Author's note: Holy shit, this is, uh, proceed with caution alright? and uh, please don't hate me...

Disclaimer!: No own-o los santos de boondock :D

Chapter 21: Five Becomes Four

*Boss*

The Boss pulled his fist back, and slammed it into the stomach of the woman he had personally grabbed from the Saints apartment. It was amazing how well a plan could go.

Of course, he had a good reason for this particular plan to work.

He had to avenge Tyson.

The Boss frowned to himself, he had to avenge Tyson? How bad Kung-Fu movie did that sound? What he was doing was so much more then an overused idea. He had to make it up to Tyson. The Saints had killed the one person on this Earth who gave a damn about him. The only person. His soldiers were just that, soldiers. They were his employees, people he paid to do a great job. He never grabbed a beer with them after a long day, never smoked a cigar and discussed any topic from Gatsby to the Bruin's chances that year. Tyson was his friend, his mentor, his father.

And the Saints had killed him.

Anger surged through his again, and he echoed the attack from earlier, and punched up into the girl's ribs. She cried out, but that wasn't much. She'd cried out every time he'd hit her. She pleaded him to stop, begging almost. Tears filled up her brown eyes but it hadn't affected him at all.

An eye for an eye.

And technically, she should be dead already. She was on barrowed time as it was, in the grand scheme of things, she had long since overstayed her welcome. And how was that fair to anyone? Fate wasn't as uncontrollable as everyone thought. It had to be regulated. He was going to deliver a fate today.

He punched her again.

"Please stop!" She begged again. She was shaking, and somehow, she was still looking him in the eyes. She did have pretty eyes, he'd give her that.

"Sorry luv, it's not you. I 'ope you understand that." He told her. She just bit her lip and shook her head.

"Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter does it?" He asked. Popping my knuckles. He was staring at her hard, trying to consider his options…he could carve her up some…but that would kind of defeat the purpose. He was trying to get even with the Saints, but he was a gentleman if anything. He wouldn't cause anymore harm to this woman then was needed.

"Let me go. Please!" she tried. She'd been singing this tune for a while now, but it just wasn't sticking with him.

"Sorry luv, that's just not going to 'appen." he shrugged, looking down at his hands. The skin of his knuckles was broken, and his blood was slowly trialing off his hands. There was blood on her shirt as well. He'd have to remember to take that with him. He didn't want the cops to be anymore involved then they already were.

The girl bound to the chair sniffed. He shook his head. At this rate, he was going to kill her a lot faster then he intended too. She was a bit on the skinner side, and every punch looked like it was going to break her in half. She was crying now, but she didn't seem to notice, she was too busy staring at the ground. The faded red stains of the others that the Boss had dragged to this very spot.

He'd never killed a woman before.

Tyson had always said it wasn't very chivalrous to do that to a woman, but, if it was for the good of the business, everyone was expendable. Another lesson from Tyson, that would forever be burned into the Boss' mind.

"You going to kill me?" she asked, her eyes meeting his once more.

Always the gentleman, the Boss nodded. "I plan to."

To his surprise, the woman just nodded. "I thought so."

"Look 'ere luv," He said, kneeling down so that they were at eye level. "I'm giving you the gift of an open casket at your funeral." She winced at his words. "'Ey, don't look a gift 'orse in the mouth. If you'd ask the family of any of the Saint's victims if they 'ad that option, what do you think they'd say?" The woman would be getting an open casket. The only mark on her face was from the bruise that came with the impact her head had taken so they could transport her. It's not like she was going to be walking out willingly.

"They didn't…" She whispered. He nodded.

"That's right. They didn't. because the Saints made that decision for them. So, when I 'ad to bury my best friend, my father, guess what option I didn't 'ave." He could hear his voice grow hard. The girl whimpered.

"You couldn't have an open casket."

"Exactly. My final goodbye to one of the most important people in my life, and I 'ad to say goodbye to a wooden lid, to a slab of pine. Because the face 'ad been disfigured past a state of recognition. I 'ad to explain to 'is mother why I couldn't show 'er 'is face. I 'ad to tell the woman 'e loved that she would've recognized 'im anyway. I 'ad to be the one to identify 'is body. I 'ad to see their carnage firsthand."

