FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The Champion

By Cris Fireheart / Ken Anderson

Chapter 5 – A Promise of Vengeance

Author's note: This story contains scenes of extreme violence, profanity, drug and alcohol use, sale, and abuse, and some sexual situations. Reader discretion is DEFINITELY advised. That being said, if none of that bothers you, then enjoy!

Things are about to get a little heated. This chapter has a bit more detail and buildup than the previous ones; but bear with me here; it's worth it.

-C

Ricky Davis was still sitting silently in his uncomfortable chair next to his best friend's hospital bed as the door to the sterile-smelling room was forcefully thrown open, causing it to clatter loudly against the adjoining wall.

Holding in the quick breath of alarm he'd taken, he watched as a group of three large, burly-looking wolves, including Marco Binetti himself, hastily entered the room, being led by a tall, skinny older man, whose black hair fell in thick, greasy bangs in front of his piercing green eyes. As the group stormed inside, the man gave a single nod of his head, and one of the wolves slowly closed the door behind them.

Ricky's gaze quickly peeled away from that of James Clayton, Jake's adopted father. The young man forced his eyes to the ground as he finally exhaled, and let out with a throaty croak:

“...I'm sorry, sirs... I fucked up..."

The repetitive 'click' of the man's well-polished black wingtip shoes seemed to echo against the walls as James wasted no time in walking directly up to him; Ricky's shoulders slouching involuntarily as his vision was quickly filled with the view of the older man's creased and starched black dress pants.

“It's okay, Ricky..." came the smooth baritone of James' voice, as the taller man lowered himself down so that their faces nearly met.

“I know that you did all you could, kid; you're a damn good solider and one of the best fighters that this shithole city has NEVER seen; and I want you to know, from me, personally, that I don't blame you for any of this..." he nodded slightly towards his son, who still lay unresponsive in his bed.

The air in the room seemed to grow suddenly hotter as the older man instantly rounded, and shoved Marco Binetti against the cold wall of the hospital room, his bony hands gripping the lapels of the wolf's expensive custom suit as he pressed his nose directly up to the wolf's muzzle. Ricky could barely notice the flick of Marco's right paw; the hand signal he'd quickly and quietly given, causing his two bodyguards to slowly release their paws from the pistols holstered securely in their waistbands.

“I blame YOU!" James screamed out, his voice rising in pitch as his tired eyes began to glaze over with the beginning of tears. “I blame YOU... Jake told us both that this deal was a bad idea; we didn't listen, and now... LOOK AT HIM!" The skinny man gripped Marco's muzzle in his hands, and forced him to turn and face the unconscious coyote, lying still in his bed.

“Marco... You know what our families have been through... What we had to go through, TOGETHER, just to get to the point where this broken fuckin' city finally started to feel a little bit SAFE!" James' chest heaved as he belted out these words, struggling to catch his breath. After a moment, with a look of disgust and disappointment drawn across his face, he finally released Marco, shaking his head disapprovingly as he took a few steps back from the wolf.

“Seven years ago, I lost my mate; my Charlie... Your father had to pay for that; and you and your 'pack' said you'd agreed! So WE stood by you, when the Canine Council forced you to take over the position of Alpha... ALL of us..." The older man heaved a sigh, shaking his head as he drew in a breath to continue.

"I know you love my son, Marco; I'd have had to be born fuckin' BLIND not to see it, especially back then... When I found out that you and Jake were running shipments together, and planning to take over the market in the Southside and Harbor Hills, I looked the other fuckin' way! I knew better than to try to step in between you two; I knew the two of you would've just gone ahead and left me in the dark if I'd tried. But don't you ever THINK that I didn't notice! That mating bite that you gave him on his shoulder is literally the ONLY part of his body that he hasn't had completely covered in tattoos since you both came back from overseas!"

Ricky, still seated, felt his breath catch in his throat as James' words filled his ears, bringing him back to a faraway world; a land of sand, mud and smoke.

….Mating Bite?!

“...So, you knew?" Came Marco's soft, guilt-tinged reply, his ears splaying slightly as he looked down at the older man standing before him.

