josiah Burkett was Bree’s cousin who raped her. Brock had paid attention to Josiah Burkett and he knew exactly when that motherfucking monster was released. Brock also knew Burkett had kept steady with his meetings with his parole officer, the halfway house that asshole was in and hadn’t moved out of yet and that he managed to land himself a job working the line of an automotive parts factory off 6th Avenue.

What he did not know was why Cap was leading with Burkett.

This was not starting good.

“Yeah,” he replied.

The Captain held his eyes.

“Jesus, Cap, just –” Brock growled and Cap interrupted him.

Speaking quickly, he said, “A call came into 911 twenty minutes ago. The caller didn’t get the chance to explain what was happening. Shots were heard over the phone. Not a minute later, multiple calls came from Park Meadows Mall…”

Hearing the location, a location Tess was at twenty minutes ago and he knew this because he was on the fucking phone with her twenty fucking minutes ago, every cell in Brock Lucas’s body stopped moving.

The Captain kept speaking, “… reporting an elderly man had opened fire on a black sedan.

When units hit the scene, the shooter was gone, there was a man down, still alive outside the car and two men dead in the car. Damian Heller was one of those men.”

Brock didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t even fucking blink.

“I’m sorry, son, but Tessa O’Hara’s phone and purse were found in the back of that sedan.”

Brock closed his eyes.

The Captain kept going. “Witnesses report she went with the elderly man who was holding her at gunpoint.”

Brock opened his eyes.

The Captain finished, saying quietly, “The descriptions of the shooter match Josiah Burkett.”

Instantly, he turned on his boot heading for the door.

Nightingale and Chavez were already there, prepared, and if he had any room for anything else in his brain, anything other than his sweet Tess in the hands of a whacked, sick lunatic that he had set on this path to revenge making it him who made his Tess unsafe, he would have cottoned onto why those two were chosen. Not a lot of men could lock Brock down but those two could.

“Lucas, you need to stay calm and listen to me,” Cap ordered urgently.

Brock stopped in front of Nightingale and Chavez.

“Outta my fuckin’ way,” he growled, his eyes moving direct to both of theirs.

They didn’t move a muscle. If anything was on his mind other than the putrid garbage that was filling it, he would have seen understanding in their eyes, concern.

But nothing was on his mind but his Tess in the sick, twisted hands of Josiah fucking Burkett.

“Lucas,” Cap called. “Son, calm down and listen to me. You don’t, we’ll lock you down.

And you don’t need that, you don’t want that, I know you don’t. Not now, be smart, turn around and listen to me.”

Brock looked over his shoulder. “Get them outta my way.”

“We’ll find her,” Cap promised.

“When?” Brock asked, turning, “After he beats the shit outta her? After he plays his sick fuckin’ games with her? Jesus fuckin’ Christ! ” he said the last on a roar. “She’s been through this before.”

“I know, son, listen to –”

Brock turned his back on the Cap and lifted a finger in Nightingale’s face, “I want your brother on this, fuckin’ now. ”

“He is, Slim, I already called him,” Hank said quietly. “All his boys are on the hunt.”

“Delgado,” Brock snarled, his eyes moving to Chavez, “he needs to mobilize.”

“That call’s been made too,” Eddie told him. “He’s got his team in play.”

Brock glared at them, that bile still eating away at his throat. Visions of Bree in her hospital bed filling his head, visions that morphed into Tess, jaw wired, teeth missing, eyes swollen shut, dark bruises at her neck.

Fuck.

Fuck!

He turned back to the Cap. “My boys need to be picked up from school. I need to make some calls.”

“You do it from in here,” Cap replied.

Brock shook his head. “I gotta be out there. I know where he hides. I know where he creeps.”

“You give that info to Jimmy, Hank and Eddie, they’ll follow it up.”

“She’s my woman, Cap,” Brock reminded him.

“We’ll find her,” Cap promised again.

That bile in his throat was swelling, threatening to choke him. “My job to keep her safe,”

he spoke around the bile, this making his voice thick.

“We’ll find her, son,” Cap promised yet again and his eyes went intense. “Goes against the grain, man like you, I know it. Goes against the grain. But the smartest thing you can do right now is sit your ass down, brief Jimmy, Hank and Eddie so they can work this then call someone to take care ‘a your boys. When we get her, you need to have your shit together

‘cause she’s gonna need you. So, you gotta keep your shit together, Brock, do the smart thing, help us help her.”

After the Captain stopped speaking, Brock “Slim” Lucas didn’t delay.

