Chapter 19 #2
Slipping on my cut, I grabbed my gun and knives.
It took me fifteen seconds to rush out of my room, down the stairs, and across the courtyard.
Usually, I had to focus on gaining control, work on not losing my shit whenever it came to the Pythons.
But not tonight. Tonight, I was giving my rage the reins, letting it lead.
Coming here to our home, trying to spy on us, was a new low for them, and there was only one way to deal with this bullshit.
The door leading to the garage slammed against the wall as I rammed it open. “Where are these fuckers?”
Dutch nodded over his shoulder. “In the back.”
“Good. Did they talk?”
“No. Maybe you can persuade them.”
Dutch stepped out of my way as I stomped to the back, wanting to look these assholes in the eye. Manic and Ink were already there, both standing guard, making sure the fuck-faces didn’t try anything stupid.
Biting my bottom lip, I pulled out my gun and aimed, pulling the trigger and planting lead in one of the fucker’s head. The sound of a small sonic boom echoed off the goddamn walls, and the guy tied to the chair next to my latest victim screamed, flinching as blood splattered on his face.
“Jesus Christ, Granite,” Ink moaned. “Would you stop doing that?”
I glanced at the fucker sitting next to the fresh corpse. Piss dripped down his thighs, pooling around his tied feet. The way his body shuddered, his lips quivering, I knew my violent display of power and control made him flip a switch. It was time to see how loyal Slither’s fuckers really were.
With my attention—and gun—turned his way, I scowled. “If you’d prefer not to end up like your friend, here, I suggest you start talking.”
Tears mixed with uncontrollable sobs painted the picture of a man about to crack under the pressure, but everyone knew when you were with an MC, you had a code.
You didn’t fucking talk, no matter what.
Sometimes you’d get the coward who spilled his guts like a chicken under a butcher’s knife.
Other times you got the hardcore motherfuckers who would rather burn in hell than live with the shame of being a rat—not that he’d live very long, anyway.
Nothing stuck like the stench of a rat, and in our world, it was something no one could outlive.
I stepped closer, aiming the gun at his head. “What were you looking for?”
He just continued to cry, not saying a word.
The muzzle of my gun dug deep into the flesh of his temple, and he winced, shivering like a fucking baby out in the cold.
“I asked you a fucking question.”
Blood oozed from his bottom lip as he bit into it, eyes shut completely.
Odds were this fucker would probably sing like a boys’ choir if the right amount of pressure was applied.
But I was out of patience, and to be honest, I was looking for a fucking reason to unleash my demons.
A part of me hoped he would keep his motherfucking mouth shut, giving me a reason to inflict pain.
Abruptly, I dropped my aim from his temple to his foot, shooting a bullet straight through. The scream that ripped from his lungs was deafening, but fucking exhilarating. Screams turned into sobs, and sobs turned into whimpers. The adrenaline was setting in quickly, acting as a pain reliever.
As he finally managed to take a deep breath, his foot bleeding all over our garage floor, I decided it wasn’t enough. So I shot his other foot.
This time, it wasn’t screams. It was a shrill sound of pain echoing from his throat, and honestly, the noise hurt my fucking ears.
Manic laughed, but it was more like a frenzied chuckle, and the sound blended perfectly with the Python’s shrieks of pain. If someone had to stand outside these walls, they’d be convinced this was an insane asylum.
Plucking out my blade, I crouched down to be at eye level with him, not caring that I was stepping in a pool of blood. “Tell me why Slither sent you here. What does he want?”
The guy licked his chapped lips, his mouth already dry from adrenaline. “He’s looking for evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“That the girl’s here.”
“What girl?” I played dumb.
He swallowed, eyes pinched closed. “The PC’s daughter.”
I rubbed the blade of my knife across my beard, loving the sight of pain on his face. “The girl ain’t here.”
“Slither thinks she is.” He winced, his nose covered in tears and snot.
“Well, then he should have come here himself. But we all know your president doesn’t have the balls, so he sends his pissy prospects, blood he doesn’t mind sacrificing.”
The poor bastard cringed. I knew the kind of pain he was experiencing.
There was a scar on my left shoulder to prove it.
It started out as a hot ache, like a blister.
But then the blister would turn into a searing pain that felt like it was melting your flesh, as if lava had been poured over your skin, penetrating deep as if it was searching for bone.