“Of course I 'knew'; I've got my own set of bite scars, remember? I may have lost the only guy who's ever loved me in my fucked-up life... But yours? He's laying right there, over on that bed," James extended a thin finger towards Jake, who remained motionless throughout the confrontation. Turning back to face Marco, the man's eyes seemed to burn with an unseen fire as he once again locked gazes with the wolf.

“You want permission to call MY son YOURS? Then you already know what I fuckin' want." Turning his head to face Ricky, James gave the younger man a curt nod of recognition.

“You were there, Davis; you know who did this to my boy, don't you?"

The younger man nodded his head almost robotically, as the words exited his mouth in an involuntary monotone that he hadn't heard himself utter in many years. “It was Jonny Scars. He took the bag, him and one of his guys shot Jake and Mike, and he said that the Southside belongs to the Rhah Pride now... He even told me that he'd be around if we wanted a rematch, if you can fuckin' believe it..."

A short huff left James' lungs as he turned back to face Marco once more, his look of fiery determination having deepened even further, if it was possible.

“Then that fuckin' PUSSY is gonna get exactly what he wants," James growled through gritted teeth as he slowly turned to make his way back towards the door.

“You can do it today; you can do it TOMORROW; I don't care; you better make the goddamn news! I've been sitting on my ass in the shadows for way too long now, watching you all go and fuck shit up. I don't much care how; LOUD and MESSY... If you really care so much about my son, DON BINETTI, then you'll send the message that I want to be heard!"

The door to the hospital room closed with a loud slam as James proceeded to make his exit, leaving Ricky with the three wolves as he struggled to comprehend the gravity of the news he'd been allowed to hear. Still staring down at the linoleum floor, he became suddenly aware of the soft padding of heavy foot paws walking in his direction as he tried his best to keep his body from trembling with anger and fear.

“Ricky?" Came Marco's familiar voice, slightly higher-pitched than the young man had remembered it being.

“Look at me."

Slowly, the young man raised his eyes to meet the wolf's, where he saw a familiar glint in each of the mobster's deep, blue orbs.

“You're absolutely SURE that it was Jonny Scars?"

Ricky nodded his head wordlessly, his shoulders slumping slightly as he once again lowered his gaze to the floor.

Marco's heavy sigh seemed to echo off of the room's sterile white walls. Shaking his head, he began to pace about the room, muttering curses to himself under his breath as he walked. A moment or so later, the wolf managed to finally compose himself; his ears perked up, as he cleared his throat and turned back to face Ricky.

“I want you to go home." Came the stern order to the young man's ears, Marco's voice seemingly returned to its natural, commanding pitch. “Take Carlos and Danny, here, with you. Go home and be with Connor and Ted; I know they're both probably worried out of their minds about you. By the way, you said Mike was released last night? Are he and his brother still on their paws?"

Ricky nodded his head once more, as he reached a hand into his pocket to retrieve his cell phone, which he held out towards Marco to take. “They're fine; they should both be back at the apartment by now... I stuck around here to wait for you guys... sir."

With an audible groan, Marco reached out to retrieve the device, before sliding a claw across its surface to bring up the password screen. “I'm gonna need to 'borrow' your two tigers for a day or so, at least, if you don't mind," he remarked, heaving a sigh as he nodded towards his two bodyguards.

“I'll pay them triple what you're already giving them weekly for this job. Even I know that I can't set foot on the North side without at least a couple of cats for backup. And I know them; I remember that they used to be good, especially when we were all under fire back east... Can they still write dime novels in Lapua at 3000 yards?"

Ricky could already feel the gears starting to turn in his head as he raised his eyes up to meet Marco's once more. “With the right hardware, of course. But you already knew that. Go ahead and tap in 281420; the number will be the fourth from the top of my list of calls," he stated, before straightening himself up in his chair; a reaction he'd come to be used to many years before.

“And they BOTH better come back to me in one piece. I damn near lost TWO of my best friends yesterday because of this sure-fucked mission of yours, Marco. Now, I may not be Jake, or James, and I'm DEFINITELY not you, but if anything happens to those twins--"

“--You can kill Carlos and Danny yourself, with my permission and without any repercussions. And I KNOW you can do it," Marco finished for him, which drew gasps and looks of uncertainty from the two wolves at his side.

“Or, you can have them go and work for you, if I somehow manage to fuck this up. This isn't the Corps anymore, Lance Corporal Davis; you of all people should know that OUR rules are different back home..."

