Chapter 2
Chapter Two
This goddamn waiting sucked. He could never be a private investigator.
He dug deep for patience because he hoped to fuck it would pay off.
He had found a good parking spot to “hide” the cage he borrowed from Gabi—one of the DAMC club sisters who worked at Heaven’s Angels—since her Hyundai drew a hell of a lot less attention than his loud-as-fuck sled.
To avoid being recognized, he also left his cut back in his apartment above the strip club.
The parking lot next to the former Demons clubhouse in Uniontown was a good place to keep an eye out for any of those Twisted Souls.
But for fuck’s sake, he hadn’t seen a damn one go in or come out of the Wolf Den yet. Not one sled was parked out front, either. But, that didn’t mean shit since the Demons used to park behind the old building in a secure, fenced area.
Even so, he hoped to fuck those motherfuckers hadn’t decided to establish the Church for their Pennsylvania chapter elsewhere.
He scrubbed a hand down his beard and gritted his teeth so he wouldn’t bellow in frustration and possibly draw some attention.
The longer he waited, the higher the urge was to kill and gut the next Soul he spotted, no matter who it was.
But he needed info and a dead man told no tales.
Finally, he heard it.
The very familiar sound of a Harley’s exhaust. Thank fuck it only sounded like a single bike and not a group.
He pushed out a breath to gather his thoughts and went over his plan again. What little there was of it.
Basically, he needed to ambush whoever it was without it becoming a huge production. That meant he needed to avoid a knock-down, drag-out fight and do a surprise attack instead. Like the Souls had done with his club sisters.
He had to keep his head, especially since he was alone.
It was one thing to go one-on-one with a Soul. It was another to get caught by the whole damn club. If that happened, he doubted he’d be walking away the winner. He’d be lucky if he was able to walk away at all.
From where he sat in Gabi’s Sonata, he spotted a lone sled pulling out from the rear of the clubhouse and heading south.
Rage quickly started the cage and counted to three before following since he needed to keep a good distance. Far enough he wouldn’t get made, close enough he didn’t lose track of the Soul.
And the biker’s cut confirmed it was a member of the Twisted Souls.
Good.
Time to get some answers for the questions that burned deep within his gut.
At the next crossroad, the fucker took a right.
So did Rage.
He had one shot to do this right. If the Soul knew he was after him and took off, he didn’t think Gabi’s Hyundai would be able to keep up. It could hardly get out of its own way.
She really needed to upgrade her ride.
But that wasn’t his problem. His problem was the biker ahead of him, still upright on two wheels.
Rage considered the direction the Soul was headed and tried to remember what was along that route. He needed to get the motherfucker isolated. Where no fucking eyes, ears, or security cameras were around.
He had no plans on heading back to prison anytime soon.
Or hell, ever.
Twice was more than fucking enough, fuck you very much.
Those two times taught him a hard lesson on being more careful when it came to taking care of business.
Or taking out the fucking trash.
Unfortunately for the Soul riding ahead of him, today was trash day.
When the sled he was following took a turn onto a country road, he could pretty much guess the solo biker was headed down to West Virginia. That meant Rage needed to make sure to catch up to the fucker before crossing the Mason-Dixon line.
Ahead, he saw the perfect spot to have words with the guy: a wooded area along a quiet, winding road out in the boonies.
Rage smashed the Sonata’s gas pedal to the floor. It was time to move before he was busted tailing him. He pushed that four-cylinder engine as hard as it could go until he caught up with the man cruising along, unaware he was being stalked.
Rage rolled down the passenger side window and moved into the opposite lane so he could pull up next to the bike.
As soon as the Soul’s head turned and he noticed him, Rage jerked the wheel to the right, barely missing the fucker. That made the biker swerve, too. The sled’s rear wheel hit loose gravel, sending the biker skidding sideways.
Probably the same way they made Piper crash. Except in this case, there were no other sleds to take out.
Losing control, the Soul slid off the road and into a ditch, then the asshole went head over boots through the air and landed with a thump that even Rage could hear. He sure as fuck hoped the brush along the side of the road hadn’t cushioned his fall too much.
Rage wasn’t in the mood for a foot chase.
He quickly pulled the cage over and jumped out, rushing back to the fallen Soul.
Before the outlaw biker could even sit up, Rage kicked him in the head, knocking him out. Hard enough to disable him but not enough to kill him. Yet, anyway.
He needed to work fast before any nosy fuckers came along.
Grabbing the downed biker by the boot, Rage dragged his knocked-out ass along the rough, rocky ground and dropped him behind a thicket of tall weeds, a place where no passersby could spot them from the road.
