NYCTO
“I’ll rendezvous with the ship to collect the packages myself.” I tap the ash off my cigarette. “As always, it’s a pleasure doing business with you, Andrés.”
His raspy chuckle comes back down the line. “The pleasure’s all mine, Nycto. Just make sure all six packages leave that ship in pristine condition. No damage. Not a mark in any way to the products… You know how I like my presents wrapped.”
I shake my head with a smirk. Fucker. “I’m aware. We’ve been in business a long time, Andrés. Have I ever let you down?”
“Not yet. You get the job done, no questions asked. I like that about you.”
That’s the thing about delivering packages the way we do here in Tampa. The buyers want no questions, and I’m happy to oblige as long as I get my hefty paycheck. I don’t give a shit what I’m delivering. All I care about is making as many bills for my club as I can.
Being the goddamn rebels of the Defiance Motorcycle Club means we’re built for this line of work. We ride hard, we don’t ask questions, and we don’t give a flying fuck about anything.
Danger?
We laugh in the face of that shit, then give it the middle finger for good measure.
We’re Defiance—we live by the code, and we’ll die by the code. I feel sorry for any fucker who gets in our way.
“I’ll inform you when we’re en route. Till then, Andrés, fuck off.”
He chuckles. “See you soon, Nycto.” The call ends abruptly, and I toss my cell onto the Chapel table.
Returning to my cigarette, I take in a long draw as I peer around the room. My brothers watch, waiting for their orders. Exhaling a ring of smoke, I glance at my VP, Void. “We’re making a run. Palma Sola Bay, tonight, to unload six packages.”
Void narrows his eyes on me. “Straight to Andrés?”
“We collect, then transfer to his men at the yard. Simple snatch and swap, like always.”
Nerve sits forward, resting his massive fucking hands on the table. “When do we leave?”
“I have shit to settle underground first. Will take a few hours. Ship should be docked by the time we arrive.”
“Who you wanna take, Pres?” Void asks.
I run my hand over the day’s growth on my chin, thinking it through. There’s always a risk when going on a run. I need to leave at least one experienced brother behind at the clubhouse, just in case. “Void, Nerve, Spark, Atomic, you’re with me. We’ll take a couple of prospects too. Everyone else stay back, keep an eye on the place. Be ready with bail money if we need you.”
A chuckle echoes around the room, but I’m deadly fucking serious. If we get caught, I’m not even sure we’d get bail. We’re not known for being law-abiding citizens. “Right, we all know what we’re doing?”
“Aye.” The answer rumbles around the room.
I slam my gavel on the industrial metal desk. The force of the strike causes the rivets lining the top edge to jiggle. Old with small rust stains in each corner from years of spilled booze, this table was in our bunker when we purchased it.
It has history. Character. Appeal. When Tampa Defiance moved into this bunker—or more appropriately, our clubhouse—we gave the table new life with our Defiance insignia proudly displayed in the middle.
My brothers stand to get ready for our mission as I take in the Chapel. The area is small. The industrial wall lamps sit against the gray stucco walls, illuminating the room, but only barely.
Just the way I like it.
The entire clubhouse is located in an underground bunker with a rounded ceiling.
There’s no natural light.
Light is the enemy in my domain.
I was taught that from an early age.
So, I avoid light as much as possible. I stick to the dark. Sure, people mock me, but they don’t tend to last very long.
I have my methods of punishment. Most think my fascination with the dark is unnecessary, so I show them just how beautiful the darkness can be—permanently.
I take one last drag on my cigarette, then snuff it. Standing from my president’s chair, I walk out of the Chapel to finish what I was doing before Church was assembled for Andrés’s call. I know I only have around five minutes before my brothers will be ready.
That should be plenty of time.
My eyes shift to Void. “Just gonna finish up, then I’ll be good to roll out. Make sure everyone’s read the files and are ready.”
He gives me a two-fingered salute as I head for the stairs leading down into the lower bunker. It’s said back in World War II, this area was used as a civilian shelter by a man who was wealthy as fuck and wanted protection for his family. The owner had the lower bunker built in case they were invaded. He could capture the enemy and hold them hostage below the main area while still staying safe in the bunker. Sick fucker was looking for an excuse to get his rocks off on kidnapping and torture. Then again, it comes in handy for a club of 1%ers to have a feature like this at our disposal, and I’m a sick fuck too.
I take the stairs two at a time, heading down to the lower bunker. The dull lighting grows even dimmer. The musty smell becomes thick with the scent of mildew as I open the heavy concrete door leading through to the Chamber.
