The Law of Retaliation Read online

  Natalie panted as she tugged on her underwear. She grunted and groaned, but she couldn't form a single word. She wanted to explain her pain, she hoped to conjure a sense of sympathy in her attacker, but she couldn't speak. She felt a strong pressure in her lower abdomen and tailbone. She crouched and spread her legs.

  As she watched her bizarre movements, Alexa thought: what have I done?

  Before anyone could utter a word, Natalie's panties ripped. A bloody fetus fell from between her legs. The dead baby was still attached to the umbilical cord, bouncing up-and-down like a bungee jumper. The fetus was slimy, drenched in blood and amniotic fluid. At the size of a small banana, it already had the figure of a human.

  As she stared at the infant dangling between her legs, Natalie shrieked. The bloodcurdling shriek echoed through the house. She fell back and collided with the floor—timber! She still clung to life, though. Quivering breaths escaped her sputtering lips.

  Alexa approached the neo-Nazi, dragging the sledgehammer behind her. She stared at the fetus, then at Natalie, then at herself. Guilt and disgust sat on her shoulders. Yet, at heart, she knew she had to finish the job.

  She lifted the sledgehammer over her head, then she struck down at Natalie's face. The floorboards rattled with the bone-crunching strike. The sledgehammer fell to the ground beside the woman's dead body.

  Natalie's upper-lip, her nose, and her cheeks were pushed into her skull. Her eyes were crushed in their sockets. Bits of her brain and skull could be seen through the grisly gashes on her face. Her tousled hair floated in a puddle of blood under her head.

  As she stared at Natalie's mutilated face, eyes brimming with tears, Alexa whispered, “Your son is going to join you soon. You... You won't have to be alone for long, okay? We'll send him down to you. I promise.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The Boot Party

  In Caden's bedroom, while the mothers fought downstairs, Owen and Nathaniel banged on the bathroom door and screamed. They had keys to every room in the house, but their thoughts were muddled. They couldn't think clearly—rage controlled them. Jessie and Reece stood in the hallway, keeping their eyes on both bedrooms. They patiently waited for Owen's orders.

  Caden lay on his bed while Vincent adjusted the makeshift bandage around his hand. The bleeding was difficult to control, though.

  As he stared at the blood-soaked fabric, Vincent stuttered, “He–He needs... We need to take him to a–a hospital.”

  “No hospitals,” Owen responded. “Not yet, at least. No one is leaving this house until our business is settled.”

  Nathaniel struck the door with his elbow and shouted, “You hear that, you fuckin' snowflake?! This isn't over!”

  In the bathroom, Ryan sat on the floor and leaned on the parallel wall from Caden's bedroom. He held the scissors with both hands, aiming the bloody blades away from his body. He considered running into the neighboring bedroom, but he couldn't take the risk. Although the room was quiet, he assumed the neo-Nazis still surrounded him from every corner.

  Ryan shouted, “You're right! It's not over! This won't end until Caden is dead! Give him up and I'll let the rest of you live!”

  Except for Caden and Vincent, the group of racists shared a hearty laugh. One man versus six—the odds were in their favor.

  Nathaniel hit the door and shouted, “Fuck you! You couldn't beat any of us in a one-on-one fight! You're definitely not killing us, punk!” He glanced over at Owen and said, “Fuck the keys, man. We can kick this door down in five, maybe ten minutes. We'll fuck him up and–”

  A bloodcurdling shriek echoed through the home. The sound of the floorboards thudding quickly followed. The group stood in silence for a minute, glancing around the room as they tried to identify the origin of the noise. There were only two women in the house, though.

  Owen stared at the doorway and whispered, “Natalie...”

  The dedicated father pushed Nathaniel aside and stumbled through the bedroom. He jostled his way past Jessie and Reece.

  As he sat up in bed, Caden stuttered, “M–Mom?”

  He stumbled off of the bed, grunting and groaning. He ran out of the room, holding his mutilated hand up to his chest. Nathaniel, Reece, and Jessie followed the Clarks and headed back to the living room. Vincent glanced over at the bathroom door, reluctant. He didn't have any other options, though. So, he ran out of the room.

