CHAPTER TWELVE
Jolt
The stench of fear and sweat hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood.
I stand in the “butcher shop,” my eyes fixed on the pathetic figure before us.
Widow looms beside me, his presence a dark, intimidating force in the cramped space.
Widow's gravelly voice breaks the tense silence. "You gonna talk now, asshole?"
Our captive—the fucker who torched our car wash—whimpers pitifully.
His body trembles, fresh rivulets of blood trickling down his bare chest from where the hooks pierce his flesh.
The sight should sicken me, but a twisted part of me relishes his suffering.
He deserves this pain for what he did to the club.
"I... I don't know anything else," the man stammers, his eyes wild with terror.
Widow steps closer, his massive frame casting a menacing shadow. "Wrong answer, buddy."
I watch, fascinated, as Widow reaches for a nearby table laden with an assortment of nasty-looking instruments
My stomach churns with a mix of adrenaline and unease.
Part of me wants to look away, to distance myself from the brutality about to unfold.
But I force myself to observe.
This is part of club life—the ugly, violent underbelly that keeps us safe and in control.
"Last chance," Widow growls, selecting a wicked-looking pair of pliers. "Who do you work for?"
The man's eyes bulge as he stares at the tool in Widow's hand.
"Please," he begs, voice cracking. "I told you everything I know!"
Widow glances at me, a silent question in his eyes.
I give a slight nod, preparing myself for what's to come.
As much as I hate this part of the job, I know it's necessary.
We can't let anyone fuck with the Reapers Rejects MC and get away with it.
"All right then," Widow says, his tone deceptively casual. "Let's see if we can jog your memory."
As Widow moves in, I can't help but admire his composure.
The guy's a pro at this shit, no doubt honed from years of protecting the club and his daughter, Zoe.
The man's agonized scream snaps me back to the present.
Widow's got the pliers clamped around one of his fingernails, slowly pulling.
"Stop!" the captive wails. "Please, I'll talk! I'll tell you everything!"
Widow pauses, eyebrow raised. "That's more like it. Start talkin’."
As the man babbles out information between sobs, I find my mind drifting.
Is this really who I am now?
The easygoing, joke-cracking Jolt, now an accomplice to torture?
But then I remember the car wash engulfed in flames, the livelihoods threatened, the message it sent.
This is necessary.
"Jolt." Widow's voice cuts through my thoughts. "You hear that?"
I blink, refocusing on the situation. "Sorry, what?"
Widow sighs, clearly annoyed at my lapse in attention. "He says the Kodiaks are planning something big. Some kind of coordinated attack on multiple fronts."
My blood runs cold, but I’m not surprised in the least bit.
"Shit," I mutter. "Any details on when or where?"
The captive shakes his head frantically. "I don't know specifics, I swear! I'm just a hired hand, they don't tell me everything!"
Widow grunts, clearly unsatisfied. "Keep talking. What else do you know about their operations?"
As the interrogation continues, I find myself studying Widow.
The man's a fucking rock, unwavering in his dedication to the club and his methods.
Part of me admires that steadiness, that certainty of purpose.
But another part of me wonders if I'll ever reach that level of commitment.
I’m sure I will one day, and while I’m here, I’m watching everything Widow does.
Being able to be up close and personal with these kinds of experiences will make me a better man in the long run—for the club, and my woman.
"Hey." Widow's gruff voice pulls me from my musings once again. "You with us, prospect?"
I straighten up, forcing myself to focus. "Yeah, sorry. Just... processing."
Widow's eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn't push it.
Instead, he jerks his head toward our captive. "What do you think? He giving us the straight shit?"
I take a moment to really look at the man hanging before us.
His face is a mess of tears, snot, and blood.
His body shakes uncontrollably, and his eyes dart around the room like a cornered animal.
Every instinct tells me he's spilled everything he knows.
"Yeah," I say finally. "I think he's tapped out. Doubt he knows much more than what he's told us."
