A Brother's Mistake

It all started with a simple case of sibling fun and games. Jeeves had deliberately knocked into Lester so that the bald hit man would in turn collide with a thug, sending the chain wielding brute off the roof of a building. After the three Tremor brothers had cleared the roof completely of the protection provided by their target, Darwin watched amusedly as Lester tackled the youngest brother by his tree trunk of a waist.
Their target had been a pimp, his corpse wanted by a rival of the same profession, and burrowing through the hot, sticky underbelly of the seedy business had been a challenging yet fun effort by the Tremors. Darwin ordered his two younger brothers to make a distraction and secure any means of escape for the hit while he worked his way into the soon to be dead bastard’s hiding place.
Fun and games, Lester thought. It had just been a joke. He and Jeeves crouched above an opening in a decrepit greenhouse, its once transparent exterior painted black to shield its inhabitants from sunlight and curious eyes. Down below in the hideaway, shone lights of sickening neon and ultraviolet. Various women and men lay naked and writhing from drugs, alcohol, or in some cases pain. One young man was tied to a bizarre wall fixture, wailing as an overweight fellow in his sixties beat him about the groin with a leather paddle. Several Japanese women penetrated one another with strap on phalluses, their petit breasts bouncing in time with thrusts as they were groped and pinched by cheering, wealthy onlookers.
“We’ll jump in on count’a three,” Lester suggested, and Jeeves nodded with wicked glee, submachine gun at the ready.
“One…” the older of the two said quietly, watching his brother tense in excitement.
“THREE!” he cried, giving the other a hard shove through the window. Unprepared for the action, Jeeves flew through the air, hitting a load of shipment boxes when he landed. Laughing, Lester observed the entire room erupt in surprise to the possibility of attack. Guns sprung and voices raised, they waited amongst the dust and debris for their intruder to stand,
“Motherfucker!” Jeeves finally roared as he stood, looking up at the place from where he fell. At first only a barking chortle answered back, but seconds later, before anyone could fire their guns at the big man, a smoke bomb fell from the roof. Engulfed in the sick, dense fog, the group was helpless. Uncaring of the smoke, Jeeves began firing, attacking anything which moved or made noise.
Most of the “party” members were the first to go, too high or defenseless to react, or used by other bigwigs as shields. Some still used their guns and Lester, enjoying seeing good old Jeevesy hold his own, found it appropriate to finally step in on join the fun. But before he could enter the fray with his brother, he felt a stray bullet pierce his shoulder and he lost balance, falling from the roof.
Taking down the hired muscle and the target would be a matter of luck in this smoke, but every hit the Tremor brothers pursued turned out in such a way. Jeeves was ready for it as always and blindly shot and cut through fog, furniture, and bodies. Knocking into one flailing, drunken whore knocked his chainsaw away, reducing her to meat chunks on the shag rug, but the hit man still had his gun and he punched off bullet after bullet, hearing a perfect hit every few seconds. He mowed them down with such prowess and hardly so much as jumped over their bodies as he carried on until he finally saw him:
The target.
He was not exactly a tall or physically powerful man, and he was nowhere near the typical image of a flamboyantly decorated pimp, not even as much as a hat accentuated by a feather. With his silver hair and ice cream gray suit, he looked more like one of the party guests, but Jeeves remembered the face from the photos. Their benefactor had also mentioned a tattoo of a black widow spider, but had never mentioned where it was. Who gave a shit, there he was, ready for the killing… Jeeves gave a vicious smile and charged like a bull.
He never had thought to look for any reinforcements.
He was only out for a second, but when he opened his eyes, Jeeves Tremor found himself on the floor with a pounding headache and a bloody forehead. If he stood, he would only disorient himself again, but he had to make sure no one had the drop on him. Too late, he thought as he felt two men roughly handling him.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” the silver haired man in front of him asked pretentiously.
“Eat shit, you fuck”—Jeeves could barely finish his curse before the two men holding him by the shoulders dropped him. At least one of them had an electric baton, but Jeeves could care less how many were used when he felt the shock course through his person.
“Shhh-sh-i-it… shit-tt…” he rasped, still refusing to stay down, though his skull pounded.
“Clearly it doesn’t hurt enough, but I can fix that,” the pimp continued. He turned to one of the accomplices. “Let me see him better.”