  Ryan stared at the door, perplexed by the ruckus. He heard the footsteps and muttering in Caden's bedroom. He heard a faint shout downstairs, too. It didn't sound like Alexa, though. Are they playing a trick on me? Did they get smarter?–he thought.

  He stood up and shouted, “Caden! Caden, answer me when I'm talking to you, you sick bastard! Answer me!” There was no response. He leaned back on the door and whispered, “What the hell do I do now?”

  Owen stood at the bottom of the stairs, his arms dropped to his sides in defeat. Caden stood behind his father, his jaw practically dangling down to his chest. The other racists stood on the stairs, gazing into the living room in disbelief. Disgusting, vile, atrocious—a single word couldn't accurately describe Alexa's attack.

  Deafening silence was the most appropriate response.

  Alexa stood over Natalie's dead body, the aborted fetus laying near her feet. Her hands and face were spattered with blood. She didn't show a shred of remorse or fear, though. As a matter of fact, the young woman appeared angry. With Caden in her sight, her lust for vengeance consumed her. She was willing to kill anyone who stood in her way—including pregnant women.

  Owen opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't form a single word. His eyes welled with tears as he stared at his dead wife and unborn baby. He couldn't even identify his wife due to her crushed face. The mere sight of the fetus made him retch and snivel. Was it a boy? Was it a girl?–he thought. The gender of the baby was supposed to be a surprise for the family.

  Caden staggered in reverse until his back hit the wall behind him. He held his hands over his mouth. The pain from his severed finger couldn't match the agony of losing his mother and unborn sibling. He couldn't help but feel guilty, too. He thought about the night of Lucia's death. If the girl didn't die, his mother would still be alive.

  Owen stomped and screamed—a blurt of noise, a war cry. As he rushed forward, Alexa lifted the sledgehammer from the floor and dashed back. To her utter surprise, he didn't attack her. The man fell to his knees beside his wife's body.

  Owen caressed Natalie's cheeks—what was left of them—and said, “Baby, baby, baby. I'm sorry. Oh, God... Why? Why would they do this to you? You didn't do anything wrong. You were my better half. Really, you were better. Better than all of this shit... Oh, God, please wake up, sweetheart. Don't leave me like this. Come on. Get up.”

  He gently shook her shoulders and caressed her bloody hair, but to no avail. His wife did not awaken. He sniffled as he stared at her face. He wasn't disgusted by her crushed face, though. Living as a violent thug for most of his life, he grew accustomed to extreme violence. He tortured people when he was younger, he killed people in the past. Still, it made him sick knowing his wife was brutally murdered in his house—under his watch.

  Alexa stared down at the couple. The sight brought a tear to her eye. She understood the pain of losing a loved one to an act of senseless violence. An opportunity presented itself, though. Kill him, she thought, make it easier for Ryan. She lifted the sledgehammer over her head, her arms trembling due to the weight of the tool.

  Before she could swing down at Owen's head, Nathaniel and Jessie rushed forward and tackled her. The group fell onto a recliner. The chair fell back, causing the trio to tumble onto the floor. The sledgehammer slipped out of Alexa's hands and rolled two meters away from her reach.

  On the floor, Jessie straddled Alexa's thighs in order to stop her from kicking. Nathaniel mounted her chest and pinned her arms to the floor.

  Alexa spat at Nathaniel's face, then she shouted, “Let me go! Get your hands off of me, you damn dirty
Nazi!”

  Nathaniel slapped her. Alexa tried to gouge his eyes with her free hand, but Nathaniel struck her again before she could jab her fingers at his face. He slapped her a third time, causing a small laceration to form on her lip.

  Owen glanced up at Nathaniel and Jessie—his saviors. He glanced over at Caden. To his utter disappointment, fear paralyzed his son. He was disappointed in the boy's lack of resolve. He could have died because of his cowardice. He had to forgive him, though. Caden was the last living person in his immediate family.

  As Nathaniel beat the intruder, Jessie asked, “What should we do with her?”

  Reece approached Owen and said, “You know what we have to do, boss.”

  Owen stroked his wife's brow once more, then he stood up. He stared at Reece with a cold, steady expression. He could only respond with a nod—go ahead.

  Reece shouted, “Get up, boys!”

