Sweet Revenge

Carlisle had spent two years in prison, and he was on the hunt for the person responsible for his punishment. He did commit the crime but ending up in prison was not supposed to be his fate. He had done everything in his power for the last thirteen years to remain a free citizen, but because of one worthless new recruit, he had to pay. That is the reason the mafia is so sceptical of including a new person to the team. They can’t handle the ruthlessness, and they cave in front of measly officers, who do nothing but carry out orders. They don’t have a brain or an opinion of their own. How can a person just follow orders their whole life without having any kind of a say in the matter? How stupid do you have to be to never question people? This topic aggravated Carlisle like no other. He had always had a low opinion of cops, but now spending two years in jail, he had gotten to know them better and hated them even more.

His loyal team was in front of him, waiting to hear his next words. Waiting to get his orders that they would be executing soon. But they were not stopped from questioning their boss. No one dared to, but they could. Carlisle would explain why he was asking them to do the task, say put a bullet in the neighbour’s head, and then maybe even demonstrate on one of the new recruits. He would always encourage questions and thrived in performing demonstrations. It had been a while since Carlisle had personally done something reckless, or crime worthy, and he missed it. He missed his old days in the gang, when he would drive his gleaming red convertible, not caring who noticed him. He missed the action, the snarky one-liners before landing a punch, and most of all, the smirk as he would drive away, leaving the victim helpless. Nobody could touch him. He was always protected, either by his boss or his own reputation. No one wanted to pick a fight with Carlisle, one of the most feared people in the mafia.

And now, he had served a two-year sentence because of a pesky newbie. Just after being released, he had sent out a team to track the rat down. But he was to be brought to him alive. He had to set an example, and Timothy, the talker, would be it. No one wronged Carlisle and got away with it.

The doors opened to the room the members were in and Timothy was being dragged inside, half limping, by Denwer, Carlisle’s right hand man. Timothy had a bleeding lip, and a black eye, which his black mess of hair almost fully covered. Two other men followed Timothy and Denwer inside, tucking their pistols into their holders. Denwer crossed the room, dragging Timothy, and flung him at Carlisle’s feet. Carlisle was seated in a dark brown chair, his hands on both armrests, looking down at the helpless boy.

“Get up, Timmy, what’s wrong with you,” Carlisle said with overwhelming glee. “Did Denwer hit you too hard? I told him to smash in your face, it’s not his fault, alright, don’t be mad at him. You see, he actually respects me, and this community we have built together. He would never go against anything I say. You realise what I’m saying, right?” he looked at Timothy. Timothy refused to look up. Carlisle bent down and harshly grabbed Timothy’s chin, pulling it towards his own face.

“You can’t look at me, now? What, is the guilt consuming you from the inside? Are you too afraid to speak, because you know you will die today, huh, is that it?”

Timothy stared at Carlisle with a cold look.

“I just realised something. I never asked you, Timmy, if you have any family. How mannerless of me. Do you have someone in your life you love, care about?”

For the first time, Timothy had an expression on his face except pure rage; it was terror.

“This is between you and me,” he said. “You don’t bring anyone else into this, you hear me? You leave everybody else out of it.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, you little prick!” Carlisle roared. “You made my life miserable! You will pay in any way I see fit!”

“This has nothing to do with the people in my life. They don’t even know you exist! Please, don’t hurt them.”

“Ah, now that’s something I like to hear. You’re afraid, now. Tell me, were you afraid when you ratted on me? Ever thought about the consequences?” Carlisle smirked. “Did you ever imagine you sprawled on the floor at my feet, as your fate lies in my hands?” He got up. He walked forward, stepping on Timothy’s hip as he cried out in pain. “Oh! Excuse me! I’ve gained a few pounds in the last two years. Pawned off a lot of my work on the more inexperienced ones in there.”

He paced the room, as all the people in the room except Timothy gazed at him, marvelling at their leader once again as he had returned from surviving prison. They waited for him to speak with such patience, it was as if he were going to lead them to eternal glory.

“Tell me, Timmy,” he said as he paced. “Do you miss home? I noticed you moved. I hope it was because you realised that at some point you would have to face me, right? But I tracked you down. It was almost fun, other than the fact that I was looking for the person who put me away. Now it’s my turn, little guy.” He knelt beside Timothy, staring into his eyes, which were filled with a mixture of horror and rage. “And it’s not going to be pretty. I’ll show what it's like to spend two years in hell. Take him away.”

“No!” Timothy cried. “No, let me go, get off me! You can’t do this! People will realise I’m missing; they’ll search for me! You won’t get away with this!” Denwer and his partner dragged him out of the room, shouting and wailing, begging to be spared.

“How are you feeling, boss?” asked one of the members.

“It’s good to be back.”