Thrown against a chair which more resembled a torture rack, Jeeves doubled over at another series of shocks and finally let two rough hands grasp him by his Mohawk, lifting his dazed expression to the silver haired man. The member of the Tremor clan took this opportunity to spit in the older man’s face and allowed himself a defiant chuckle. It only rewarded him another series of shocks.
“Strip him,” the pimp ordered as he wiped off his face with the now imperfect sleeve of his suit. Jeeves felt his body armor practically reduced to jigsaw pieces before his blurry eyes and he struggled once more to be freed, but he was fighting a hopeless battle.
“You’re not so big,” one man next to him snickered. The one at his other side laughed in agreement.
“He’s nothing but a big pussy.”
Disoriented to the point of passing out again, Jeeves was distracted by the very sensation of the blood drying from the blow to his head. He was reduced to his underwear by the time he heard the pimp’s voice again.
“Is that true, what they’re saying, Mr. Killer? Are you a big pussy? Maybe you just have a big pussy… Ever think of that?”
“I… guh… fuckin’ killll yoouu…”
The pimp nodded and Jeeves was rendered powerless by another blast of the baton to his chest, this one much longer than any of the others. He could barely register the fact that his underwear had been cut from his body by a large bowie knife, or that he was being tossed to the ground like he was already dead.
Darkness took him briefly and the only thing which woke him was the feeling of that same knife diving into his back. Jeeves cried out and cursed at his captors, but his once strong voice now matched his weakened body and he collapsed to the cold floor, feeling ancient. He groaned again when he was kicked in the ribs and the knife made another little cut in his flesh. Then another… and another…
“Sss… sto-ooo-p…” Jeeves slurred, biting his lip enough to bring the taste of blood to his tongue.
“Shut the faggot up.”
The two men obeyed their employer and took turns kicking the bigger man in his sides. Jeeves gave a strangled groan but hardly did anything else. Where the hell was Lester? If only his brothers were here, though he felt ashamed to think of how they would view him in this state. In his daze, Jeeves could still feel cuts being made and wondered how long it would take for the bastards to bleed him to death. He began to think of the perfect time for him to try fighting back again when he felt hands harshly groping his body. His pained moan was ignored as they continued to roughly explore his massive frame.
“I don’t see no pussy yet, sir.”
“You’re not looking correctly. Look HARDER.”
The two men laughed again and one of them slapped Jeeves in the back of the head, calling him the biggest fag they had ever seen.
“You’re not bad lookin’ for a fag though.”
“You’d almost be good enough to fuck.”
“Yes,” the pimp said, tapping one of his polished black shoes on the floor. “Indeed he is. Hear that, Mr. Killer? You nearly fit our requirements. He’s not listening; make him listen.”
Yelping at the feeling of his hair being yanked upward, Jeeves opened his eyes in time to feel a cut across his left cheek. He felt the cold air pass over the deep breaking of skin.
“It’s your eye next if you don’t do what we say,” the rich old shit said, his voice now tinged with delight. “Will you be a good girl and do what we say?”
A groan.
“Louder.” Another cut, this time on the nape of his neck.
“… huhhn… huh… hyehh… yeah…”
“Good girl,” the pimp said, smiling, and he nodded another blow with the electric baton, sending Jeeves into a fetal position on the floor. “Spread him out.”
Three nicks into his back made Jeeves Tremor arch backward and the men quickly pinned him onto his stomach. Opening his eyes, he saw that the former target was slowly taking off various articles of clothing.
“No, this won’t work. He’s clearly not ready yet and neither am I. You two should prep him first before I can even be properly ready.”
Breath beating hard in his lungs, Jeeves could barely comprehend what was taking place and only hoped they would kill him quickly, or that his strength would return just enough that he could fight back and kill the sick fucks.
“Put the belt on him. Make him a good girl,” one of the accomplices advised, and within minutes, a thick leather strap was being violently wrapped around Jeeves’ neck and into his forced open mouth. His could feel how unbearably tight the belt was, even though it did not completely hinder his breathing, and even if he wanted to speak now, he could not. Two more slashes were made on his thighs and he felt completely powerless. His lonely chainsaw sat silently like a stone twenty feet away.
When he felt the hands once again manhandling him, Jeeves squirmed to avoid their touch, and it was not until those thick fingers reached his ass that he finally realized what the plan was of these sick motherfuckers. Giving a stifled bellow of defiance, the young man tried again to get up or at least reach one of the men who tormented him, but he only received a hard boot against one of his wrists and another cut. I’ll kill you all, he wanted to say, but even without the gag, he probably would not have had the ability to make much sense.