Every Defiance clubhouse has a Chamber—mainly for torture. Ours, though, is a little different. The walls are lined with red bricks. Some new. Some old. All holding an array of sins.
“Let me out, motherfucker,” a raspy voice calls from the other end of the Chamber.
I narrow my eyes in the darkened space, peering to where Dustin’s terrified face pokes out from behind the wall. His pale skin is almost pasty from malnourishment, his cheekbones starting to sink into his skull.
The corner of my lips turns up as I saunter over to him.
“Nycto, c’mon, man. I’ve been hauled up in here for weeks. I did you wrong, I know that, but I’ve paid for it. You gotta let me go, man.”
I step over to Dustin, whose hands are tied behind his body.
His head pokes out through the small gap I’ve left unbuilt, his eyes pleading as they meet mine.
I tilt my head. “Dustin, Dustin, Dustin. When will you learn? In Florida, Defiance are the only dealers in heroin. You came into our territory to sell. Now, while I don’t personally move the stuff, my brother chapter in Miami does, and Hawk was nice enough to let me handle you. He knows I like to have a little fun from time to time.”
“Fun? You call this fun?”
I shrug. “Call this karmic justice. You tried to shift the balance. I’m simply righting your wrong. But alas, the fun is wearing thin for me. I think you’ve done your share of recompense.”
His eyes widen as a tremble overtakes his body. “W-what are you saying? Are you going to take me out from behind this damn wall?”
Excitement boils my blood. Adrenaline pumps overtime in my veins as I lean down, grab the bucket, and pull off the lid to find the mortar powder ready for use. Dustin’s eyes go wide as I pour water into it and stir.
The asshole’s head slowly moves back and forth, and he lets out a girly fucking whimper. “Nycto, no. Please, man, no. I swear I’ll stop. I’ll get my men to stop too. Do anything to me, goddamn anything, but not this.”
With an evil gaze and a giant smirk on my face, I stir the mortar. Warmth flows through me like the sick fucker I am, but damn, do I enjoy this shit. I grab a brick and use the trowel to scoop up some of the mortar.
“Nycto, c’mon… Let’s talk about this. Please...”
I lather on the mortar right at his chin height. Slowly, over a few weeks, I have been encasing him inside this wall.
Today, he’ll truly meet the darkness.
Dustin breathes heavily, the whites of his eyes showing as he follows every single move I make in front of him. The power I hold right now gives me a hard-on. This asshole did Defiance wrong. Now he’s going to fade away like he deserves, and no one will give a shit.
“Nycto!”
My eyes shift over the brickwork.
The room has held many bodies of men who have offended the club. Not just Tampa, but any chapter of Defiance that needs someone to disappear. If our brother chapters want it to happen, we take care of them. Once we’ve given the body long enough to meet its end, we break down the wall then dispose of the remains. We have upwards of fifteen souls in here at any one time.
Then there’s the Cell.
A place of immense torture.
But that’s another story.
I turn back to Dustin and place the brick on top of the wet mortar, my view of his chin and mouth now covered. All that remains is a hole the size of two bricks, where his terrified eyes frantically stare out at me. Dustin thrashes about desperately behind the wall, but the space is tight, and his hands are tied and attached to a hook in the wall, so he can’t move far. He has to stand or hang—it’s up to him.
I look him square in his scared pussy-boy eyes. “Any last words, Dustin?”
“Seriously? I’m gonna suffocate and die behind here.”
A slow grin lights up my face. “That’s the idea.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as I slather on another layer of mortar. Dustin’s eyes water as he pants for breath. I place the right-hand brick in place, leaving one to go.
The saltwater in his eyes wells and overflows down his pretty-boy face. I smile, enjoying the fact I’ve brought a street thug to tears. “This is a reminder, Dustin. A reminder to your thugs what happens when you cross Tampa Defiance MC.”
He’s shaking all over as I slather on the last layer of mortar. “Nycto, Nycto, you don’t have to do—”
I place the brick in position, muffling his words, not that I care what they are anyway.
A sense of calm rushes over me as another tomb is created in the long line of brick wall. His muffled screams echo from behind the bricks as faint moaning from last week’s victim starts up across the room. It’s an eerie sensation, one that sends goose bumps over my skin in an electrifying way.
I take immense enjoyment out of bringing these assholes down.
I love the pain it brings them.
I revel in the fact I’m forcing them into the dark.
It’s where I live every damn day.
If they’re going to try to dance in my world, then they better learn to dance with the devil.
And soon enough, everyone will learn the devil’s name is Nycto.
