Unapologize

By: PricklySare

A/N: As usual, I don't own the names of these characters...because well, JE never really created Lester's character so his behavior and personality are all mine.

Thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing this story. M's and Stayce, as always...you're the best.

Sare

Chapter 43: Lester is Mors Mortis

Lester's POV

"Favorite my ass," I mumbled, giving Brown an evil look. "She's just being nice to you."

He had a big ass smirk on his face as he strutted back to his seat again. "You're just jealous, Santos. Looks like you've been replaced," he said shooting me a huge grin. Ha! Replaced? Not likely.

"Keep telling yourself that, Brown."

"No need to tell myself something that's obvious," he said with a deep laugh.

"Boys, boys, don't make me separate you," Tank said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Besides, we already know that I'm Bombshell's favorite." Before I got a chance to respond to that, my cell vibrated on my hip. I removed it and checked the display, noticing it was a text message from Hector.

Pig that hurt our chica is hangin' around. Want first crack? Fuck yes, I did. I responded quickly.

Be right there. I stood up from my place on the couch, shot a look at Tank to let him know I was dealing with something, and went out the door. It was time for some paybacks.

I stepped outside into the late afternoon sunshine and walked up to Hector. "Where is the bastard?" I asked in rapid Spanish.

"Three o'clock. He's on wheels in the alley between those two empty houses," he replied. I found it easier in some cases to just speak to Hector in Spanish rather than in the English he was learning, and I highly doubted that someone as stupid as the podunk cop would understand anything not said in the most basic of English, let alone in a foreign language.

"Gracias, hermano," I said.

"De nada, Chico." We did a complicated handshake and I headed toward the bastard who was going to wish he'd never tried to frame Steph for murder, let alone laid a hand on her.

The alley was shaded from the sun, and left me with dense shadows to blend into as I made my way toward the hideous vehicle that the dumbass cop was driving. Any grown man who voluntarily drove a Scion xB should have his man-card revoked. Not that I had any illusions that Deputy Fucktard had ever been a man, but had I, his car of choice would have settled it. To make matters worse, it looked like he'd had it custom painted, and it sported orange and blue flames against shiny black. Nothing like sporting a metaphorical neon sign that said, "I take it up the ass."

It turned out that not only was he a lousy excuse for a human being, but he wasn't even worth sticking to the shadows for. When I'd approached his driver's side I noticed he was leaned back in his seat, fast asleep. I stood there and watched him for a few minutes while I felt the rage I'd been holding off since Steph disappeared build and boil in my veins. I thought momentarily about slamming my fist through the window and dragging him out that way, but then I noticed that the other doors were unlocked and decided to just open the door. It might not have been as satisfying as feeling the glass crunch under my fist, but it would result in fewer stitches on my hand.

"What the hell," he said, his eyes opening to the size of saucers when I yanked open the door. "Who the hell do you-" my hand wrapped around his throat cut off whatever he was planning on saying.

"I know exactly who I am, asshole, and I think it's time you got a proper introduction." I ripped him from his seat, his knees bashed against the steering wheel as I pulled him out the door. I backed him into the alley wall, and it occurred to me that I'd had him in a similar position two days earlier. The difference this time was that we weren't in a police station. This time I knew exactly where Steph was, and what he'd done to her. "You are a worthless piece of shit, Limpdick, and the world will celebrate when your lifeless body is found. IF it's found," I said, my voice low and deadly. I could feel him struggling against me, but his considerable fat wasn't enough to move my weight from him. The anger that had been burbling beneath the surface bubbled higher, threatening to spill over.

"You can't kill me. I'm a cop," he gasped out. Talking with an arm across your trachea wasn't an easy thing to do.

