Chapter Seventy
Cujo
“Beatdown, Beatdown, Beatdown. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you.” Rage fills me as I glimpse the soon-to-be-dead Alpha sitting in my special chair. “You look too comfortable.”
There’s a haze tinging my vision, knowing this piece of shit touched my omega, tried to take her life.
Mine.
My sanity hangs on a thread, but for this task, I’m glad for it. This Alpha is about to wish his mama had swallowed instead.
In my absence, my brothers kept him altogether too unharmed. They were saving him for me, but still, after all the pain he put Willow through, some blood and bruises would be nice to see.
No bother. I’ll add them myself.
Glancing around the space, I notice Orthos and Lassie did a good job of preparing the dungeon for what’s about to unfold.
The best tools are laid out, there are tons of hooks ready for anything, and there’s even a new station in case we decide to play with some electricity.
Beatdown’s about to wish he never got into bed with Pack Mordred.
I only hope he doesn’t break too quickly.
My Alpha craves his pain. His tears. His blood.
Some of my brothers prowl along the periphery of the room, waiting for my command. No one knows cruelty the way I do. And this time, it’s personal. Gy may be owed the same pound of flesh, but even he lets me take the lead.
“Fuck you.” He spits at my boots.
“Remove his cut. He doesn’t deserve it.” I hand Gy a blade. He needs this as much as I do. We left our omega sleeping in her nest to be here, unable to relax, knowing this shitbag was near. My instincts won’t calm until all threats to my love are gone.
Gy grabs the knife, an evil glint in his eye, before turning toward our victim.
“Do you know what an MC is, Beatdown?” He drags the serrated edge over Beatdown’s arm, and bright red droplets bubble from the wound.
Drip. Drip. Drip. It falls to the floor, letting just a hint of copper puff in the air. Igniting my bloodlust.
“Yeah. I fucking do. Badass bikers who make a shit ton of scratch. But you don’t know shit.
Bunch of pussies who toe the line. Making friends with the pigs,” he scoffs, and I reach for my newly remodeled bat.
Its heavy wood is now encased in barbed wire, with a few rusty nails for good measure. I heft it in my hand with a grunt.
“No. It’s a brotherhood. A family.” Gy slices through his cut, making sure to catch skin as he goes.
“People who are always there for you. Ready to die for you. Ready to kill for you.” Grunting, my packmate slams the knife deep into Beatdown’s shoulder, and the Alpha lets out a high-pitched scream that I’ll cherish forever.
“Nice one.” I step forward, bat at the ready, and slam it into his gut over and over, tenderizing the meat. Gy grabs another knife and uses it to tear through the rest of his cut. He hands the garment to Orthos, who wrinkles his nose in disgust.
“Damn, that’s nasty. No respect for the cut.” Orthos drops it to the floor in front of Beatdown, who has the nerve to sneer at him, but quickly loses his bravado when my brother pours gasoline over the leather. “Heard you like fire, fucker.”
The sharp snap of a match being lit makes his eyes go wide.
“What? No. Don’t do that. I hate fire.” He flinches as the pile catches, flames licking toward his very flammable jeans. “Look, killing your old lady wasn’t even my idea. Please. Please, don’t do this.”
“Not your idea?” Gy asks, kicking the burning pile closer to our prey.
“Just fucking kill me. Shoot me in the head,” Beatdown shouts, pleading for mercy. But mercy doesn’t live in the dungeon.
“No.” I step into the light, bat at the ready, but the way he’s hunched leaves little room for the pain I’m planning to dish out. “You owe me too much.”
“Killing that bitch omega wasn’t even my idea,” he complains once more. I twirl my finger in the air, and Grim and Lassie move in from the shadows, grabbing the Alpha and lifting the shackles connected to his arms over a hook.
Much better. Beatdown hangs from the rafters, completely powerless, a blank canvas for my rage. He tries to kick out, but his body twists and flails. There’s a loud thwack as Gy slams his fist into his gut, and the distinct crack of a rib is music to my ears.
“Yeah. Then whose idea was it? Who thought they could turn my ol’ lady to ash and get away with it?
” Gy asks as he pummels Beatdown. We already know the answer, but I let the other Alpha satiate his rage.
When he bonded Willow, it gave me a link to him as well.
I can tell how badly he needs the blood to pour.
Hefting the bat, I lose interest in it and glance at my other options. Staring at the treasure trove of torture devices, I consider what I want to start with.