  As Nathaniel and Jessie stood up, Alexa turned onto her stomach and crawled forward. She felt as if the floor were tilting underneath her. The pain and the anxiety caused her to feel giddy. The sledgehammer looked as if it were moving away from her as she crawled forward.

  Before she could reach it, Reece punted Alexa's stomach and yelled, “It's time for a boot party, boys!”

  Boot party—Alexa didn't know what the term meant, but she had a decent idea. Neo-Nazis, steel-toe boots, and stompings equaled a boot party. Out of breath due to the punt, Alexa wrapped her arms around her head, curled into the fetal position, and cried.

  Reece, Nathaniel, Jessie, and Owen surrounded her. They stomped and kicked with all of their might. Alexa could feel her bones breaking. As a matter of fact, she could hear the sound of her bones crunching over the grunting and thudding in the room.

  Her broken ribs led to the worse pain. Every breath caused a sharp pain to surge across her body. With her eyes tightly closed, she didn't see the boot slipping past her arms. The boot collided with her face—a brutal kick. A deep gash formed on the bridge of her broken nose. Her upper incisor teeth were pushed into her gums, too.

  While she was dazed by that attack, another boot landed on the back of her head. Another deep laceration formed on the back of her dome. Blood leaked from the cut, soaking her short hair and streaming towards her battered face.

  Vincent remained motionless as he watched the brutal stomping in utter awe. He participated in a boot party before, but they never stomped on a woman while he was present. He couldn't tell which was worse: Natalie's cruel death or Alexa's violent beating. One was killed with a sledgehammer to the stomach and the face, the other was in the process of being trampled to death. It didn't seem to matter.

  Infuriated by his mother's death, Caden ran down the remaining stairs and rushed towards the boot party. He squeezed past his friends, then he stomped down on Alexa's leg. Alexa's shin bone snapped with the kick. The force of the stomp pushed her leg inward, but the bone did not protrude from the skin. The pain was still insufferable.

  Bloodied, broken, and dazed, Alexa let off one final shriek.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Rescue

  Ryan glared at the door, his mind clouded with horrifying thoughts. The bloodcurdling shriek seeped into the bathroom—and he recognized it. He realized his wife had been captured by the neo-Nazis. He couldn't imagine the type of torture they inflicted on her. He stared down at the scissors as his hands trembled uncontrollably.

  The blades couldn't over power six grown men. I can't go down with this, he thought, it would be suicide.

  As he glanced around the room, Ryan whispered, “I need something bigger. I need... I need crowd control.”

  He opened the medicine cabinet above the sinks. The sleeping pills and the cough medicine were useless. He considered using the hydrogen peroxide, but he needed a weapon with range. He even thought about using a bar of soap to trip the neo-Nazis—like a banana peel in a cartoon. His eyes stopped on a can of spray-on sunscreen.

  Ryan said, “Perfect.”

  He grabbed the sunscreen and heedlessly bolted out of the bathroom, running into the arms of danger head-first. He was delighted to see Caden's bedroom was empty. He grimaced upon hearing Alexa's second shriek. He stumbled into the empty hallway. As he approached the top of the stairs, he pulled the stainless steel lighter out of his pocket.

  Vincent still stood on the stairs, a look of horror plastered on his face. Despite his neutral stance in the situation, the young man was still an obstacle.

  Ryan ignited the lighter and sprayed the sunscreen over the flame. A ball of fire burned over Vincent's head. Vincent staggered down the stairs, his arms wrapped around his dome. He patted his head, hoping the flames didn't burn his scalp. The rest of the crew was so enthralled by the beating that they didn't notice Ryan's arrival or Vincent's retreat.

  Ryan stopped at the bottom of the stairs, caught off guard by the stomping. He caught a glimpse of Natalie's dead body and the bloodied fetus, but it didn't bother him—at least, not at the moment. He was solely focused on his wife. He could hear Alexa whimpering and groaning as she squirmed under the heavy boots.

  He ran towards the group and ignited the lighter. He didn't want to burn his wife, so he aimed up at the neo-Nazis' heads. He sprayed the sunscreen at the flickering flame, causing a ball of fire to burn the racists and the ceiling. He kept spraying, too, using the sunscreen and the lighter as a makeshift flamethrower.

