Page 39

“Where is he now?” I growl, crushing the plastic bottle in my hand, spilling water all over the tile floor.
“Locked in the basement. Darren helped me restrain him, and then I called you.”
“I’m on my way Riot, no one fucking goes near him. You hear me? No one.”
“Got it boss,” he responds.
“Be there in fifteen,” I mutter and disconnect the call.
Quickly moving to my room, I snatch a t-shirt from the closet and pull it over my head before slipping my sneakers on and hustling toward the front door. Grabbing my keys on the way out, I take the steps two at a time, making a beeline for the parking garage. Finding my bike in record time, I grab the helmet and slide it down over my head, climb on the bike, start the engine, and peel out into the night.
The summertime air is so hot and sticky, even the breeze is sweltering. But I stick it out because my metallic matte-black Hayabusa allows me to weave between cars, and down the side streets with ease. What would typically be a 30 minute drive to the club, takes me all of ten minutes.
Pulling into the parking lot, I drive around the back of the club and park next to the service entrance, beneath the flood lights. Cutting the engine, I slip off the bike, and pull my helmet off, placing it on the handlebars. Grabbing the heavy steel door, I yank it open and slip inside.
Before going down to the basement, I make a beeline for my office, where I grab my Glock from my desk drawer. I’m still trying to process how an outsider would have come to ask for Spencer by her true name, and I damn sure am going to find out the answer to that. I still don’t know why she’s hiding or what she’s hiding from, but this tells me whoever she’s hiding from is coming knocking.
Swinging the basement door open, I hustle down the steps, meeting Riot where he leans against the wall, standing watch over the man he has tied to the chair. I chuckle when I see his face is busted up.
“Feeling feisty tonight Riot?” my heart swells just a bit. I’m kind of proud of the little shit.
“Meh, fucker gave me a hard time, so I made him cooperate.”
Lowering my voice, I lean in close to Riot so the man can’t hear me, “Who all did he run his mouth to about Spencer?”
“Just one of the dancers who had no clue who he was talking about. Gigi is going to deal with her. She won’t talk.”
“And Darren?”
“Darren didn’t hear the details, I just told him we had an unruly guest that needed rounded up.”
Darren is a trusted member of the Brotherhood and a bouncer here at Afterlife, so it’s not like he would talk, but I still don’t need people up in Spencer’s business.
Nodding my head, I sigh and clap my hand down on Riot’s shoulder, “Alright. Well, you hanging out for the show, or heading back up? It’s about to be a fucking bloodbath.”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss Travis Price in action,” he laughs.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I smirk.
Riot’s face twists and contorts making it pretty clear that he’s getting squeamish, which makes me chuckle just a little. After all, I gave him fair warning that none of this was going to be pretty. He’s a sneaky little killer, but torture has never been part of his game. I on the other hand, live for it. It’s what I was made for.
Quite frankly, right now I find tearing the flesh from this man’s arms to be pretty fucking soothing. It’s satiating a deep, burning need within my soul to destroy something. Calming my insides. Redirecting all the pent up anger within me that I couldn’t manage to fuck out of my system.
Tapping the tip of the bloodied knife against my chin, I stand back and look him over. So far, all I’ve gotten is a name. Jim. That’s it. I’ll give it to him, he’s doing a fantastic job at holding out though. Whoever he works for really vetted this one, made sure they sent someone to snoop that wouldn’t crack under pressure, or torture for that matter. It only makes me more curious about who sent him.
I know that he knows something though, it’s all in the eyes. Over the years, I’ve looked deep into the eyes of men who were desperately clinging to hope, but had no answers to the questions being asked of them. It’s the eyes of those men that haunt my dreams. But the look in his eyes? Well it ain’t that. He’s a steel vault, holding the information close to his chest. He’s not one of those poor saps being tortured for nothing.
It’s a good thing I’m an expert at cracking people.
“Let’s try this again,” I growl. “Why are you asking about Spencer?”
He raises his head, and looks up at me, his dark eyes drenched with malice. Drool drips from his lips and beads of sweat roll from his hairline, down his cheeks. Breathing deep and forcefully, he pushes through the pain and smirks. His forearm is reduced to a mangled mess of muscles, tendons, and bone. Nerve endings exposed to the cool air of the basement. Thick slabs of his flesh litter the floor around him. He breathes heavily, gritting his teeth, fighting the instincts to cave.
“Fuck. You.” He manages to spit out.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I laugh and shake my head. Fuck me? Sucking in the air around me, I revel in the metallic scent of his blood, and it stokes the rage inside.
Fuck me?