The sound of the jail cell lock unlatching itself from the room nearly deafens me. I haven’t heard any noise, other than my own breathing, for nearly a week. The sound sends a jolt up my spine and I jump to my feet.
I’m wobbled by the sudden movement. I haven’t had any water in two days and the headrush I just got is a swift kick in the nuts that knocks me back on my ass and in the corner of the room. I try to get right back up, but before I can, a pair of black combat boots steps in front of me.
“Where the fuck have you been?!” I ask, as aggressively as I can.
It’s Logan, he’s back.
“Trying to save us, Steven. Trying to save…you,” he explains as he reaches his hand down to me.
I grab a hold of his hand and he slowly pulls me up to my feet. I’m still a bit dizzy, but I’ll manage. He turns and walks out of the room.
“Is that a black eye?” I inquire as he walks out of the room.
“Yes,” he says, softly. “Let’s go upstairs and get you some food.
Logan has had me locked in that makeshift jail cell for weeks, and suddenly he’s mister-fucking-nice-guy. I’d love to knock his block off, but I don’t have the energy.
Maybe when I get food in my stomach, and water in my body.
Logan is still wearing the yellow dress and black combat boots combination that he’s been wearing this entire fucking month…I really fucking hope he didn’t show up to Refueled looking like that.
That is not the Solex brand.
We make our way up the stairs and into the kitchen. The unmistakable smell of rotisserie style chicken lights my body on fire and I make a run for the kitchen table.
Logan trips me as I try to run by him and I fall face first into the 1970’s shag carpet in the middle of the living room. I can feel the carpet burn on my forehead and elbows before I even lift my face off of the ground.
“You wait like a good boy, Steven.”
That fuckin’ does it.
Suddenly, I feel like a million bucks.
Suddenly, I feel hydrated and fed.
Suddenly, I don’t feel like a victim.
Suddenly, I feel like a fuckin’ mad man.
I realize that if Logan’s been eating and drinking water, that means that I have. That means if Logan was in Glasgow, that means that I was. A look of concern comes over his face as I stare him down while I lift myself to my feet.
“You fuckin’ prick,” I blurt out, as I point a finger in his direction and begin marching in his direction. He squirms, but doesn’t move.
“You’re dead!” I shout, as I reach back and throw a haymaker straight from the depths of hell that’s aimed right between his beady little black eyes.
Nothing but air.
“You don’t really believe it works that way, do you?” He boasts from behind me, sitting on the bottom step.
What the fuck?
I’ve figured it all out, but he already knew and dodged my punch like a ninja behind a cloud of smoke.
“Come here, you miserable little prick,” I mutter as I make a b-line straight to him.
I take another big swing at the little sociopathic bitch, but again…he disappears.
“You’re better than this, Steven,” he quips softly, standing in the entryway of the kitchen. He laughs and leans up against the side of the entryway. He crosses his arms low and in front of his stomach.
“Come on, Steven. We’re a team,” he says in a condescending tone that makes my blood boil.
I run toward him once more and cock back for another punch, but just before I swing I turn around and grab that little son of a bitch by the throat.
“You’re predictable, you little sack of shit.” I squeeze my hand hard enough to cut off the majority of his oxygen supply, but not hard enough to kill the little shithead.
“Be reasonable, Steven. You need….you need,” he tries to get the words out, but every time he does, I squeeze harder.
I let loose, just enough for him to talk.
“You need…us!” He exclaims. His eyes widen and an evil little grin comes over his face.
I see the reflection of a silhouette behind me in his eyes. I see two arms reach up high into the air, and just in the nick of time I duck out of the way.
Logan is hit over the head with a baseball bat, and sent down to the kitchen floor…unconscious. His arms go into zombie mode and he snores loudly. I stand over his body, and next to me stands Shawn Kutter.
“You were aiming for me, Shawn,” I say, my eyes focused on Logan’s unconscious body.
“I was,” he answers.
I can feel him staring at me.
“But I missed.”
“That’s not the point, Shawn. You were trying to protect Logan by getting rid of me. Do you not see the problem there?”
“I do,” he groans.
“This is the end, Shawn. D is gone, Logan is gone…and you’re next. You started this, and you’re next.”
“I know,” he says, his voice frogged by the lump in his throat.
I take the baseball bat from his hand; he doesn’t put up a fight…not one bit of a struggle. I take a few steps back and drag the baseball bat across the floor like I’m fucking Negan. I hold the bat up and point it in his direction. I cock it back like I’m Ken Griffey fuckin’ Jr’, and slowly place it against the side of his cheek…getting my aim right.
“Please,” he pleads as a tear rolls down his cheek. “Not this way.”
I yank the bat back and swing it at his head. He takes in a deep breath and shuts his eyes, preparing for impact.
Another tear rolls down his cheek.
I stop the bat, and gently tap him on the side of the face.
“Not this way,” I whisper to him.
He trembles and opens his eyes. He looks at me and begins to sob uncontrollably. I’ve never seen Shawn like this before.
I’m now in control.
I am the Alpha.
“Not yet,” I continue. “First, we’re going to get rid of Bobby Dean. And we’re going to do it my way this time, Shawn. My fucking way! Do you understand me?!”
I get right in his face, nose to nose. He nods his head and tears flow down his cheeks.
“And then…then, we’ll deal with whatever the fuck is left of this,” I say, pointing my finger at the both of us.
“You understand?” I ask.
He nods, but stays silent.
“What’s the situation we’re…I’m in? No more of this we shit, you understand?”
He nods in compliance. “We…you’re down three-to-two. It’s win or go home, Steve,” he sniffles.
These miserable fucks couldn’t even get rid of Bobby fuckin’ Dean. I’d go back and watch the tape, but there’s no way I want to see what’s been happening since I was forced out of the loop. I could have beaten Bobby Dean and my meat at the same fucking time, but this group of fucking misfits couldn’t get the job done. Now daddy’s got to pick up the pieces and right the fuckin’ ship. That happens this week and it happens again at ICONIC.
I shake my head in disgust and point the bat down at Logan.
“Get rid of this piece of shit,” I demand.
Shawn’s slow to move.
“Now, you fuckin’ coward!”
My shouting startles him and quickly he grabs a hold of one of Logan’s wrists and begins to drag him out of the living room. He yanks open the front door and drags the little shit down the front steps. He leaves him in the front yard and walks back into the house. He closes the door behind him and locks the deadbolt.
“Let’s plan my win, Shawn. Let’s plan the reemergence of Steve Solex! The fuckin’ Dad- Soldier! The fuckin’ Alpha Male!”