"Killing me won't bring him back, you know." the girl's eyes narrowed, and The Boss finally saw a spark of life in the otherwise dull, dark eyes.

"Believe me, I'm aware that it won't bring 'im back. But I don't think the Saints should get off without so much as a tear. I can 'it them physically as many times as I want, but they're like ants. They just won't fucking die." He sighed, and popped his knuckles. Maybe he should get some back up.

"You don't know them. Killing me won't stop them." The girl actually managed a smirk.

"Are you completely sure about that?"

"The Saints, are infallible." She nodded. Well, it appeared that they had different opinions about what her death would do to the two men.

The Boss was about to answer when he heard the door open. He glanced behind them, and nodded to Chelsea as she approached him. "What are you doing 'ere?"

"Well, to be 'onest, I 'ad to get out of there before I killed them. This is grating on my every nerve Boss. I can't be there, and not kill them anymore. I want to kill them. I want to cut them both so deep, that they 'ave to sit there, and wonder which one of them will die first." Her massive eyes were narrowed, and it was then that the Boss noted they were ringed with a purple tint.

"What 'appened to your eyes?"

"One of them 'it me." She snarled. The control that usually curbed the insanity in her eyes was gone. Right now, he was sure that she was being fueled by nothing more then insanity and rage. "They 'it me." her clawed fingers clenched into fists, and she eyed the woman tied to the chair.

"Who you 'ave 'ere?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Revenge." He answered.

"Ah." Chelsea stared at the woman, who flinched when she saw Chelsea's eyes. "She 'as pretty eyes."

"I thought so too." He idly answered, reaching down for some brass knuckles. Sure, the idea was overplayed for gangs, especially the Boss, but it was effective, there was no denying that. "Get back to work Chelsea. I'm not paying you to 'ang around. Go get it done."

"I've never not killed my toys. What am I supposed to do with them?" she rolled her eyes.

"Destroy them?" He threw out. "Don't much care, just keep them busy."

Chelsea narrowed her eyes, they had a conflicting look in them. Suddenly her eyes flew open, and she almost jumped. "I 'ave it! I do! But first, can I 'ave that?" she pointed toward a brick pile that was leaning against the wall. The Boss shrugged.

"Go for it." Chelsea grabbed the item and ran out, leaving the Boss with the girl. She stared up at him and slowly blinked her eyes.

"Where were we?" he asked the girl. She scowled.

"The infallibility of the Saints."

"Ah, that's right." The Boss chuckled. "You are a stupid girl."

"I'm not stupid!"

"You are. You're naïve to think that there are infallible. In all reality, everyone is fallible. The Saints can't 'ide behind their title anymore. They need to be reminded they're as 'uman as you and me." The Boss told her as he slammed his knuckles back into her stomach. The girl shivered violently, and promptly threw up, her body leaning over just enough that it wouldn't get all over her.

"Chin up luv. We'll be done soon. It'll all be over soon. And I 'ave quiet the ending planned for us." He felt a smile stretch across his face, and her eyes widened in fear.

"An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind." She whispered. I gave a small laugh.

"I'm already blind…so might as well bring them into this pit with me." He simply responded as he undid the girl's arms. She tried to struggle, but a few well placed hits to her shoulder earlier had made the idea of moving damn near impossible.

The Boss picked the girl up so that he was standing behind her. She tried to move away, but the vertigo from the head injury attacked her at that point and she went reeling. The Boss dropped the brass knuckles on the ground, and he pulled on a pair of gloves.

Once those were secure, he flicked out his Stanley knife. He grabbed the woman's right hand, and gently wound her fingers around the blade. Her eyes went wide and she tried to fight even harder, but The Boss was much stronger then she was.

He lead her right hand to her left wrist, and he pressed the knife against the skin, and drug it slowly down. The woman was shaking like a leaf now, and he dropped her. She hit the ground hard, and whimpering.