He quickly ripped the bandana free from around the Soul’s face, rolled him over, and used it to secure the man’s wrists behind his back.
With the fear of getting caught making his blood pump rapidly, Rage rushed back to the downed sled, uprighted it, and rolled it to where its owner was taking a temporary nap.
Just as he dumped the sled out of view, the Soul was coming to.
Thank fuck.
Rage needed answers and he wasn’t going to get them if the asshole was out cold. Or dead.
Maybe pissing on his face would help bring him around faster.
But he really needed to hide Gabi’s cage first. He didn’t want anyone stopping thinking it was abandoned along the road and catching him in the act of extracting important information.
Fuck. It would’ve been easier to do this with two people. He should’ve brought along one of the prospects that worked at Heaven’s Angels.
Too fucking late now.
He glanced around for something to tie the man’s legs together so he couldn’t run. One fucking chase was enough for today.
He spotted a plastic grocery bag caught on a tree branch. Thank fuck for some littering asshole. He jogged over, grabbed it, then used it to secure the fucker’s ankles together. It didn’t need to be perfect, it only needed to hobble the son of a bitch.
As soon as that was done, Rage returned to Gabi’s cage to pull it off the road and hide it behind another small group of trees.
What a pain in the fucking ass. The situation wasn’t ideal, and he certainly didn’t have the same skills as one of the Shadows, but he couldn’t waste any more time, so it would have to do.
When he arrived back at the trussed up Soul, the fucker was finally awake.
“What the fuck?”
Rage glanced at the man’s name patch. Psycho? Did the motherfucker think he was some kind of badass?
“Who the fuck are you?”
Rage dropped a knee and a small portion of his weight on Psycho’s neck. “Your worst nightmare. You try anything fuckin’ stupid, gonna put more of my weight on your throat. Your windpipe gets crushed, then it gets fuckin’ crushed. You get to decide if you keep breathin’ or not.”
The biker must’ve liked breathing since he stilled immediately. While his expression was full of unhappy, Rage was sure as fuck his was the same.
“Got questions that need answers, so listen carefully to what I’m askin’. The sooner you gimme the answers I’m lookin’ for, the sooner you’re gonna be on your fuckin’ way.” To hell. “Ever hear of the Angels of Fury?”
“Never heard of ‘em.” Psycho failed to keep his expression neutral when he winced slightly.
That was enough of a sign to prove that the biker was bullshitting him. “The women ran off the road by three of your brothers.”
“Dunno who they are. Dunno who coulda done that.”
“Then I’m just gonna assume it was you. That right?”
“Fuck no.”
“Then I want the names of the stupid fuckers who ran women off the goddamn road.”
“Fuck! Get off my fuckin’ neck! Dunno who it was. Just know it wasn’t me.”
“Like that shit wasn’t planned.”
“Know nothin’ ‘bout any fuckin’ plan.”
Rage ground his knee harder into the biker’s neck and made a buzzing sound. “Bullshit. No way your prez didn’t know ‘bout that fuckin’ ambush.”
Psycho grimaced. “Got no reason to do shit like that.”
He made a buzzing sound again, this time adding more of his weight. “More bullshit. Want names. If I gotta pound them outta you one at a time, gonna do that.”
Psycho’s next words sounded a bit strained. “Don’t expect to fuck with me and not get the same in return.”
“Yeah? You’re gonna eat those fuckin’ words along with my fist ‘cause you stupid fucks touched our property.”
Psycho’s eyes filled with understanding. “Must be an Angel.”
Rage jerked his head to the side. “More like the devil. Need three names. You don’t know who the fuck they are? Gimme three anyway. Otherwise, gonna assume one of ‘em was you.”
“Didn’t do shit.”
“Don’t fuckin’ matter. Someone’s gonna pay for hurtin’ our women. You got ten seconds to start namin’ the fuckers. Ten…”
The guy pressed his lips together.
“Nine…”
“Fuck you.”
“Eight…”
When Rage got to his feet, he heard Psycho take a deep breath. Most likely relieved to get that pressure off his throat.
Only he wouldn’t be relieved for long.
“Seven…Six…Time’s up.”
“You said—”
Before he could finish, Rage booted him in the temple, trying to knock some sense into the asshole.
“Fuck,” Psycho groaned, pulling his knees up into his chest until he laid on his side in a ball.
“Names.”
“Ain’t a fuckin’ snitch,” he groaned.
“Maybe not normally, but today’s a special fuckin’ occasion.” Rage stepped over him so he had access to Psycho’s face and warned, “Last time I’m askin’.”
“You ain’t—”
Rage dropkicked him in the forehead this time, making his head snap back. He might have heard his neck crack, too.
