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Part Seven Bullets and Blood

My lazy ass finally finished this chapter.

Disclaimer: In no way shape or form do I own the Boondocks…if I did…it would be very inappropriate…even more so then it is now. Rated NC-17 for language, sexual content, and the usual blood and gore.


Hell is empty…all the demons are here.

The Tempest William Shakespeare


Part Seven Broken and Bloody



Gin left Wuncler’s office unescorted; the dried blood that stained his suit and glistened on his neck was enough of to quell any opposition. He strode down the dimly lit hallway, his footsteps echoing against stone floor following the terrifying noise that had crept from under Wuncler’s door.

He took the stairs to the main floor; hoping to calm the rage, that still snarled though his blood. His mind was still reeling from the harsh melody of screams, and the thick feeling of blood slipping hot and burning across hands lingered.

Being Wuncler’s personal assassin was becoming too much of a burden for him, the older man was choking him, drowning him in blood. The businessman had a thirst for agony, and drank in the suffering that he caused like his expensive liquors. The grotesque truth was that Gin was tool, Wuncler’s reaper of blood.

   Pain began to flicker behind Gins eyes, and he missed a stair almost staggering into the wall. Cursing he stood there a moment, panting, leaning against the railing running his hands though his hair, attempting the calm himself. Vertigo lurched against his throat threatening to sweep through his tired mind, after a few seconds his vision blurred back into focus. He began walking again, his movements slow and careful, keeping his hand firmly pressed to the wall.

            The ground floor of Wuncler’s corporation was as shamelessly elegant as his manor. Towering ceilings loomed above Gin’s head, domed with glass that trickled into the golden wings of ethereal frescoes. Black marble glistened on the floors, veined with gold and green, polished to such a shine that Gin could see his blood marred reflection. Mirrors set in hand carved frames, tapestries woven by the skilled fingers of artisans long dead, and portraits of the Wuncler ancestry decorated the walls.

The fleeting fragrance of cigar smoke and money drifted in the air, mixing with something more sinister, something vile.  The Devils perfume…it made Gin’s skin crawl. 

Men adorned in expensive Italian suits were always present on this level. Either lounging in leather seats, or quietly waiting to be shown into one of the many rooms on the second and third floors. The blond knew some of them, faces from past missions, previous clients, investors to ICA. Hell lay abandoned…and all of its demons were here.

A hidden malice stalked though the halls of this building with furled wings, shrouded in expensive cologne. It resided on the top floor in an office that smelled of torture and had crimson tainted ink spattered across the floor.

Gin swept past the front desk and began to make his way to the front door, ignoring the stares he received for his bloody attire. His gaze was fixed on the two men flanking the main entrance; they stared back him their eyes their trailing from his spattered shirt to the graceful arch of blood that slashed his neck.

They shifted nervously the weight of the guns on their hips bringing no comfort. The blond had become a familiar imposing figure to Wuncler's firm. He was often seen a few steps behind the businessman moving with the deadly grace of a trained killer. But never accompanied Wuncler outside the building not even past the threshold of the doorway.

When he had an appointment, he would wait, leaning against the wall in the atrium, lazily smoking a cigarette, his intense gaze fixed on the doorway; an irritated look always gracing his features, an expression that blatantly said that he would rather be somewhere else.

There had been only one instance that he had been late. It had been an unpleasant experience for anyone who had the misfortune of even glancing at him. He had all but stormed into the front lobby slamming the doors open with such a vicious force that that the glass panes had a cracked and almost shattered

His cloths looked suspiciously like they had been thrown on in haste and that he had been interrupted from something extremely intimate since his shirt had been partially hanging open.  Half of the buttons were torn off from one side; giving everyone a glimpse of scars that decorated his chest and upper stomach… and the bruising bite marks on the arch of his collar bone.  His blue eyes had been wild with the feral heat of anger, his lips twisted in a wrathful snarl. 

The same look that had etched his features then was present now, made even more malicious by the blood. The memory of his ranting voice echoed in their skulls mingling with the metallic snap of his gun as he drew back the long slide when one of them had stepped in his way.