My body was vibrating in fury, and I wanted nothing more than to tear him apart. I was struggling to keep my inner beast leashed; knowing that Steph wouldn't like it if I killed the maggot. "You're not a cop. You're nothing but someone's well paid puppet, and a fuck up at that," I pressed my arm tighter against his throat before continuing. "You're nothing but a worthless piece of flesh. Not cut out to be a cop, not cut out to be a criminal. You're nothing." I pulled my right arm back and slammed my fist into his massive gut. His ruddy complexion went pale and his eyes began to water. I did it a second time, then a third.

I was barely holding onto my temper, and if I hadn't had my arm across his windpipe he would have been doubled over in pain. I couldn't care less. "You may have gotten away with whatever the fuck you wanted to in the past, but not anymore. The day you put Steph in your sights was the day you signed your death warrant." Tears were rolling down his cheeks, but he was still struggling.

"You don't know anything," he managed to get out. I took that moment to release some of the pressure from his throat before slamming his head against the wall with a satisfying crack. His eyes glazed over in pain, but he didn't pass out. "I'm protected," he said. "You're going to pay for everything you're doing. You're as good as dead." I let out a low rumbling laugh. Not one of joy, or merriment, but of derision.

"I'll let you in on a little secret, you cockless wonder. Death doesn't fear anything." I smirked as confusion ran across his face. "Oh, I see. Your mighty protector didn't tell you who you were messing with, did he?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, sounding like he was trying not to shit his pants.

"Of course not. You're not important enough, or worth enough to know who we are. But, since you're not going to last much longer, I'll enlighten you. I am Mors Mortis. I am Death." It had been a long time since I'd used that code name, but each of the core team had one. I was Mors Mortis, the Latin translation for Death. Our names fit who we were, in the field, on assignment, and undercover. During those times when we were nothing more than operatives and nothing less than killing machines. I was Death, and I was damn good at my job.

His eyes were wide and terrified, maybe not from my words, but from the temper, and anger that was running through me. Maybe he knew that I would kill him without blinking and eye, but that didn't stop him from opening his mouth and showing just how fucking stupid he really was. "You won't kill me, and as soon as I get a chance I'm going to get another taste of that sweet little cunt you've got stashed in that house."

My vision faded and I felt the beast slam against its cage. The anger that had been boiling before erupted like a volcano and I felt the world shrink down to one thing. Death. There was no longer thought or reason, just the uncontrollable need to make him bleed. To kill the threat. He might have been a fat, alcoholic, dirty cop, but at that moment he was no less a threat than the people I'd killed for the government. He was threatening a part of my life that was vital for my survival, and the animal inside me wasn't about to allow that to go unpunished.

The only sound I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears. I didn't hear the whimpers, groans, or cries of pain that I'm sure the worthless excuse for a human being made. His begging fell on deaf ears, and had I been able to hear him I would have ignored his pleas anyway. Suddenly I was being taken to the ground by what felt like a semi. My arms were held down to my sides, and my legs were pinned beneath a massive weight. "You need to calm down Santos," the voice began filtering through the red haze that had clouded my vision. "Breathe man, I'll take care of this for you, but you need to breathe and get control."

It took me a few deep breaths to realize that the voice was Tank's. I'd lost control and he'd stopped me. I briefly wondered if I'd killed the cocksucker, but pushed the thought out of my mind. It wasn't important. The only thing important to me at that moment was to get back to Steph. I might have been stopped, but the anger was still inside me, the creature that wanted to kill was still pacing. I needed comfort, something that while on missions I never sought, and up until I'd become friends with Steph had never thought I'd need.

I slowly brought myself to my feet, and knew that I would have a few bruises of my own from being tackled by Tank. As far as I was concerned, they would be well worth it. I watched as Tank lifted the bulky, mass of flab, smacking him in the face a few times to wake him up. It was hard to tell if he opened his eyes, but I guessed he must have. I might not have killed him, but he would never forget what I'd done to him. He mumbled a few words that I couldn't hear, but I heard Tank's response. "Shut the fuck up before I give you a bad doughnut." I almost smiled. Without another glance at the guy responsible for the bruises on Steph's body, I headed back toward the safe house. Tank could take it from there.