Damn. That had to hurt. He grinned. “How ‘bout for every second that goes by, I punt your head like a goddamn football? That gonna help you remember?”
“No.”
“Bet you’re lyin’. Wanna take that bet?”
“Fuck you.”
Rage leaned down. “Nah. I’m about to fuck you.” He pulled his boot back slowly to give Psycho a chance to consider his life’s choices.
When he said nothing, Rage kicked him in the head again. “I don’t get the info from you, gonna get it from one of your brothers. And I’m gonna say it’s your fault they were my next victim. You could save yourself and your brothers.”
“Not by givin’ you any fuckin’ names.”
Rage guessed the man still had some sense left if he figured that out. “Guess you thought I was playin’. This time, just gonna stomp on your face ’til the bottom of my boot leaves a permanent pattern on it. Ready?” He lifted his boot.
“Wait,” Psycho groaned. “I give you the names, then what?”
“Gonna have a word with them.”
“You ain’t gonna tell ‘em I gave ‘em up?”
“Nope. Gonna keep that little secret between us.”
“Prime.”
What a little bitch. Rage better not hear about one of his own brothers breaking so easily. They should go to their fucking grave before giving anyone up.
Rage frowned. “Prime what? Prime rib?”
“Prime is one of them! Cobra. And Bug.”
About fucking time. Rage saved those names to memory. He patted the man’s cut. “Knew you had it in you. Now, where can I find ‘em? They part of the PA chapter?”
“Yeah.”
Was that a little blood seeping from the guy’s ear? Pity.
“Whose idea was it for them to do that shit?”
“Dunno.”
“Funny how you don’t know jack about dick.”
“Gave you what you fuckin’ wanted. Now lemme go.”
One side of Rage’s mouth pulled up. “Now why the fuck would I wanna do that?”
Psycho’s eyes went wide, giving Rage a good view of the man’s blown pupils. Yeah, the fucker might have a concussion.
Damn shame.
Not that Rage was a doctor or anything, so he could be wrong.
“Doubt your club likes snitches. They find out you easily gave up those three names, bettin’ they’d do worse than me.
Maybe that’s what I should do. Dump you in front of your Church with a fuckin’ note sayin’ what a backstabbin’ bitch you are.
Wonder what it feels like to have your colors filleted off your back. ”
Psycho groaned and closed his eyes. “Can keep my mouth shut if you can.”
Bullshit. “Ain’t in a position to negotiate, Psycho.”
He pulled the hidden knife free from his custom-made DAMC belt buckle. Even though it was a small blade, it was good in a pinch.
Using his foot, Rage rolled the trussed-up outlaw biker to his back, then leaned over and sliced off his name patch.
“Keepin’ this bitch as a trophy.” He waved the rectangular patch in front of the asshole’s face. He wondered if the man was seeing double. Or triple.
Either way, he didn’t give a shit. He grinned and shoved the name patch deep into his front pocket.
“Let me help you clean that dirt off your face.” He unzipped his jeans, whipped out his dick, and aimed the stream right into the guy’s eyes and mouth.
Psycho twisted his head away and sputtered, “What the fuck!” Then he groaned, since Rage was pretty fucking sure that yelling when you had a concussion hurt like a motherfucker.
But again, he wasn’t a doctor. He could be wrong. Like he was about the dirt.
“Oh fuck. My bad. That wasn’t dirt. They’re bruises.”
He tucked his dick away. He had his names and needed nothing further from this particular Soul.
He wasted no time heading back to Gabi’s cage. But halfway there, his feet stopped moving. He dropped his head and shook it.
After pulling in a deep breath, he spun on his boot heel and headed back to the biker.
They had discussed taking out the Souls one-by-one.
Today was the perfect day to start.
Now that he had the much needed info, he had no use for the Soul on the ground. He also didn’t need the man running back to his club and running his fucking trap, giving them a warning.
It wouldn’t be smart for the Twisted Souls to know that Rage was hunting some of them down.
Some for now. Possibly all later. That would be determined.
“What the fuck you gonna do, shit on me next?” Psycho asked when Rage stood over the bound man once again.
“Nah. Almost forgot something.”
“Yeah. To untie me, motherfucker.”
“That ain’t it.” Rage stomped on his face, putting all his weight behind it.
He continued until the whimpering and gurgling stopped. He then cut the man’s wrists free so he could pull the Soul’s bloody cut off him.
When he got back to the Hyundai, he tossed it into the trunk with plans to burn it. Then, without a backward glance, he pointed the Sonata back toward Shadow Valley.
This particular job might be done, but he had more work to do.
One down, three more to go.