Turning to face his compatriots, Marco fixed both of the wolves with a sharp glare as his muzzle twisted into a snarl.

“That's an order from your ALPHA. Don't you dare make me go back on my word; or I swear to whatever deity that you pups pray to that I'll be taking care of you myself," he growled between his teeth, as he quickly tapped in the code that Ricky had surrendered to him.

“Now, take Ricky back to his apartment, and stay there with him and the others until you hear back from me..."

“I guess I'll be seeing you soon, then, Staff Sergeant?" Ricky muttered under his breath, causing the wolf to freeze in place as his ears perked up at the mention of his former rank.

“Fuckin' count on it, Davis," came the almost chuckled reply. “Dipped in the mud..."

“...And covered in blood," Ricky finished, watching as the door closed with a soft 'click' as Marco made his exit into the hallway.

“Convict Unit; 'til the death. Fight 'til there's no fightin' left." Ricky finished the quote to himself as he finally stood up from his uncomfortable chair, stretching his aching legs and popping the joints in his arms and neck as he let out a resolved sigh. Turning to face the two wolves, he put on his trademark grimace, and stared them both down.

“Well?! What're you two pricks still doin' standing around here?! You've got a car parked somewhere, right? GO FUCKIN' GET IT; I wanna go home!"

….A FEW NIGHTS LATER....

For the first time in a long while, Marco Binetti was FEELING... He was feeling his emotions and having the same kind of involuntary reactions that he'd thought he'd ridden himself of over half a decade ago.

“You want permission to call MY son YOURS?"

“If you really care so much about my son, DON BINETTI, then you'll send the message that I want to be heard!"

James had yelled the words at him, as he could feel the whiskers on his muzzle twitching with the man's angry breath.

That was all that needed to be said.

At one point in time, James Clayton had been almost the polar opposite of his own father in terms of his actions and his character. However, ever since his mate had been killed, the older man had slowly begun to resemble the grizzled and irritated war veterans that he'd once used to counsel for a living, and that the wolf and his son had eventually become themselves. After James had murdered his father, Arturo Binetti, by his own hand for giving the order which had gotten his husband killed, He had quickly, and silently taken a step back, resting in the shadows as the city had slowly begun to recover from the bloody mob wars that had been raged for control over its profitable streets.

From Arturo's death, to the assassination of the city's previous mayor, to the clandestine 'understandings' that had been reached by those in the Underworld, and the legal, political, and city-wide reforms and repercussions that had followed, everybody who had even a slight connection to the Families involved had eventually come to the same conclusion:

James and Jakob Clayton, along with the many cliques and street thugs that he and the younger Coyote held sway over, were NOT to be touched. Wherever they and their people seemed to step foot, GOLD had quickly sprung up from any connections they'd made. The rumors on the streets had it that James himself may have even been responsible for ensuring that the city's new mayor had been duly elected; for the promise of future favors in return, of course. For a man who'd once held a solid reputation as one of Harbor City's worst junkies, James' psychology degree had come in handy; he could be a master of manipulation, when he chose to be. Over the years, he'd quickly and quietly risen to become one of the city's most well-known and less visible heavy hitters, along with one of its most feared. Even Marco himself, the de facto leader of the city's infamous Binetti crime Family, at least, until he'd eventually allow a successor to be chosen, felt well and truly SCARED.

It was a rare feeling; one that he hadn't really experienced since his time with the old Unit overseas. He hadn't simply heard the older man's threat; he'd felt it in his bones, and knew it to be true. James would never allow him to claim his only son as his mate, until the proper punishment had been administered.

The RIGHT people had to BLEED.

And so, the grizzled wolf had found himself tooling through the South Harbor Hills with Mike and Ike, the tiger twins, nestled in the back seats of his heavily-armored SUV. His ears twitched slightly as he heard the two brothers opening up the pair of weapons cases he'd brought along for them, as they began to remove and assemble the pieces of a pair of brand-new Barrett MRAD sniper rifles, chambered for .338 Lapua magnum rounds, complete with competition-grade ammo, and the best extended-range scopes that Marco's ill-gotten money could buy. NOTHING could go wrong tonight; his move had to be SOLID. It had to be PERFECT. “LOUD and MESSY" had been the order he'd been given, and he intended to keep his word, or die in the attempt.