"And now they know, to never, ever, fuck with my family." He sighed, and turned towards the door, pulling out his phone.

He felt like a chat with the Agent was in order.

*Connor*

Every breath hurt.

Every time a muscle twitched was agony.

How fucking long had she kept us here? How fucking long had my brother been hanging like Christ on that wall.

How much more could he take?

I sighed and reached up so that I was gripping the handicapped bar. I was going to get Murph and meself out of this, no matter the fucking cost.

I began to pull at the damn thing, but the fucking metal wouldn't budge.

But hell, a toilet wasn't supposed to budge either.

I pulled hard, being fueled by the fact that if I didn't get out. She was going to kill my brother.

What the fuck kind of human could do this to another?

Pretty simple answer ta dat one Connor. She's not human.

She has ta be human, demons aren't real, monsters aren't real. She has ta be human.

Do you really think she's human, or do ye just want her ta be? So ye don't have ta worry about the demon that could very well kill ye, and yer brother?

Fuck I was sick of this shit.

I tugged harder on the bar, and heard the screech of metal. I smirked and continued to pull. I was this fucking close.

A knife landed into the wall next to me. I growled and started at the door that had been mocking me since we'd first woken up in this hell. Chelsea leaned against the door. She was wearing different clothes. She had on a red tank top. It had been black last I'd seen her. Fuck, how long had I been here?

"Ah, ah, ah." She wagged her finger at me like I was some fucking puppy. "Let's not be breaking things you don't intend to fix."

"Could say da same for ye." I snarled. Chelsea just gave the same contorted smirk she always gave me.

"And 'ow're my boys today?"

"I ain't yer boy."

"Well, you're nobody's boy aren't you? I mean, your brother kind of sort of 'as that artist…well for now. But you, you don't really belong to anyone. A lost little puppy if there ever was one."

"Shut up." I growled. I was done, I wasn't going to listen to her anymore. I wasn't going to let her hurt me anymore.

"Alright, fine. Not like it's important or anything." she shrugged and made her way over to where Murphy was slumped. She poked each of the nails. I felt rage bubble up inside me.

One good tug, and that bar will give. I know I can pull dat off

She slowly traced her fingers over the three scratches she had carved into Murphy's face, and she smiled. Murphy didn't stir once. Christ, he wasn't going to last much longer. Fuck!

"What about ye?" I asked, trying to buy some time to plan something out.

"What about me?"

"Who do ye belong ta?"

"The gun." she answered simply. "The blade. The blood."

"Ye had ta be something before dat." I argued. "Ye can't be nothing but death."

"I didn't exist before that. I was nothing. I wasn't worth anything until Chelsea, England."

"So what, yer-"

"It's like I told your brother, I'm an object. A machine, a tool. Nothing more." The silver eyes captured mine. "Just like you."

"What do ye mean? I exist outside of this life. I'm not just a gun. I was something before it."

"No you weren't."

"Yes I was."

"No," She shook her head. "You weren't. It just isn't possible. Before you picked up a gun, what were you? One Irishman of thousands in Boston? Working a pathetic job, making only enough to get by? Spend what little money you have leftover on a night in the pubs?" She raised her eyebrow expectantly. I could only stare at her. "But after you picked up a gun, you went down in 'istory. You'll forever be remembered as a Saint. The gun gave you a name for yourself. It created a legacy for you. Now, instead of dying some nameless Irish drunk in the streets of Boston, you'll be remembered. You're a Saint, a phantom, a murderer. You've become the enemy of 'undreds and the 'ero of thousands. All because you picked up a gun, and pulled the trigger. So don't sit there and pretend that you're above what you are. You're just as bad as I am."

The words spoken by this woman caused guilt, cold and numbing to spread through my body. Guilt I didn't know I had. I looked away.

Christ was that what I had become? Just another mass murder?

Was this what was going to define me for the rest of my life?

I was forever going to live under the guise of bullets, blood and luck, until one day, I wasn't going to come back alive. How the hell was I supposed to accept this?

