Chapter 49
Bane
After cauterizing our captive's knife wound so he wouldn't bleed out, he passed out. I slap his face to wake him up.
He’s strung up on a meat hook in the Cell, his wrists wrapped in barbed wire.
A drain is underneath his feet to make clean-up easy and efficient—not only for the blood and gore, but also for the piss and shit when someone regains consciousness in a position such as this.
It must be jarring, waking up, hanging in a stainless-steel box that’s only decorated with tools of torture and death, such as a saw, knives, and spikes…
a cattle prod. There’s a shelf with chemicals; some we use to torture information out of our enemies, and others are what Tats uses to brew his concoctions to clean the space and get rid of bodies.
We also keep an industrial-grade pressure washer on hand. I use it on this motherfucker to wake him up since my slap didn’t do the trick.
The blast of frigid water would feel like a million tiny knives hitting his flesh at once, and he wakes up with a scream.
I turn off the water and set the nozzle down. “Nice of you to join us.”
He groans in pain as he swings, barbwire digging into his wrists with his full body weight hanging.
Pix leans against the wall, letting me take the lead on this. I grab the cattle prod.
Snot bubbles from the guy’s nose as he stares at me in fear. I don’t ask him any questions yet, because I first need to hear his screams.
Firing up the cattle prod, he screams before I even hold it against his stomach.
He jerks and flails, trying in vain to escape the electricity coursing through his body.
I stop long enough for him to breathe so he doesn’t pass out, then hit him again to make it feel like his insides are being fried.
I finally stop so his heart doesn’t give out and set the cattle prod off to the side. As he moans in pain and cries, begging incoherently, I go to the wall and select my next tool.
I’ve warmed him up; now I'm ready for the main event. I want to know the details about my woman.
When I turn and he sees what I’m holding, he screams in terror.
“What do you want?!” he shrieks.
I hold up the spike and hammer. “I want all the details you have about a little bird.”
I know I’ve hit pay dirt when recognition of that phrase flashes over his face.
He stares at the spike and hammer in my hands. “If I tell you…you won’t use that?”
“Yes,” I lie.
His throat bobs up and down as he swallows repeatedly. “We were supposed to grab her.”
“How?” I demand. Slade hasn’t set foot outside the compound since she arrived. “Who wants her and why?”
Pix tuts. “He's a simple guy, Bane. One question at a time.”
He looks at her briefly, likely underestimating her, even though he saw her kill two of his friends, before turning back to me. “Some woman was going to pay us.”
“Who?” I grit my teeth.
“I don’t know, man. We actually never saw or talked to her; we dealt with a guy.” I’m about to hammer the spike into his side when he adds quickly, “He was one of you.”
I go still. “What do you mean?”
He turns into a babbling fountain of information.
“A young guy. Dark hair, tats. A biker’s leather vest, or cut, or whatever you guys call it.
” His eyes fall to my cut, and he shakes his head.
“I’m not sure if there was a club logo on the back, but the front of his didn’t have any patches saying his rank. ”
A cut like a Prospect would wear.
This dead man just described Jez…who’s still MIA.
The longer Jez has been MIA, the more certain I became that he had something to do with Slade’s turning against me. But this confirmation, that I misjudged him and trusted him with Slade…
Suddenly, my need for Slade is greater than making this son of a bitch pay.
“Go, Bane.” Pix knows what’s in my head.
The guy relaxes until I pass the spike and hammer to her.
“You said you wouldn’t,” he shrieks and renews his struggles.
“I didn’t say she wouldn’t.” Smiling, I say, “Have fun, Pix.”
Then I’m racing back to the van to get to the clubhouse as fast as I can.