16. Riptide
RIPTIDE
The fucker struggles weakly against his ties, like anything’s changed since last time he tried. I nudge him with my boot. “I grew up on a fucking drug boat. If there’s anything I know, it’s knots.”
He’s probably not fucking thrilled having his dead buddy for company in the basement. I get it. Too much longer, and he’s gonna start getting ripe. I’m not thrilled about it either.
The sound of a car has me drawing iron and slipping upstairs just in case it’s not who I’m expecting, but I’d recognize that flash of red hair anywhere. It’s Outlaw.
“Good news and bad news, buddy!” I call down. “Your time is almost up.”
He makes an angry noise from behind his gag.
“What’s that? You regret all your life choices? Too bad, so sad.”
I let Outlaw in. He’s carrying a little goodie bag, hopefully with food. Melody needs to go grocery shopping.
Outlaw tosses a paper bag my way. “Riptide.”
I pull out a burger wrapped in paper. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
He gives me an unamused look. “No, and I’m okay with that.”
Fair enough. “Come on. They’re in the basement.”
Outlaw glances at the corpse on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. “You broke one.”
“They’re real fragile.” I eat fast. Maybe it says something about me that I’m devouring a cheeseburger with a corpse leaking onto the cheap peel and stick tile, but he seemed pretty fucking ready to fuck with Melody, so I’m not going to let him ruin my appetite.
“The other one?” Outlaw looks around. “How’s he doing?”
I shake my head. “His jeans have seen better days. I hope you brought the tarp.”
He laughs, but there’s nothing funny about it. “This isn’t my first rodeo.” Shit’s about to get serious.
Our guy looks up as we get close. His eyes are wide, pupils blown into terrified saucers. He knows he’s fucked. He also knows there are a lot of different ways this could go, and some are significantly worse than others.
It’s a dog-eat-dog world out here, and he made the mistake of picking on the biggest dogs in town.
“What’re we calling him?” Outlaw asks.
“Fucko mostly, but his cut says Killjoy.” I crouch in front of the goon, so we’re face to face.
“My friend here drove an awful long way just to talk to you. I’m gonna take your gag out, and if you start screaming, I’m gonna start chopping off bits that won’t grow back, starting at your fucking feet and working my way up.
We can see if you bleed out before I get up to your face. Got it?”
He nods frantically. I think he’s coming to terms with not making it out of this alive, but it’s human to grasp at straws, hoping for that little possibility that you might walk out at the end of the day.
The gag comes out covered in spit and snot. “Ew.” I wipe my hand on his shirt as he works his jaw in relief.
Outlaw pulls a knife from his belt, spinning it around his fingers in a flamboyant display of skill. He touches the tip of the knife to the guy’s neck, just below his jawline. A droplet of blood trickles down the blade.
“Believe it or not, I don’t particularly enjoy torture. You probably know why we’re here. Yes?”
“Your momma didn’t raise you right?” Killjoy suggests.
Fuck, I can appreciate loyalty, but it’s such a waste of time.
Outlaw shrugs. “You’re not wrong, but no.” He pushes the blade deeper. “Let’s cut this dance short. A couple days ago, one of our guys got shot.”
“Not my problem.”
I laugh. They both look at me. “Sorry, just—dude, it’s very clearly your problem right now.”
The guy swallows, doing his best to keep his head back so Outlaw’s blade doesn’t go any deeper. “Why the fuck would we make a move on the Eagles? You’re nowhere near our fucking territory. And your guy wasn’t the only one who got hit. We lost a brother at the same time.”
“Red. You’re right,” Outlaw agrees easily.
Too easily. “So initially we were willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, but see, a lot of shit wasn’t adding up, and every time we get new info, the Devil’s Brigade seems to be right there in our faces.
Some of our guys had an interesting talk with Joker’s daughter today. ”
Killjoy’s eyes are bloodshot and sunken. “Attacking our women? That’s fucking low.”
“Motherfucker! You’re the one who broke into her fucking house!
” I give him a swift kick in the ribs, careful to avoid a hit that might damage something internally.
Yet. Sometimes it can’t be helped, but if you go too hard too fast, they’ll either tell you anything you want, even if it’s bullshit, or fucking die before you get what you need.
Besides, Outlaw’s the one who’s owed his blood right now.