  Owen lurched away from the fire upon feeling the heat at the nape of his neck. Caden yelled and tumbled to the floor as the flames burned his cheek, ear, and neck. Nathaniel, Jessie, and Reece hopped over Alexa's body and barely dodged the fire.

  As the neo-Nazis screamed and scattered, Ryan knelt down next to Alexa. He grimaced as he flipped her onto her back. Blood covered her face. He wanted to coddle her, rock her in her arms and tend to her wounds, but he didn't have time.

  He said, “We have to leave. Come on. We–”

  He stopped mid-sentence as Reece and Nathaniel charged at the couple. He ignited the lighter and sprayed the sunscreen. A ball of flames ignited in front of the young men, stopping them in their tracks. The fire burned Nathaniel's face, his cheeks and nose red like an apple. The patches on Reece's sleeve caught on fire, igniting his jacket and forcing him to stagger around the living room.

  Except for Caden and Vincent, who hid and cowered during the confrontation, the neo-Nazis ran to Reece's side. They patted his shoulder, hopelessly trying to put out the fire.

  Ryan placed Alexa's hand on his jacket, then he closed her fist. He said, “Don't let go.”

  He grabbed her waist and lifted her off of the floor. He thought about carrying Alexa into the woods and running to their car, but he knew they didn't have enough time to escape the house. So, he carried her up the stairs.

  He said, “We can do this. Stay with me, sweetie.”

  Alexa was still dazed by the savage attack. Her legs wobbled and her head spun. She couldn't tell left from right. She could barely hear her husband's voice over the incessant ringing in her ears. The tears and blood in her eyes blurred her vision, too. Yet, despite her poor vision, Ryan still looked like an angel in her eyes. She couldn't help but smile, delirious. She tightened her grip on his jacket as they hobbled up the stairs.

  The couple tumbled in the hallway at the top of the stairs. Alexa rolled onto her back and vacantly stared at the ceiling. She sniveled and groaned in pain.

  Ryan caressed her cheek and whispered, “Hey, hun. You have to move, okay? It can't end like this. Remember what we said, sweetie: this isn't over until he's dead.” Wide-eyed, he glanced over his shoulder as he heard the ruckus downstairs—footsteps. He said, “Go into the last room. Listen to me, Alexa. Alexa, listen. Get to the last room before it's too late.”

  Ryan lifted her off the floor, then he gently shoved her. Alexa moaned as she slowly crawled down the hall, dragging her broken leg behind her. The situation appeared hopeless, poignant and dangerous, but they didn't have any other options.


  As the neo-Nazis ran up the stairs, Ryan quickly turned, ignited the lighter, and sprayed the rest of the sunscreen at the flame. The fire from the homemade flamethrower swallowed the staircase, causing the thugs to fall back. Vincent and Jessie, who stood at the back of the pack, tumbled at the bottom of the stairs while the rest of the men fell on top of each other in the staircase.

  Ryan threw the can down the stairs upon exhausting all of the spray. He ran towards the last room in the hall. To his utter delight, Alexa had already reached the room. He closed and locked the door behind him. He leaned back on the door and sighed in relief. A lump formed in his throat as he stared at his battered wife.

  Alexa rested on the floor near the foot of a queen-sized bed. Hoarse breaths flowed through her bloodied lips as she panted like a dog in heat. Each breath caused excruciating pain in her chest due to her cracked ribs. Yet, the resilient woman remained conscious. She killed one of the neo-Nazis and endured a boot party—and she still survived.

  As the racists banged on the door behind him, Ryan thought about their plan and their actions. An image of Natalie and the fetus flashed in his mind. His wife's raspy breathing echoed through his head. He couldn't forget about Caden's severed finger, either. We're all monsters, he thought, but they deserve this, not us.

  He approached a dresser to the left of the door. The floorboards screeched as he pushed the dresser in front of the door.

  As she watched her husband, Alexa weakly asked, “What... What are you doing?”

  Ryan responded, “I have to block the door. They have keys.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Regroup

  Alexa lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling, sinking into the soft mattress. The silk bed sheets swallowed her body, caressing every inch of her battered figure. She felt as if she were resting on a cloud. Her broken leg stung with each twitch, her chest burned with each slight breath. She felt a strong pressure in her head due to the kicks.