The Wrong Type of Redemption

37 Manic Monday, Seven P.M.

ORIGINAL CONTENT OF D.C. BLU. DO NOT COPY AND/OR REDISTRIBUTE WITHOUT THE AUTHOR’S PERMISSION. PLAGIARISM IS CRUEL. PLEASE BE RESPECTFUL.

37: Manic Monday, Seven P.M.

Later that night after dinner, Jerry worked on his computer while his father cleaned up the kitchen. His father was talking about some kind of cleaning service he hired for the new place when Jerry paused in the middle of coding to say, “Where the hell are you getting the money for this cleaning service you plan to have come to the new place every week?”

“Ivan.”

“Dude. Don’t you think you’re using your brother a little too much? You’re already in debt to him.”

His father blew out a breath. “Glitch…” He turned around and looked at Jerry as if torn, shoulder’s slumped. “I… We need to talk…” His father took a step forward.

The door to the apartment opened then.

His father’s posture shifted, body loosening, hands flexing.

A medium height man in a business suit with pale skin and dark brown hair walked in without so much as a question.

“Can I help you?” Philip asked at the same time Jerry said, “What the hell!”

The man’s nostrils flared as he looked up at Philip. Instead of answering, the intruder moved his hand to the inside of his suit jacket.

All of a sudden, his father’s hand shot out. There was a punch, a block, and some more movement. Jerry could’ve sworn his father broke a finger. The other man didn’t seem to notice much as he continued to counter every attack his father used. It was like watching an action movie. The intruder lost ground, slowly backing toward the open door. His father reached inside the man’s suit jacket as he kicked the back of the man’s leg. Losing his balance, the man cracked the back of his head against the corner of the open door. Philip swept his leg, while using the edge of his hand to knife strike the man’s neck causing the intruder to collapse on his side. Kicking the door shut with one leg, Philip pointed the gun with the hand on the opposite side.

Jerry flinched when he heard a pop noise. It wasn’t very loud, but it wasn’t expected. Blood splattered from the guy’s shoulder. Mouth hung open, Jerry stared down at a man who had been standing not thirty seconds ago. Everything happened so fast.

“Who sent you?” His father asked holding the gun that looked a hell of a lot like a silencer seen in movies.

The man groaned.

His father stepped on the man’s shoulder wound. The man grew louder as blood pooled. “Answer me.”

The man chuckled even as he groaned. Then he spoke making Jerry’s eyes widened. Jerry didn’t understand the words because they weren’t in English, but after Philip started teaching him Russian it was obvious that’s the language the intruder spoke.

His father’s eyes narrowed, face contorting from its usual lazy façade to something hard and menacing. Then he began speaking Russian. The man’s head jerked up in shock. Clearly, the man didn’t know his father could speak Russian.

“Glitch, go into the bathroom, shower the blood off you. You’ll also need to change clothes.” His father ordered still pointing the gun.

Jerry looked down at his jeans where a few red droplets had strayed. He glanced back up. “Are you going to kill him?” Jerry asked seeing the coldness in his father’s features.

“Jerry. Go.”

The wounded man chuckled weakly. “Tell him. You’re going to torture me. Try to get information from me. You’ll fail. I can withstand all torture.” The man’s accent voice sounded pained.

“So you were trained by Fedorov or Voronin. That narrows it down.”

The man clamped his mouth shut.

“Not Fedorov, they know me too well. I know it wasn’t Ivan. He’s too straight forward and would fuck with me himself. So it was Aline… Why?” His growled.

The man refused to talk.

His father’s serene smile made Jerry’s skin crawl. Fear licked up his spin. “Glitch…go in the bathroom. Wash. If you smell anything burning, I’m just performing some first aid. Need to close up that wound before he bleeds to death.”

The man on the floor stiffened.

“Uh…” Jerry blinked, backing up.

“Don’t worry,” His father said in an eerily comforting voice. “Won’t take long.” His father walked to the stove and turned a burner up high. Then he took a dish rag from the sink, brought it back to the man, bent over, and began stuffing it into the man’s mouth brutally.

Quickly, Jerry escaped to the bathroom. His mind buzzed with what his father said and one word came to mind, cauterization. His father was going to burn the wound closed. How much pain would that cause? He was going to use it as torture… And the look on his father’s face made it clear, the thought of torture didn’t phase him one bit.