“Spread those legs, fudge packer,” a voice growled behind him, and the blade against his spine made him obey. “Think you’re tough, huh? With your faggot-ass tattoos and your fruitcake clothes… you like being helpless, huh?”
Jeeves did not know why, but he shook his head. He knew it would be a bad idea and he was right. Blood pumped furiously in his head as a long cut was made in his back and the belt was tightened another notch.
“You must like this a whole lot to flash all these signals,” the other man stated. “You really like this. I bet you want all three of us to fuck you ‘till you go blind.”
“Get… th’f-f-fffuckkk…”
“It’s official! The Nazi muffin wants us to plug him in the ass!”
God, just leave me alone… Jeeves fought not to lose what control he had left and resisted the urge to scream, even so much as cry…
“Open up, faggot,” said the voice, and Jeeves winced under the forceful fingers prying the cheeks of his rump apart, dirty fingernails embedded in the delicate skin. His own fingernails scraped against the floor, but it hardly helped to distract him from the pain which followed and invaded his tight hole. Whimpering for only half a second, the young man squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth against the leather bit, preparing for the inevitable. His weak, bloody body shook as it lurched back and forth in unison with the thrusts of the man violating him. Jeeves was glad he had closed his eyes, because he suddenly smelled a familiar odor inches from his face, and heard someone telling him he wanted to suck it.
Please… please, keep the belt on. You sick cunts… fucking stop…
Giving another cry, this time louder, Jeeves grimaced and tried to avoid the humiliation the second man was giving, but to no avail. The man behind him was not easing up, but going harder and faster, and soon he was shoving the hit man into the groin of his second assailant. Cuts were still delivered over the span of the athletic body which could make no attempt of resistance.
“Is that pussy gettin’ wet already?” the one ramming into him asked, and thankfully removed his penis. “No, it’s just blood. Fuckin’ queer… your turn.”
When the second man pulled his groin away from Jeeves’ face, he hardly registered that this could mean he would be violated again, and only realized such when rougher hands fingered his aching hole, relentlessly searching for the source of blood. The youngest Tremor brother could only moan in protest, but his body was spent and doing him no favors anytime soon. He only waited for the next penetration to begin, and begin it did, even harder than that of the first thug.
Clawing at the floor, Jeeves screamed past his gag and lay helpless in pools of his own blood. Never before had he felt so small and vulnerable in his entire life, and death seemed like the most welcome of fates to him. With each stabbing thrust into his torn rectum, he cried out, his screams a sick rhythm of agony and shame. He felt ready to throw up, but it would not do him any good, leather gag or none, so he only remained where he was, all life escaping his limbs and leaving him as a desecrated, weeping child. Once the pimp decided he was finally hard enough to take the young man for himself, Jeeves had succumbed and the only movement left in him was the trembling of hands which days ago could crush a man’s spine.
Sobbing in short, miserable screams, Jeeves was half thankful for the sound which followed next as the silver-haired monster pulled out and announced the best way for the Tremor brother to be fucked. It was the sputtering, mechanical roar of machinery that he knew very well. His own chainsaw had been started up, and he began sinking into darkness before he could realize where the men intended to put its blade.
*
Darwin had never felt so invigorated to cut off a person’s hand until now. As he continued to hack through the living meat in front of him, he could hear Lester firing shot after shot into a lifeless silver-haired cadaver, his bullets now just physical words of reprimand and cursing for what had happened to their little brother.
Christ, Jeeves…
Giving the final opponent’s body one last stab through the throat for good measure, Darwin became too embroiled in his baby brother’s state to hold onto his machete anymore. Lester slipped and slid across puddles of blood as he followed over to the apparently motionless form lying in and covered with blood and semen. Near the point of hyperventilating, Darwin knelt down and reached with agonizing slowness toward the once beautiful body.
“Jeeves…? Jeeves?”
Lester thought his heart had stopped in that moment of not knowing whether or not his baby brother was still alive and when he finally exhaled, it hurt like nothing else, but he was awash in relief. A clenched hand slid over the floor and when a breath came from the fallen man’s body, it was followed with the most horrible, most beautiful weeping they had ever heard.