I was going to keep doing this until I died. I worked for God.

But, fuck, I was a man too.

Even before this had become my life, I'd always wanted to settle down. I had a slight desire for family life. I almost craved the normalcy of having a wife, a kid, and hell, maybe even a fucking dog. I wanted something that I could come home to.

Not just blood, pills and an iron.

But since me and Murphy had started this crusade, my desire for a family became almost like a sin, it wasn't as if it could ever happen.

But why the fuck not? Christ Almighty, it was better then getting stuck in a situation like this again…watching and waiting for either me or Murphy to draw our last breath. God willing we went together.

Either way, I had to get my fucking head back in the game. I had to get me and Murphy out of here.

Chelsea continued to stare at me, as if she knew something I didn't. "Oh boy, you're not as strong as you think you are."

"And ye know me well enough to say that?" I spat.

"I know how to bend you completely to my will, I know your heartbeat, I know every scar on your body. I know what you look like when you're scared. I know you at your worst." she responded. I felt a chill slide up my spine.

Not human.

Still human.

"And, I know that you don't enjoy this work as much as you let on." She threw out. I narrowed my eyes at her.

"Ye don't know sh-" I stopped myself. "Ye don't know me."

"I don't have to know who you are. I know who you aren't. You aren't cut out to be a killer. Not in the way that you need to be."

"Think that I'm doing a decent job, enough to kill Tank." I tossed out the only leverage I had. I knew that Tank must've meant something to her, because she hadn't attacked when we killed those first drug dealers, or when we killed Bobby. She had a connection with that one.

Her boot smashed into my teeth once more.

Ha. I was right.

"You don't deserve to speak 'is name!" she cried. Anger flashed through her massive eyes. Her fists were clenched tight by her sides. I smiled though the blood.

"And if I do?"

"You can't 'andle this life. You can't stand not being in control. And I know that if you 'ad the choice, you'd be the first to walk way. 'Owever, you can't seem to make that choice. You're also afraid to disappoint anyone who counts on you. Like your brother for example. You'll never be able to make that choice. So, I'll make it for you." She explained, pulling a brick out of her bag, and tossing it up and down a few times.

What the fuck? She was going ta brick us to death?

She turned back towards my brother, and tossed the brick once more. Then she smashed it against his right had.

Murphy was jolted awake, and he screamed. I grabbed the fucking bar and began to pull.

"Fuck!" Murphy screamed.

Pull!

"God, Connor! Help me!"

Pull!

"Christ, this hurts!" Murphy screamed. He wasn't looking at me anymore. His head was turned towards the sky, he had be reduced to begging.

Fucking pull!

Chelsea brought the brick down on his hand once more, and another crunch echoed throughout the bathroom. Murphy screamed.

And the bar finally broke off in my hands.

Faster then I'd ever moved before, I slide the handcuffs off of it, and I tackled Chelsea to the ground.

Underneath me, she wasn't so scary. I was a good head taller then her, and she didn't weight very much. I pinned her arms down with my knees, and picked up the brick she had been using to torture my brother. I reared it back, completely intent on bashing her skull in.

Then I saw her eyes.

She was a woman.

Christ! Why was this still an issue for me! Why the fuck was I pausing!

She was a beast of a human, she'd hurt me, fucking crucified my brother, killed God knows how many people….

But she was still a woman.

A woman who really wasn't that old.

My heart beat rapidly against my ribcage and my stomach rolled. I had killed 37 men, and I'd had no trouble pulling the trigger, dropping the toilet, or just beating the shit out of them.

But she was a woman.

If I killed her, she would haunt me, more then a ghost. She was a woman.

I couldn't hurt a woman.

I'd let that lesbian bust my balls in the meat packing plant.

I'd never been able to say no to my mother, no matter how demeaning the task.

I'd never been able to pull off a one night stand, because I couldn't stand watching a woman accept that kind of disrespect.

"Fucking kill her Connor!" Murphy cried. I looked at him, and then his hand. There was so much blood…and I could swear I could see some bone. His eyes were stained with pain.