He walked to the chairs in front of Cap’s desk, sat his ass down in one and looked to Jimmy Marker who was seating himself beside him. Then he ran down everything he remembered about Josiah Burkett which was everything he knew about Josiah Burkett. He didn’t forget anything. Not anything.

Eddie Chavez left first to disburse the first wave of intel.

Hank Nightingale left second.

Jimmy Marker waited until the end.

Then Brock called his mother to go pick up his boys.

And after that, standing at the window in the Captain’s office, eyes staring unseeing outside, that bile still choking him, his brain torturing him, his instincts screaming for him to move, his palms itching, his teeth clenched, it took everything he had to lock himself down and not do, again, what he’d done years ago, something that was wild and stupid and fucked up then and something that he could have no way of knowing would put his Tess in jeopardy now and, for the first time in fucking years, he prayed.

My wild man, he heard her sweet words whisper in his head. My snake charmer.

Brock Lucas closed his eyes and prayed harder.

“Do you know what he did to me?”

“You’re the one who hurt Bree.”

“Do you know what he did to me? ”

I went silent when he started screaming.

He had the gun and his eyes on me. He was wrong. All wrong. And all that wrong came from his eyes.

As Brock would say, he was whacked. It shone out of his eyes. Clear as day. It shone straight from his eyes.

How could Bree not see that?

Or maybe he hid it from her.

But he wasn’t hiding it from me.

And it scared me nearly senseless.

Not senseless enough not to pay attention. Not senseless enough not to note exactly where we were, in Englewood, in an old crackerbox house on a big lot that was mostly muddy earth from the snow melt, dead weeds, lots of big trees. I thought it was a weird place to take me. It was a neighborhood, populated and as the afternoon wore on, it would be more populated.

People could hear me scream.

But I didn’t scream.

He did.

He was whacked.

He’d killed Damian, shot him right in the face. He’d shot two other men, one I knew was dead, the other might be. He hated Brock.

So he’d shoot me.

But he wanted to play with me first. I knew this. I knew he wanted Brock to live with that for the rest of his life. He might leave me breathing after or he might not.

But he wasn’t going to play with me for long. I knew this too. He was an old guy, for one.

He couldn’t have that in him anymore. And also, he didn’t care if he was caught. He’d shot three men in the parking lot of Park Meadows Mall. People had to see, to hear. He was going to do what he was going to do to make Brock pay and he wasn’t going to waste any time.

When I didn’t answer, his voice calmed and he ordered, “Take off your clothes.”

I went still.

No, he wasn’t going to waste any time.

This couldn’t happen to me again. It couldn’t. It couldn’t happen to me again. I wasn’t sure I could survive it. Not even with Brock at my back when it was done, if I was left breathing. I wasn’t even sure we could survive it, not from what I knew of Brock, his capacity for loyalty and love, knowing he’d brought this down on me. It would undo him. So even if I survived, he might not.

“Take off… your fuckin’… clothes, ” he semi-repeated and I stared at him.

He moved the gun an inch to the side and squeezed the trigger.

I screamed and jumped as the gunshot sounded loud in the room, the bullet embedding in the wall behind me.

God, please God, someone hear that.

“Take off your clothes,” he again repeated.

I shook my head.

“No,” I whispered and he blinked.

“What?” he asked.

I knew it then. I knew I couldn’t take it. I knew Brock couldn’t take it.

I knew I had to stop this.

And if I got hurt doing it, so be it.

But no one was going to hurt me like that, not again. And they weren’t going to hurt Brock either.

Not again.

We’d had enough. We’d both had e-fucking- nough.

“You got what you deserved,” I told him quietly and he stared at me. “No.” I shook my head again. “You didn’t. You didn’t get what you deserved. If you got what you deserved you wouldn’t be breathing.”

He moved closer to me, gun raised pointed at me but I kept my eyes steady on his and moved back as he moved toward me.

“You hurt her, you destroyed her,” I told him, still moving back as he moved forward, his crazy-as-shit eyes riveted to me. “You ended her. This world isn’t right because you’re breathing and she isn’t.”

I hit wall and had to stop and he stopped with me.

“Take off your clothes,” he said yet again.

“No. No way. You aren’t going to touch me. No way.”

“Take off your clothes.”

“Shoot me. Do it. I’d rather die than have your filthy hands on me.”

“Take off… your… clothes. ”

I shook my head and kept my eyes on him.

Then I whispered, “No.”

Then I moved.

Bending double, I went right at him as the next gunshot sounded loud in the room and I didn’t know where it went I just knew it didn’t go into me.