Blow torch? It would be poetic, but likely too quick.
Pliers? Always fun…
My favorite knife? Probably the way I’ll finish this.
My eyes skim over the implements before they fall to a mallet, reminding me of Willow’s fingers. It’s unlikely I’ll ever get to use it on the Alpha who shattered her hands, so using it here allows for a bit of retribution. Yes, let’s start there.
After grabbing it off the rolling cart, I heft the weight in my hand, getting used to the feel.
When I turn around, I find Orthos shoving Beatdown’s burning cut under his now-shoeless toes.
The flames curl upward, barely touching him, but he cries about it just the same.
Orthos is one crazy fucker, but I’m glad he’s with me.
Gy rains blow after blow on the Black Plague member, sending his body swinging with every meeting of their flesh.
Blood pours from his nose and mouth—a beautiful sight.
“All right, Hounds. Time to get down to business.” Releasing a breath, I unleash my dominance, allowing it to creep forward enough for Beatdown to sense the darkness emanating from me.
His face pales. The others step out of the way, and I swing, bringing the mallet crashing into the man’s kneecap.
It gives way immediately, a shattering sound echoing around the dungeon.
Beatdown doesn’t even try to act tough; piss soaks the front of his jeans, and sweat breaks out all over his body. The Alpha’s scent turns burnt, and I wonder whether I ought to tear out his scent gland.
Questions first.
“Please. I’ll give you the drug routes. Make you lots of scratch.” His begging is pathetic. Like my honeybee’s life is worth a little cash.
I look him dead in the eye. “No. We want information. Not drugs.” Swinging the mallet, I let it thump against my palm, watching him flinch at every swing.
Beatdown sobs, big ugly cries. “I promise. I didn’t want to.
When I signed on, Pack Mordred only asked me to watch the omega.
The plan was that we would eventually snatch her.
No one was supposed to die. Then they changed everything.
” Hardened biker, my ass. “They said she needed to run away without the agents, so we could snatch her. But she ran to you instead…”
“How do you communicate with Mordred?” I ask, voice deceptively calm. Realizing he’s giving us new information, Beatdown’s eyes hood, growing shrewd.
“I visit them in their bunker. Where they keep the omega that looks an awful lot like yours. If I tell you how to get in touch with them, will you release me?” Not a chance.
“Depends if we find them. A life for a life and all that.” Gy’s voice pisses me off, and he better be joking because this fuckwad tried to burn Willow alive.
The sudden itch to hurt him fills me, and I slam the mallet into his gut over and over.
It’s not sufficiently satisfying, and I drop it on the floor, then reach for the blowtorch.
“Stop. Stop. Stop.” No. The scent of burning flesh fills the room.
“Cujo, enough.” Gy’s bark makes me stop, but I won’t be denied much longer. “You’d better talk fast.”
“I don’t know where they are. I’ve been there.
But I have to meet one of the pack members, and they drive us to the underground bunker.
Blindfolded. All I can tell you is that it’s in Colorado.
They usually pick me up at a gas station about twenty minutes from the airport.
They text me when there’s product that needs selling.
” What he’s saying has a note of truth to it, but I’m still not sure how it’s going to help.
“So, you do it all via text?’ Fen steps forward, a phone in his hand. He lifts it to Beatdown’s face and opens it. “Which contact is it? There are no messages in here. I’ve combed through it.”
“Ain’t gonna tell you that until you let me down.” I could torture the answer out of him, but a better idea slithers through my mind.
“And you’ll help us? Bring us to the pack?” Hope fills his face.
“Yeah, man. Let me live, and I’ll help you out.” Nodding, I wave for the guys to bring him down. Beatdown slumps to the ground near the charred remains of his cut, and I watch closely to make sure he doesn’t try anything.
“Show me.” Fen holds onto the phone but allows Beatdown to scroll through.
“See. It’s some weird app thing. It makes the texts disappear. When I’ve sold out, I drop them a message.” Fen takes over. “Then they send a plane ticket.”
“And you have to go meet them?” Gy asks, wiping his bloody hands on a towel.
“Yeah. Or send one of my guys.” You’re not too bright, are you?
“Thank you. That’s very helpful.” Fen nods my way, then rises to his feet.
The second he’s clear of the Black Plague, my favorite knife is in my hand.
With a flick of my wrist, it sails through the air and embeds itself in Beatdown’s throat.
He slumps to the ground, blood gurgling from his lips as he drowns in it.
You don’t fuck with the Hounds…