Chapter 1
Chapter One
Got Your Tongue
L inc kissed the top of Nova’s head as she stared across the bedroom, wearing nothing but a sheet, her heart still racing from the powerful thrusts of Linc’s insane cock, while Slade twisted the cap off of a whiskey bottle and flicked it across a messy garage that smelled of oil and gasoline.
“Another chained up,” Priest said from behind Slade. “Let me at him. I’ll rip one of his eyes out with my bare hands and eat it in front of him.”
Slade turned his head. “What the fuck?”
Every now and again Priest still managed to say something crazy enough to irk Slade. Saying it was one thing, sure, but Slade knew that there was a ninety-nine percent chance Priest not only meant it, but would actually do it.
The man hanging from the chains squirmed and kicked his feet. He ran out of tears about thirty minutes ago. Slade had been standing here for a good hour, watching this punk cry, whine, and beg for his life through a sweat-stained bandana that was wrapped around his mouth and tied behind his head.
This is the fucking prick who shot our VP.
This is the fucking prick that tried to kill our VP.
Slade took a big swig of the whiskey and licked his lips. The garage door growled as it opened and the President of Sins of Fire Real Anarchy West stepped in.
Cyrus’s jaw tightened. “Did he confess fully?”
“Working on it,” Slade said. “Savoring this. Waiting for Linc.”
“He’s on the way,” Cyrus said. He walked forward, his heavy boots thumping against the stained concrete floor. “Have to leave soon for the funeral.”
Slade nodded.
The goddamn funeral…
Things were messy right now in the orbit of the motorcycle club. Not that there was ever a truly calm time for the club. But right now, things were tense. Extremely tense.
With only Cyrus, Priest, and Slade in the garage together, all three outlaws knew none of them were the rat in the clubhouse. But it was on their mind. Constantly on their mind. There were too many coincidences with other members, but they all understood finger pointing turned into pointing with a gun.
Today, the rat situation took a back seat. Just for today.
They had this punk chained up, the one who pulled the trigger and put a bullet into Linc. They also had the funeral of the waitress from the pizza place that had been shot up.
A lot of people in the town of Cielo didn’t like when the motorcycle club showed up to certain events or functions, yet at the same time they felt more protected when the outlaws where present.
For this funeral— some poor woman named Thalia —Cyrus ordered the club’s presence. Out of respect. To show protection.
Cyrus closed in on the punk hanging from the chains. “He have a name?”
“Paul,” Priest said.
“Paul?” Cyrus asked with a grin. “Let me guess. This asshole wanted in somewhere. Was told to take one of us out.”
“Probably,” Slade said. “Guess that didn’t work out.”
As Cyrus began to reach for Paul, the door opened once more. Linc stared forward with pure anger in his eyes that spread across his face. Over the last couple nights, poor Nova had been having vicious nightmares about the pizza place shooting. Nightmares that left her thrashing and screaming for help in her sleep. Loud enough that a lot of guys in the clubhouse heard her.
Also a lot of the deecees .
Maggie always had a fresh cup of coffee ready to go for both Nova and Linc. She served it without a question either.
In some way, living the outlaw life was a nightmare in itself. Sleep should have been comfort and rest and a chance to let the brain just forget about everything. Poor Nova though. That’s all Linc thought about as he approached Paul.
Ironic enough in some sick and weird way, Paul had nothing to do with Nova’s nightmares. He had nothing to do with the shooting at the pizza place. However, he had tried to kill Linc. And he was strung up by chains.
Linc threw his right hand out and wrapped it around Paul’s neck with ease. He squeezed. Tight. Hard. Paul’s face turned purple almost right away. With his other hand, Linc untied the bandana from Paul’s mouth and let it fall to the floor.
“You don’t need that anymore,” Linc said.
He squeezed tighter. Slade glanced to his right. Priest watched with enjoyment. Cyrus watched with intensity. Fuck , Slade thought as he stepped toward Linc.
“Brother,” Slade said. “We should find out…”
The risk of even suggesting to Linc what to do was huge. But more often than not Slade stood as the voice of calm and reason.
“It’s bigger than just this one,” Slade said.
Linc opened his hand. Paul instantly started to cough while he twisted and turned, kicked and thrashed. Linc threw a quick punch, hitting Paul in the gut. That stopped him from moving.
“Listen to me,” Cyrus said as he stepped forward. “Give us the truth. We’ve already got you, Paul. You want to die? Really?”
“You hit me in the shoulder,” Linc said. “That tells me you didn’t want to kill me. You knew better. Right?”
Slade sucked in a breath. He knew this game.