I’m a little envious of the guys with families, to be honest. I didn’t exactly grow up with much of one myself, and the whole mommy, daddy, two-point-five kids thing never made sense to me.
But I see the brothers at the club with their old ladies, and I could see that for myself.
I’d fuck up anything on my own, but with Mad Dog and Rebel, I think between the three of us we could make something good with the right woman.
Outlaw twists the blade slowly. A tear slides down the guy’s cheek.
“The Eagles can crush your piss-ant club like a fucking cockroach under our boot, so here’s your chance to be a hero.
Tell us who’s responsible, and we’ll leave you to whatever fuckery is happening in the Devil’s Brigade.
Start anywhere you fucking like. I’m listening. ”
“I… I don’t fucking know.”
I sit on Killjoy’s ankles and use my own knife to slice through the laces on his boot.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He tries to kick, but his legs are tied and I’m a heavy motherfucker.
“I told you.” Touching his sock isn’t particularly appealing, so I just hold down his foot, place the tip of my knife in the joint of his little toe, and use his boot as a hammer, driving the blade straight through the bone and cartilage.
His scream is cut off by dry heaves.
“Rip…” Outlaw sighs.
“I told him!”
“I think—I think it was Red that shot. The guy you found. I wasn’t there, I swear I don’t know,” Killjoy sobs.
Good, we’re getting somewhere.
“He shot our boy, and then shot himself?” Outlaw snorts. “Yeah, sure.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to know.” He’s hyperventilating. “Please, fuck, I’d tell you if I did.”
“One of my best friends, my fucking brother in everything but blood, is still in critical condition. Cut the bullshit and tell us something that makes it worth keeping you alive instead of dropping your corpse off with your buddy’s.”
“I swear, I don’t—”
Outlaw grabs the guy by his hair and holds his head in place while he swings back the knife and drives it straight toward the underside of Killjoy’s jaw. His control is perfect, stopping with the tip buried in soft flesh but before any serious damage is done.
An unpleasant, rotten-earth scent floods the air. Aw, fuck. I hope it’s a good tarp.
“Rocco told us to keep an eye out for the girl! We weren’t going to kill her, just take her back to the club. I swear to fucking God I don’t know who shot your guy. Rumor at the club is that your man shot Red, and maybe Red got off a shot back.”
“Fuck,” Outlaw grunts. He rummages through his goodie bag, pulls out a bottle of water and a roll of duct tape. He squeezes open Killjoy’s mouth. “Drink. It’s a long fucking ride and there’s no AC in the back.”
More water gets on him than in him, but it’s enough to keep him going. Outlaw shoves the gag back in and slaps tape over it.
“You think it’s a good idea to take him back?” I ask.
“I think we already have one message we can send.” He points to the body. “So for the moment a hostage feels more useful than a second corpse.”
We wrap the body up in the tarp and haul it into the van.
Outlaw pulls out a paper with the Screaming Eagles logo front and center.
He tapes it to the tarp. When it’s Killjoy’s turn, he gets his head covered in a pillowcase and a shiny new set of handcuffs that will keep him in place in the back. He smells like shit, literally.
“Did you at least get to work out some of the aggression?”
“A little.” Outlaw’s laugh sounds tired as fuck. “I almost took him out just to see if it felt any better, but that wouldn’t get Lightning off the ventilator, or help Harper sleep at night.”
Melody flashes through my mind. Rebel filled me in on what happened. She’s our responsibility for now, and I’m already feeling the weight of it. How much worse is it for Outlaw and his guys?
“How’s Eagle-eye gonna feel about this?”
“We talked about some of the possibilities before I left. He’s the one who suggested dumping the first guy in their territory.
We need to get the Devil’s Brigade to take us seriously, and I’m pretty sure this is gonna fucking wake them up.
This kinda shit can’t go without a response even if it turns out to be a rogue member covering their tracks. ”
I nod at that. When you don’t answer to the law or society’s norms, the rules of the MC are sacrosanct. Without some sort of system, we’re all fucked.
I follow the van on my bike. From here it doesn’t take long before we’re right in front of the Devil’s Brigade clubhouse. By the time their guards take notice, I’m off my bike and into the back of the van. I roll the body out onto the ground.
“What the fuck?” someone yells from behind their gate.
I hit the throttle and wave. “Have a nice fucking day!”