Adrenaline would kick in, and the burn would fade to a throbbing ache, more like you had been hit by a bat rather than shot by a gun.
Adrenaline was an amazing thing. The human’s most powerful asset.
Still playing with the knife in my hand, I kept my eyes on him. “What else does Slither think he knows?”
The prospect let out a tight scream, smothered by the clenching of his jaw. Sweat ran down the side of his face, and it reeked. Mixed with the stench of piss and spilled blood, it assaulted my nostrils, burning every time I inhaled.
“He knows you’re out to destroy him.”
“You only need half a brain to figure that out. Tell me something I don’t know.”
The prospect’s dark brown eyes met mine, his face no longer contorted in pain. His expression was pensive, like he was thinking of the right words to use.
“Spit it out, and I might let you leave with both your balls intact.” I nudged the tip of the knife against his crotch, some added motivation for him to fucking talk.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “There’s a patch over.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Ink straighten.
“Who?”
“I don’t know, man. Slither doesn’t include prospects when it comes to patch overs. That’s why we ended up here.”
I pushed the tip of the blade deeper into his crotch, and the man flinched as he tried to scoot up. “Who is the patch over with?” I pushed for an answer.
“I don’t know! All I know is it’s with clubs from the Bronx and Queens. Slither tried to get clubs from Manhattan, but it didn’t work.”
Dutch stepped forward. “Because Manhattan has already been patched to the Kings.”
The prospect nodded, and his head lolled down the front, fatigue starting to set in.
“You know what this means, right?” Ink crossed his arms. “If Slither manages to patch both Bronx and Queens clubs, we’ll be close to outnumbered.”
I rubbed my beard between my fingers. “Not quite. We got Manhattan, Brooklyn. And we can call in New Jersey if we have to.”
Dutch leaned over me, placing his hand on the chair’s armrest while eyeballing the prospect. “Is there anything else we should know?”
“I swear to God, I know nothing else. Slither just told us to keep an eye on you guys, see if we can spot the girl.” His breathing became more rapid and irregular, pupils dilated.
He was going into shock. It might be hypovolemic from the bleeding, or neurogenic from the severe pain and stress. Did I care? No.
Removing the blade from his groin, I straightened, looking down at the poor bastard. “You sure Slither is the kind of leader you want to follow, man?”
With bloodshot eyes, ghostly pale face, the young prospect looked up at me. “Slither gave me a home when I didn’t have one. Pythons is all I know.”
I nodded. It was clear this young man’s loyalty had been misplaced.
That was Slither’s thing, taking kids off the street, giving them shelter and money.
He bought their loyalty. A man like Slither didn’t know the first thing about earning it.
Unfortunately, this poor son of a bitch would learn the hard way that men like Slither weren’t worth selling your soul to.
With my knife still in hand, I slowly moved in behind him, staring at the back of his head. The blade of my knife was pressed against the pad of my thumb. I glanced at Manic, and he nodded, eyes wild with bloodlust.
I looked at Ink, and he too gave me a nod, arms still crossed in front of his chest.
Then I turned to face Dutch, my enforcer. My guide. My adviser. And my best friend. This was hard for him, and I could only image how at odds he had to be right at that moment. How conflicted he had to have felt. But just like the rest of us, Dutch knew it had to be done.
He nodded, and my blade sliced across the unsuspecting prospect’s throat. It was quick. Deep. And instant.
His head fell to the front, and blood gushed down his chest. There was no other way.
He was too loyal to Slither for us to have let him go.
Knowing the Pythons planned patch overs put us at an advantage to make sure we got the numbers together.
If we let the prospect go, he would have told Slither we knew, and we’d lose the advantage. We couldn’t let that happen.
It was unfortunate that we had to spill young blood, and I knew Dutch would struggle with it the most. But in our world…it was live and let die.
There was nothing left to say after I killed the poor bastard, so I left even though the blood in my veins was still simmering.
After pumping my own fucking cock, then torturing and killing some poor asshole who made dumb decisions, I still felt like I needed more.
It was like the demons in me weren’t sated, and they were thrashing against my chest, threatening to break my ribs apart in order to get out.
Deep inside, I knew no amount of alcohol, blood, or death would satisfy the monsters. Only her. Just her.
I tried to wait. I tried to control it. Tried to give it time…until she was ready.
But the time had come. The time was now…whether she was ready or not.