Jesus Christ.

I gripped the brick tighter.

But when I met her eyes again, nothing had changed. She was still a woman.

I couldn't kill a woman.

I dropped the brick, and grabbed her, and threw her up against the wall.

"Get the fuck out of here, now." I growled. Her eyes widened at the tone of my voice. "If ye dare show yer face again, I will fucking kill you." I pulled her away from the wall, and slammed her into it again. She groaned, then I dropped her. She landed against the floor hard, and she looked up at me.

Her eyes were still a woman's.

Chelsea ran out of the bathroom, hauling ass. I turned towards my brother, and began to examine the nails in his good hand, and the mutilated one. Fuck, how the hell do I take these out?

"Just pull them out Connor." He whispered. I couldn't meet his eyes.

"Murph…"

"Pull. Them. The. Fuck. Out. Of. Me." He explained slowly, and his voice cracked near the end. I could only nod. I glanced around, seeing if she had left the hammer.

Of course she hadn't, that would've been too fucking easy, wouldn't it?

I walked over to Murphy's good hand. And got a grip one the nail. Murphy winced at the contact alone. I counted to three in my head and pulled.

The nail only came about a third of the way out, and my brother wailed like a bean sídhe.

I had to tug on it two more times, until it fell to the floor with a clink. I still couldn't meet my brother's eyes.

His arm fell limp to his side, and I could hear his jaw popping from the way he was clenching his teeth.

I moved towards the fucked up mass of muscle that was his trigger hand. I bit my lip, and counted to three again.

"Oh God, just fucking kill me!" Murphy cried. Although, since this hand was so fucked up, the nail came with less resistance, and it only took once more to pull it out.

Murphy slammed against the floor. I dropped to my knees in front of him. I was finally able to look him in the eyes.

He didn't even look like my brother. His eyes were shattered and full of a pain I couldn't identify with. His face looked blank, but tortured at the same time. His body was shaking.

I reached my arms around him and pulled him towards me. He collapsed into my and I could feel his tears on my t-shirt. I could feel them on my face too. Fuck, I had come so fucking close to losing him.

So goddamned close to losing my brother.

"I'm sorry Murphy." I whispered. "So sorry Murphy. So fucking sorry. I'm sorry! I just couldn't- I couldn't-I couldn't fucking-"

I paused. I could smell smoke.

Oh fuck!

I jumped up and grabbed Murphy with me. He looked dazed and confused like never before, tears still on his face.

"We have ta get da fuck out of here! Now!" I screamed and pulled him out the bathroom door, finally. Out of that fucking door.

We ran into a cheap looking motel room. Fuck…we'd never left the motel? We were there all along? Explains how she got us there I suppose. I continued to haul Murphy towards the door.

"Connor it hurts!" he moaned from behind me.

"Only a little farther Murph! I promise! Just listen ta Connor now alright, we're almost done!" I called back and lead him towards the rickety looking staircase that we had come up with the old biddy.

I took the first couple of steps too fast, but my body couldn't stop going. I hit a stair wrong, and went down hard, Murphy right behind me. I hit the concrete hard enough to shock my body back into feeling.

"Fucking shit!" I growled as pain raced along my entire body. I lifted my head up, and saw the plumes of smoke coming from the building.

That little bitch set the fucking building on fire. I growled and pulled myself up once more, and dragged Murphy to his feet.

He was a little more responsive now, and I could feel him trying to keep up with my pace. I pulled Murphy until we were at least a block away, then my body quit on me. I fell to my hands and knees, and Murph fell on his stomach next to me.

"Jesus Christ." I whispered, and realized I was shaking harder then I ever had. I collapsed on my back and stared at Murphy. He was staring back at me.

We were beat to all fucking hell, we had no guns, no phones, no way to get help.

But Goddamn it, we were safe.

"I'm sorry Murph." I whispered, before a wave of pain crashed onto my body like a fucking tsunami, and I blacked out.

So, uh, review? :]