It was difficult to disregard these images as he strode toward them, the primal shadow of anger marring his face. This was only enhanced because he was weaponless, his guns captured by the two men standing before him.  They had been hand selected by Wuncler personally, and were responsible for relieving all weapons from incoming patrons.

Gin never fought against their questing hands because he didn’t need to, his body language sent his message across almost as if he had spoken it out loud. A perpetual menacing aura would roll off of his body, and the disdainful glint in his eyes spoke of an underlying threat; that the only reason their blood wasn’t splattered across the floor was because it would be a waste of ammunition.

  He continuously taunted them, his hands were far swifter then theirs would ever be and they often found the cold nozzle of a gun pressed to their necks or hovering inches from their eyes as they stood up from their inspection.

Gin would rise and eyebrow and somehow manage to appear innocent as his finger rested delicately on the trigger. His voice would be gentle, the voice of a friend or a lover, it made ice creep into their insides and twist up their spines.

'You mutha fuckers lookin f'a this?'

He would continue to smile, and release the handle of his Silverballer so that the nozzle swung around to face him and his finger was no longer resting on the trigger.  

His voice suddenly sliced through their revelries ominous and low,


“You the two cock suckers tha’ took my Silverballer  righ’? Well whatta ya fuckin standin around f’a!  Shit, lazy ass fucka’s

Gin stood in the snow breathing in the fiery cold, his breath misting in front of his face. The wind clawed at him, dragging her icy claws through his cloths, stealing his breath.
He flicked his gaze to the building behind him, deceptively beautiful in the harsh embrace of winter. Cascading walls of mirrored glass rose from the frozen ground like uncut gems, rising to jagged arches that pierced the steel gray heavens.

            An elegant prison, festering with ugly horrors as terrible as the ninth circle of the inferno in all of its hellish glory, masked over by bloody money and silken suits. Gin was a participator of all this now, amongst the deadly sins of its demons, dancing with them, kissing them, and spilling blood for them as a commandeered mercenary, a wicked mechanism of Wuncler's trade. 
         He had sacrificed his freedom, one of his last paragons, a coveted treasure that ICA had not been able strip from him, to Wuncler. He belonged to the older man now, was his servant easily manipulated by the hissing threat of a contract. 

He willing conveyed all of this; he would do anything that was commanded of him, as long as Wuncler upheld his end of the deal.

     Until then he was shackled to the older man, with chains made heavy with the oaths of death.

He sighed bowing his head against the screaming gales that swept past him and began walking to his Jag. His thoughts consumed with Ed, the glimmer of hope that made this all an easier burden. Pain blazed along his shoulder, and the dried blood made wet by the kisses of winter seared along his neck.

He savagely opened the door to the Jag, and dropped inside water dripping from his hair, and glimmering on his gloves. He left to door ajar for a few minutes savoring the silence wrought by the raw cold.

He stared out the windshield, disregarding the snow that swept into his car, and sprinkled over the floor board. A recent memory rang sharp against his skull flickering against the backs of his eyes.


An untouched glass of scotch glimmered on the edge of Wuncler’s desk, its amber depths churning with lashing fire from the hearth. The lighting was dim, but Gin could clearly see the man leaning against the fireplace, a devil hidden in the dancing shadows caste by the flames.

They were not alone, Wuncler was a lot of things but dealing with killers like Gin had made him cautious. There were three others occupying the room masked by the flickering darkness, two were standing by the door the other was leaning against the wall to far back for Gin to see,


"I just want to make sure that you belong to me now that’s all...."


The older mans tone made Gin flinch, his fingers twitched against the polished armrest of his chair digging into the metal studs. He turned glowering eyes to Wuncler, his scorn burning through the darkness as he looked at the businessman’s silhouette.


"An how the fuck you gonna do that?"


            The gentle snap of a lighter being flicked open sang against the quiet of the night. Fire flared against the darkness, and Gin heard the men flanking the door shift closer together.


"Unbutton your shirt," 


Gin felt his lips curl away from his teeth in a disgusted snarl,


"What the fuck did you just say?"


The threatening whisper of a pair of slides being drawn back along two guns made the blond turn his attention back to door. From the edge of his vision, he saw the one who had been leaning against the wall silently move to the far corner of the room, giving him an opportune view to shoot the blond through the temple.

