Forty-Seven
T here was no fucking sign of her. Oh, and Rocket was missing too. Torch was in emergency surgery still, and nobody had seen any sign of Dodger either. That was two members of the club unaccounted for, so one of them had to be the one who’d taken my girl. How could some guy I’d trusted with my fucking life be the asshole who’d taken my fucking woman?
“Whoa, man… I didn’t know that was you.” Micro sat down beside me at the bar, where I was nursing a fucking coffee, because nobody would let me have alcohol.
“That’s a lot of stitches in the back of your head too.”
I didn’t even look at him, because seriously? The shit had hit the fan, and he was acting like nothing was wrong. A surge of anger made me clench both fists as I fought the urge to introduce his face to the bar top.
“Has? Come on, man, I’m trying to lighten the mood a bit. I know it’s bad, but we’ll figure it out, yeah? We always do.” He squeezed my shoulder, and I felt a bit of the tension ease, just a tiny bit.
“Sorry, brother. I’m just… she’s out there, and he’s got her. That sick fuck. God only knows what he’s doing to her, while I sit here on my fucking ass.”
He squeezed again before he let go, and ordered a beer.
“It’s a fucked up mess, man. Wonder why he fixated on her though. I mean, no offence, but it’s not like she’s been around here very long. You’d think he’d be after one of the longer term old ladies, right? One he’s seen more often. One who he might feel has been flaunting herself right under his nose.” Flaunting herself? I frowned at him and he shrugged.
“I’m just spitballing, man. Why the fuck would he go for your girl out of everyone’s?”
I’d been wondering the same damn thing myself.
“She’s our VP’s sister too…”
Micro looked unconvinced.
“So you’re saying it’s a twofer. Maybe this fucker is smarter than we gave him credit for, still… there’s no way to know what he’ll do, right? Maybe he’ll just demand a ransom or something?”
Could he be more fucking stupid? I slammed my coffee mug down, and turned to glare at him, watching his eyebrows rise.
“Are you fucking kidding me? This bastard rapes and murders women, so why the fuck wouldn’t I assume he’d want to do that to her? Jesus… the thought of him hurting her, the thought of him touching her. It makes me want to fucking kill him. Kill anyone who even fucking looks at her.”
Micro was standing now, and hey, look at that, so was I. He lifted a hand.
“How could you know that about him? You don’t know who’s got her, do you, short of assuming it’s fucking one of us?”
I backed away from the stool I’d been half leaning on, because my ass felt like it was bruised from my asshole to my fucking shoulders.
“He did that to Chrissy, so why the fuck wouldn’t he? This guy is beyond deranged. He’s fucked in the head, and he needs to die.”
Micro looked shocked, following me as I started weaving my way slightly unevenly to the front door.
“Wait. Brother, wait. Chrissy’s dead? What? When? Why the fuck don’t I know that?”
I hesitated as I reached for the door, looking back at him.
“Why would you care? She only went with me and Ry. I didn’t know you even knew her.”
He backed up against the wall, shoulders hunched, head down, with his hands in his pockets. He looked, hell, he looked heartbroken.
“Micro?”
He nodded slightly. “Yeah. You go do what you need to, brother. I uh… I need a minute.” He pushed away from the wall and walked away.
Suddenly I felt like an asshole, because I’d just dropped that shit on him, and had no idea he even really knew her. Besides that, I wasn’t supposed to fucking tell anyone, because we were trying to track a serial killer. It had to be one of the two bikers missing from the clubhouse, didn’t it?
The Bad Guy
T hey were so fucking dumb. Honestly, they had no idea how close I was, or how much I knew of their pissy little efforts to try and weed me out. And last night? Last night was a fucking three pronged attack that they never saw coming. They couldn’t be prepared for me, because I was smarter than every last fucking one of them.
Yeah, my main target had been Has-Been, because that smug fucker was asking for it. He popped the VP’s sister’s cherry and survived? It was about time that fucker’s charmed life came to an end. Pouring the pre-mixed paint into his stupid locs? That was genius, because that shit wasn’t just paint after being mixed for spraying, so it was like glue. I’d been tempted by using glue, but yeah… I’d already used most of it on the doors.
See, I figured I’d have to take him out when I lured her out of her room, but he made it too easy. Having a spat with his bird, then hiding out in the spray bay like that. Pathetic. Fucking up his stupid hair and those fucking traitorous colours… that was just the beginning.
When I’d finished with these bastards, they’d all be mourning their women, and dying in agony. It was the way it had to be.