Page 12 of Blade (Spartan Watchmen MC #5)

"Four men," Zeb whispered, his voice shaking with suppressed rage. "Five, counting your traitor, Hammer."

"And Tim?"

A cruel smile twisted Zeb's lips. "What's left of him, you mean? He's alive. For now. Though after what we've done to him, he might wish he wasn't."

Blade fought the urge to pull the trigger right then. "Is he rigged?"

"Rigged?" Zeb looked genuinely confused.

"Explosives. Dead Man's Switch. Anything that would kill him if you or your men were taken out."

Understanding dawned in Zeb's eyes, followed by something like respect. "Not a bad idea. But no. We wanted him alive for the grand finale. When we finally tracked down his little blonde friend."

Lily. They'd been planning to torture Tim in front of her before doing the same to her.

"Call your men," Blade ordered, pressing the gun harder against Zeb's temple. "One at a time. Tell them you need to speak to them privately."

Zeb's eyes narrowed. "And why would I do that?"

"Because if you don't," Blade said silkily, "I'll start by shooting off pieces of you. Kneecaps first. Then elbows. Then shoulders. You'll live, but you'll never ride again. Never hold a woman again. Never wipe your own ass again."

Fear flickered across Zeb's face. A coward at heart, then, despite his sadistic tendencies. "Alright," he agreed. "But you won't get away with this. There are more of us than there are of you."

"I like those odds," Blade said coldly. "Now make the call."

Zeb complied, calling for one of his men.

Moments later, the bedroom door opened, and a burly man with a shaved head stepped inside.

Blade recognized him and would recognize each of the men who followed.

They were the worst of humanity. The fact they were out on bail showed a total failure in the American justice system.

Or, perhaps, a corrupt judge. These men were child sex traffickers and rapists.

Drug dealers. This one? Had a part in kidnapping and torturing one of Valhalla’s men’s girls.

"Boss, what's—" His question was cut short as Blade's silenced pistol coughed once, putting a neat hole between his eyes. He dropped like a stone.

"Jesus!" Zeb hissed, eyes wide with shock at the speed and efficiency of the kill.

"Next," Blade instructed, as if they were calling numbers at a deli counter.

One by one, Zeb summoned his men. One by one, they entered the room. And one by one, they died, quick and silent. Blade had no regrets taking out the trash. The predators who hurt children and innocent women deserved worse deaths than the quick and easy one he gave.

Finally, only Hammer remained in the main room with Tim.

"Last one," Blade said. "Call him."

Zeb shook his head. "He's not one of mine. He's your problem."

"Call. Him." Blade enunciated each word, pressing the gun into the soft flesh under Zeb's jaw.

With a resigned sigh, Zeb called out, "Hammer! Got something to show you."

Footsteps approached the bedroom door. Blade positioned himself behind it, gun ready.

The door swung open. "What now?" Hammer asked irritably, stepping into the room. "I already delivered the?—"

Blade slammed the butt of his pistol into the back of Hammer's head, dropping him unconsciously to the floor before he could register what was happening.

"Breach now," Blade said into his comm, signaling the others to enter.

Zeb stared up at him, a mixture of fear and defiance in his eyes. "What now? You going to kill me too?"

"Eventually," Blade promised. "But first, you're going to tell me everything you know about who's been feeding you information from our club."

"And why would I do that?" Zeb sneered.

Blade smiled, cold and merciless. "Because if you don't, I'll hand you over to the man whose wife and daughter you threatened. Let him get creative."

Fear flickered in Zeb's eyes. Savage's reputation preceded him. "Alright, alright. No need for that. Hammer came to us, offered to sell information. Said he'd fallen on hard times, needed cash."

"And you just happened to ask about Lily?" Blade pressed skeptically.

"No," Zeb admitted. "He brought her up. Said one of your guys was hiding a witness against us. A blonde little who was ready to talk to the cops, tell them everything. She knows too much about our operation. She’d been spying on us the entire time, and informant."

That was a lie. Lily hadn't been an informant. He’d blackmailed her into approaching the club, then she couldn’t go through with it.

"Why the fixation on her?" Blade demanded. "Why not just let it go?"

Zeb's eyes hardened. "No one betrays the Rejects. No one. Especially not some bitch who thinks she can play games with us, then run to your club for protection."

"She didn't betray you," Blade said. "She refused to betray us. There's a difference."