Cat and mouse. Outlaw and some street scum that stood no chance…
“I didn’t know who it was,” Paul said, his teeth chattering as though his feet were dipped into icy water. “It was just a drive by thing. That’s all. That’s what they told me. Drive by, shoot, and that’s it. I thought it was some… I don’t know… if I knew it was you guys… I’d never…”
“Was that so hard?” Cyrus asked. “Are we big, bad, scary bikers?”
Paul shook his head.
“Now who said to do it?” Linc asked. “See, we don’t care about you. No offense. We just want to know what’s going on.”
“For the sake of the town,” Slade added. “That’s why we’re here, Paul. This is about the town. Not us. Not you.”
“Yeah,” Paul said.
The garage fell silent. The bikers waited for their answer. Paul didn’t speak soon enough.
Cyrus - paying respect to his VP and the man who was shot by Paul - looked at Linc first. Linc gave a small nod. That’s when Cyrus then looked at Priest. One look became the green light. Without hesitation, Slade retrieved a pair of rusted pliers off a workbench.
“What’s happening?” Paul asked.
“Time’s up,” Cyrus said.
Linc put his left hand out and Slade gave him the pliers. Then Linc put his right hand out. That surprised Slade. Priest’s eyes grew wide. Him relinquishing the chance to cause pain and suffering…
The tension in the garage grew twenty times over. Fuck , Slade thought. It took another nod from Cyrus for Priest to listen to the silent command. Priest handed over a knife. That’s when Paul started to flip out again.
“Priest,” Linc said. “I know what this means to you. Do me the honor and get this asshole to stop squirming.”
It wasn’t the same as what Priest really wanted… but…
Priest reached up for Paul’s left hand. He grabbed and twisted Paul’s middle finger like a skinny pretzel, snapping it with ease.
“Now stop fucking moving!” Priest roared.
Linc jammed the pliers against Paul’s mouth, hitting teeth, cracking one of Paul’s front teeth.
“Give me your fucking tongue, motherfucker!” Linc growled.
Slade reached and knew just how to grab Paul’s throat. Squeezing his esophagus, sending his body into a panic state.
Linc pulled Paul’s tongue, using the pliers. Not missing a second, Linc jammed the knife against Paul’s tongue and started to cut. Paul screamed and tried to move.
“Fuck,” Cyrus said.
“Priest, this is your gig,” Linc said. “Cut this fucker’s tongue off.”
Priest took pride in that command from his VP. Slade put a hand to his mouth and refused to look away. Not for a second did Priest flinch or freeze. It took all of a few cuts and grunts from Priest and Paul’s tongue fell to the concrete floor with a wet slap.
Priest’s hands were soaked with blood. He cupped his hand under Paul’s chin.
The guy was obviously in a state of shock.
“You’re going to write with your own blood,” Priest said. “And tell us who wanted you to kill our VP. If you don’t, I will eat your eyes. One at a time.”
Priest turned away, looking for something for Paul to write on. Slade had it covered already. He picked up a piece of cardboard from the ground and stood in front of Paul.
“You can use your nose to write with,” Priest said.
“This is fucked up,” Cyrus said.
Priest used his bare fingers to collect fresh blood from where Paul’s tongue had once connected to his mouth. He smeared it all over the tip of Paul’s nose.
“This is really fucked up,” Linc said.
Slade held the cardboard toward Paul’s nose and waited.
The four outlaws all looked at each other as Paul groaned, whimpered, and moved his head. Linc was the first to smirk. That made Cyrus shake his head, smiling, and turning away.
Priest lit up with excitement. Slade grinned.
What a sick fucking life we have at times , he thought to himself.
But this was the life. This was the outlaw life. What were they supposed to do? Feel bad for this Paul guy? Paul dug his own grave. He took a chance and it didn’t go his way. That’s life. You fuck with fire and get burned… that’s on you.
Paul groaned and cried. Slade pulled the cardboard away and showed it to the others. Sloppily written, but it was there.
SS13.
“These pricks are getting ballsy,” Priest said.
“Very ballsy,” Cyrus said. “Linc?”
“We can talk after the funeral,” he said.
“Everyone needs to get cleaned up,” Slade said. “Can’t show up covered in blood.”
“What about Paul?” Priest asked, rubbing his bloody hands together.
Slade looked back at Paul, hanging by the chains. A crooked, broken finger. His tongue cut from his mouth. Blood everywhere . Tears running down his cheeks. Half alive. Half dead.
“Leave him,” Slade said. “He can suffer.”
Just like that, the four outlaws left the garage, leaving behind some random guy named Paul to groan and cry and slip more and more into a state of shock until his heart would finally decide to just give out.
Even if Paul had his tongue, and he screamed, nobody would ever hear him.