Staring at the back of the door, stunned, Jerry didn’t move until he heard a muffled scream. The sickening scent of burning flesh had Jerry backing up to the shower. He quickly turned the faucet on drowning out some of the agonize sounds. He stood in the shower letting the water cascade over his body replaying the fight over in his head. The gun shot. The scream. During it all, his father looked so natural — like breathing.

Shouldn’t his father’s “skills” be rusty after all these years? Hearing his father talk about his past life was one thing. Seeing it was another thing. But Jerry was starting to suspect that part of his father’s life wasn’t left in the past.

When Jerry finally finished washing, he sat on the toilet with a towel wrapped around his midsection waiting, unsure if it was okay to leave. Having taken his hearing aid out to shower, he didn’t put it back in not wanting to hear anything resembling a scream.

He didn’t know how long he’d been in there, but it felt like hours had passed. Probably had been. When the door to the bathroom finally opened, his father stood naked. He mouthed, “The room’s clean now. I need to shower.”

Jerry nodded, grabbed his aids, and walked past his father into the open room. His father quickly closed the door behind him. Jerry’s eyes went to the spot where the man had laid, but Jerry didn’t see blood. He saw a freshly scrubbed spot still wet…but no blood. The air still held the faint traces of burned flesh, but it lay under the scent of cleaning products.

What had he done with the man? Did he kill him? If so, where was the body?

Jerry quickly dressed, trying to let his mind go over everything that had happened.

He was pacing unconsciously when he felt eyes on him. He lifted his gaze to see his father staring at him from the bathroom. That hard masculine body was naked from head to toe, looking sexy, dominant, and deadly.

“Did you kill him?”

“Yes.” His father answered not moving.

Jerry nodded taking in a deep breath. “And the body…”

“Not your concern. Your concern should be what the hell you’ve gotten yourself involved in.”

Jerry’s eyes widened. “What-“

“He was after a damn computer, Jerry.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit…

“What have you done?”

Jerry gritted out. “I was helping someone out, didn’t know it was going to be like this…” He explained about the project he and Mia worked on to help distract him. “It’s not illegal to help fix people’s computers. I just didn’t know it wasn’t Nick’s…until later.”

“You learned it wasn’t his but you kept it? Are you nuts?”

Jerry shrugged. “I was curious.”

“Curious! Glitch, someone just came to kill you!”

“Yeah…” Jerry nodded, but that wasn’t what shook him. What shook him was the scary calm his father had when dealing with the intruder.

“Glitch… Are you not comprehending the level of shit you’re in? You’re smack in the middle of some illegal activity… You… You promised me when I bought you your first laptop that you wouldn’t do anything illegal.”

Jerry laughed then. “That promise lasted all of two minutes.”

When his father remained silent, Jerry looked over at his dumbstruck face. “What…what did you say?” Philip asked in disbelief.

“Nothing.” Jerry sighed.

“Glitch, what are you involved in?”

Jerry got up and went to his father’s bag. He unzipped the duffel to see the dead man’s gun sitting on the top. He paused for a moment before moving it to the side and pulling out some fresh clothes for his father. With each article he pulled out, he held it out for his father to dress. The man did as Jerry finally answered, “I do…a little hacking here and there.”

“Son…”

“Don’t give me shit, old man, you just killed someone.”

“That was self-defense.”

“Bullshit. Self-defense would’ve called the cops. You tortured that man. I bet you liked it too,” Jerry said standing upright to face Philip who just pulled his shirt over his head.

His father didn’t answer.

“Come on…” Jerry stepped up to Philip. “Admit it…” He smoothed his hand over the man’s chest under the shirt. Those blue eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring.

“You’re not scared?”

“Of?”

“What I did?”

“No.”

“Dammit…” His father leaned in and kissed Jerry. He grabbed the back of Jerry’s head forcing them even closer, deepening their contact. His father moaned into their mouths before pulling back. “I’m glad…so damn glad.” His father kissed him again. “We can’t stay here. We’re going to the new place tonight,” His father said as Jerry continued kissing along the man’s lips. “It’s already furnished.”

“Then we should hurry, so you can fuck me…”

His father just nodded taking Jerry’s hand and grabbing his bag in the other. When they left, Jerry’s father didn’t let him stop to grab any clothes, just his laptop bag and all his equipment.

ORIGINAL CONTENT OF D.C. BLU. DO NOT COPY AND/OR REDISTRIBUTE WITHOUT THE AUTHOR’S PERMISSION. PLAGIARISM IS CRUEL. PLEASE BE RESPECTFUL.

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