“...So, I'm gonna go ahead and assume that you two have been keeping up on your rifle practice since we all came back stateside?" he growled slightly, as the sound of a bolt being affixed to a barrel reached his sensitive ears.

“Twice a month out on the Mountaintop; the long-distance range a few miles outside of City limits. Ricky insisted on it; he pays for our range time himself. We've got you covered up to around 1000 yards, given the nice scopes, and the wind conditions generated by the outline of the skyscrapers within distance of the target, sir," Mike uttered in response, as he grumbled slightly over the fact that his brother had already assembled his rifle and had a round chambered before he could complete the task himself.

“Don't worry about him, sir," Ike had sighed, shaking his head slightly. “We'll have you boxed in from our positions. If you can make it back outside from any door of the Serengeti Club, you'll be in full coverage. Don't let my brother's pessimism get to you, sir."

“Yeah... Now, if only I had a way to actually get INTO that Fort-Knox like motherfucker..." Marco grumbled under his breath. In need of a distraction, he instinctively reached a paw out to hit on the SUV's FM radio, and switched over to one of his preferred stations to help ease his nerves. The deep, bass-like growl of a well-known local rapper, who went by the name of PK, or Party Kat, came in over the airwaves; a live freestyle session that had apparently been going on for a few minutes. As the familiar-sounding voice attacked his eardrums, Marco's head perked up as he was suddenly hit with a burst of inspiration.

With a loud grunt, he slammed heavily on the brakes, as he jerked the steering wheel to his left and sent the SUV into a full hundred-and-eighty degree turn, leaving skid marks on the blacktop behind him as multiple other vehicles swerved to avoid him, letting out the blaring curses from their horns as he barreled through the intersection he'd chosen to invade.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!" Mike yelled at the top of his lung, tightening his grip on his rifle as the barrel nearly smashed into the window at his side.

“SHUT IT!" Marco commanded, as the vehicle regained traction and suddenly began to pick up speed. “We're going to the Northeast! Wrecktown Records!"

“Why the ever-loving FUCK would we want to do that?!" Ike blurted out, as he tried his best not to get slammed into the door by Marco's insane driving.

“To get the backup that we're gonna need! We're picking up PK! If there's ANYONE in this city who hates his fuckin' Dad more than I do, it's THAT guy! Is my sidearm still in the door slot next to you, Mike?"

The tiger turned to check the slot next to him, and his paw came up holding a .40 caliber Glock pistol. “Uhh... yes, sir?" Mike questioned as he looked over the weapon, before placing it back into its hiding spot, and suddenly racking the bolt on his rifle, before resting the barrel calmly against the headrest of Marco's seat.

“I'm sorry, sir; no disrespect intended, but if this is the way you wanna run this op, then we're gonna need to hear you say it..."

“W-what the--? Say fuckin' WHAT?" Marco spluttered as he tried his best to keep his focus on the road in front of him, while being keenly aware of the rifle pointed at the back of his skull.

“We need you to say his NAME, sir; his REAL one, not his stage name..."

“Fine... His given name is Leonardo, but he hates it because it's so fuckin' unoriginal, that he refuses to use it! He goes by LENNY, alright?! LENNY FUCKIN' RHAH! That's his name, and you both KNOW that! Now, you wanna ease off that trigger, before I put us into a wall at eighty miles per hour?!"

Mike visibly relaxed his arms; the sound of the rifle's safety clicking into place permeating the cabin.

“Sorry, Don Binetti, but you know us both better than that. Just gotta make sure you really know who you're about to get into bed with, sir."

“The fuck are you even talkin' about?!" the wolf grumbled under his breath, “Even JAKE knows that I've butted heads and been 'in bed' with that cat more than most people!"

“...That's not exactly what we meant, sir, but the message is understood. Wrecktown Records, it is." Mike mumbled slightly as the heavy truck began to pick up speed once more.

---

---End Chapter 5---

Well, I hope you all enjoyed this particular development! I decided to use this chapter as the buildup to the inevitable violent climax that's about to happen in this corner of my little world. I hope you all enjoy what I've got in store for you next; once again, I promise you won't be disappointed.

--C.