"Same result," Zeb spat. "She failed to deliver what she promised. And then my idiot brother helped her escape before we could make an example of her. Blood or not, he had to be made an example of to keep the rest of my men from following suit."

"Tim," Blade remembered. "Where is he?"

"Main room," Zeb said. "Though there might not be much left to save."

Blade hauled Zeb to his feet, keeping the gun pressed to his back. "Move. And if you try anything, anything at all, I'll put a bullet in your spine and leave you to bleed out slowly."

He pushed Zeb ahead of him into the main room, where Savage and Rampage had already secured the area. Irish stood guard at the front door, weapon ready.

And in the center of the room, tied to a chair, was what remained of Tim.

Blade had seen torture victims before. Had seen the aftermath of brutality in war zones around the world. But what the Rejects had done to Tim was on another level.

His face was barely recognizable, swollen and discolored. Three fingers were missing from his left hand, two from his right. Burns covered his exposed torso, some fresh, some beginning to fester. One eye was swollen shut, the other barely open, dull with pain and resignation.

But somehow, impossibly, he was still alive.

"Jesus Christ," Irish muttered, crossing himself.

Savage was already moving to Tim's side, checking his vitals. "He's alive, but barely. We need to get him medical attention, fast."

"Doc's on standby," Rampage reported. "Called him as soon as we confirmed Tim's condition."

Blade shoved Zeb into a chair, letting Rampage secure him while he approached Tim. The injured man's one functioning eye tracked his movement, a flicker of recognition visible through the haze of pain.

"We've got you, Tim," Blade said, his voice gentler than anyone in the room had likely ever heard it. "You're safe now. We're getting you out of here."

Tim's cracked, bloody lips moved, trying to form words.

Blade leaned closer. "What is it?"

"L-Lily?" Tim rasped, the single word obviously costing him immense effort.

"She's safe," Blade assured him. "You did good. She's safe because of you."

Relief washed over Tim's battered features. His eye closed, a tear tracking through the blood and grime on his cheek.

"Let's move him," Blade ordered. "Carefully. Rampage, you and Irish take him directly to Doc. Savage with me. We've got unfinished business here."

Rampage and Irish gently cut Tim free from the chair, then lifted him as carefully as possible, mindful of his numerous injuries. The broken man made no sound as they carried him out, either too weak or too resigned to pain to protest.

Once they were gone, Blade turned his attention to their two prisoners: Zeb, tightly bound to a chair, and Hammer, still unconscious on the floor.

"Wake him up," Blade instructed Savage, nodding toward Hammer.

Savage complied, dumping a bottle of water over Hammer's face. The traitor spluttered awake, disoriented and panicked.

"W-what? What's happening?" he stammered, eyes darting around the room until they landed on Blade and Savage. His face drained of color. "I can explain?—"

"Save it," Blade cut him off coldly. "We know what you did. Selling out the club. Selling out Lily. For what? Money?"

Hammer swallowed hard. "I was in deep, man. Gambling debts. They were going to break my legs, maybe worse."

"So instead you broke your oath," Savage said, his voice deadly quiet. "Betrayed your brothers. Put an innocent woman's life at risk."

"She's not innocent!" Hammer protested. "She was spying on us for The Rejects!"

"No, she wasn't," Blade said. "She was blackmailed. Forced. And she refused to go through with it, even knowing what it would cost her."

Confusion crossed Hammer's face. "But Zeb said?—"

"He lied," Blade interrupted. "To manipulate you. And you were too stupid or too greedy to question it."

Zeb laughed from his chair. "Wasn't hard. He practically begged to sell you out. Just needed a little cash and the promise of a patch with the Rejects."

Savage raised an eyebrow. "You were going to prospect for the Rejects?"

Shame crossed Hammer's features. "I had nothing left. I moved to Colorado when I heard Grand Ridge was different from my former chapter. My club changed, since I joined years ago. The brothers there have been bringing in all these... littles. It became domesticated and different than when I joined. We were all single and had each other’s backs. Now.. It’s not the brotherhood I signed up for.

Then I come here and find this chapter is the exact same fucking way.

What is the chances there were two chapters like this? Nah. Fuck that noise.”

Blade understood then. It wasn't just about money. It was about resentment. The Spartan Watchmen had evolved over the years, becoming less about chaos and destruction and more about building something lasting. Relationships. Families. And some members, like Hammer, hadn't appreciated the direction.

"So you sold us out," Blade summarized. "Betrayed everything we stand for. And for what? To join up with these sadistic pieces of shit?" He gestured toward Zeb.