The other two remained by the doorway placing their bodies in front of the entrance.  Just incase Gin somehow managed to make the eight steps it would take to get there with out have his brains spattered across the expensive surface of Wuncler's desk.


"Do not make me ask again Gin."  


Growling a curse under his breath, Gin did as he was bid, his fingers swiftly unclasping the buttons of his shirt.


"Now lean forward,"


The blond actually recoiled back so violently his chair slightly skid across the floor, his eyes narrowed in revulsion,


"The fuck?"


The elder man sighed annoyance creeping into his voice, giving his tone a sharp edge that he shared with his grandson when he didn’t immediately  receive something he asked for,


"Why must you make every small request so fucking difficult hhmm?"


He flicked his gaze directly behind Gin’s shoulder,


"Please assist number Forty-six will you?"


The scalding threat that tore from Gin throat shattered against his teeth as he felt the cold kiss a gun being pressing against the back of his neck. Strong fingers gripped his shoulder shoving him from the chair so hard that he staggered against the desk. A savage blow caught him across his temple so hard that his teeth cracked together, stunning him for a few precious seconds.  

His wrists were captured and pinned against the glass surface of the table and held fast by the weight of another guard. The seething edge of a knife blazed along his spine slicing away his shirt exposing his bare back to Wuncler’s gaze.

He viciously bucked against his captures pitching his weight backwards, snarling curses and promises of death.

Silver flickered before his vision and the razor edge of knife blade that spanned his neck arched against his throat. He immediately stilled his movements rolling his burning gaze to Wuncler.

The older man had stepped forward from his place against the fireplace an amused expression graced his features. He was idly twirling an insignia ring on the very tip of his index finger. As he approached, Gin felt the guard leaning against his back shift to the side allowing his benefactor a better view of the blonds back.

Fingers made cold from clasping hands with Death and the Devil trailed along his spine. Gin resisted the urge to wince, fearing he would slit his own throat.


'Now hold still...I don’t want to make a mess,"


He heard the jagged hiss of the lighter flicking open then silence broken only by his ragged breathing. Then heat, white hot and liquid burst against his shoulder. Stabbing and relentless, sizzling, dancing searing waltzes of agony up and down his spine.

The sickening smell of burning flesh crept into his nostrils and bile rose, acrid against the back of his throat.

As suddenly as the agony had taken hold of him, it was over, leaving his slumped forward and trembling, draped across Wuncler's desk. The men that had held him down had released him and drifted back to their former positions. He lay there panting his throat raw from a scream he didn’t know had been forced from his body.

Sweat trickled from his forehead and dripped into his eyes, blurring his vision so that Wuncler’s form was distorted against the light of the fire. Bracing his hands against the desk, he stood up his ruined shirt sliding from his shoulders to the floor. A thin line of blood trickled from neck where he had involuntarily lurched forward unintentionally pressing the keen edge of the knife against his flesh.

Wuncler was returning his fire blackened insignia ring to his finger, lighting a cigar he glanced at Gin,


"I expect better cooperation from you in the future Forty-six; your actions tonight have sorely disappointed me."


He turned his back on the trembling man and walked to the door, gray smoke swirling behind him. The three men that served as his elite followed, leaving Gin to the silence and pain.

He stood there a long time staring out the window, the raw burnt flesh of his shoulder throbbing in time with heart beat reminding him of how his life was bonded with the other man.


The images and pain roiled away, carried from him by the merciful winter gales. He raised his hand to his throat his fingers brushing against the mark that Ed had left there, in an attempt to ease the scars that Wuncler had permanently given him on his shoulder.

He swallowed clenching his teeth, he had belonged to Ed before his grandfather, had given him self to his lover completely before the older man had seared his initials into his flesh with his ring. He had pledged his skills to Wuncler, and even his body to a certain extent, but everything that was his essence was Ed's and no brand was ever going to fucking change that.

He gripped the handle of the door slamming it shut and turned the ignition, he had spent half the day at Wuncler’s corporation and he was sure that Ed was going to be pissed as hell when he got back to the manor. 


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