Widow nods, seemingly satisfied with my assessment. "All right then. Let's see if you’re right."
The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife when a strangled whimper breaks the silence. "You told me the other day you couldn’t stand spiders, so I need to know you’re not lyin’ to me, Paulie. It’s not personal. You got me?"
"Please," he gasps, his voice raw and desperate. "I'll tell you everything I know. Just... please don’t do what I think you’re gonna!"
Widow grabs a box, and puts a glove on his right hand.
He grabs spider after spider and Paulie screams, thrashing against the hooks, which only cause him to scream even more.
I watch as a particularly large arachnid skitters across his sweat-slicked forehead, causing another terrified moan from him.
It's a gruesome sight, but I can't look away.
Widow steps forward, his face an impassive mask. "Okay, let's start with something easy. What’s your name."
His eyes dart frantically between us. "P-Paulie. My name's Paulie, b-but you know that!"
"Yes, I do," Widow says, his tone deceptively casual. "Why don't you tell us about your relationship with the Kodiak MC?"
Paulie shakes his head, wincing as the movement causes the hooks to dig deeper. "I'm not... I'm not part of their club. They just pay me to do odd jobs sometimes. That's all, I swear!"
I can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the guy, despite everything.
I keep my voice level. "Why'd you take the job?"
Paulie's eyes meet mine, and I see a glimmer of desperation there. "It's how I keep the lights on, man. How I feed my kids. I got two little girls at home, and another baby on the way. I... I had to do something."
Widow nods slowly, his expression softening. "I understand a man needing to provide for his family, Paulie. But there are much better ways than setting fires for rival MCs."
I watch Paulie closely, trying to gauge his sincerity.
His fear seems genuine enough, but in our world, you can never be too careful.
Still, the mention of his kids tugs at something inside me.
I think of Aggie, of the future I want to build with her, and I can't help but wonder if I'd do any differently in Paulie's shoes.
"Tell us more about these jobs," I prod, pushing aside my conflicting emotions. "What exactly did the Kodiaks have you doing?"
Paulie opens his mouth to respond, but before he can get a word out, he lets out a blood-curdling scream.
One of the larger spiders has made its way to his neck, and in his panic, Paulie thrashes violently against his hooks.
The sight is enough to turn my stomach.
The barbed hooks tear into his flesh as he struggles more, fresh rivers of blood trickling down his torso.
The spiders, disturbed by the sudden movement, begin to swarm, several of them sinking their fangs into Paulie's exposed skin.
"Get them off!" Paulie wails, his eyes wide with terror. "Please, I'm begging you! I'll tell you anything you want to know, just get these fucking things off me!"
"Fair enough, Paulie," Widow says, his voice calm and steady. "Let's make a deal. You give us some solid information, and we'll start removing these eight-legged friends of yours one by one. Sound good?"
Paulie nods frantically, tears streaming down his face. "Yes, anything! Just... please..."
As Widow steps closer to continue interrogation, I’m revulsed and impressed.
This is the ugly side of club business, the part that keeps me up at night sometimes.
But as I watch Paulie's walls come crumbling down because of these damn eight-legged terrors, I can't deny its effectiveness, and these are the times where I know I’m learning from the best.
Widow's eyes narrow as he scrutinizes Paulie, who's writhing in agony. I can't help but admire the calculated precision in Widow's methods. It's fucked up, sure, but there's an art to it.
I lean in, curiosity getting the better of me.
"Hey, Widow," I whisper, careful not to let Paulie hear, "these spiders... they dangerous?"
A smirk plays at the corner of Widow's mouth. "Oh yeah. Desert brown recluse. Nasty little fuckers."
He turns to Paulie, raising his voice. "If you're not careful, they'll keep biting. And trust me, you don't want that. Necrotic lesions ain't pretty. Luckily for you, we have an anti-venom I can give you after this whole shin-dig is over with. If you deserve it."
I suppress a shudder, imagining the damage those tiny fuckers can do.
Part of me feels sick, but another part... fuck, another part is impressed by how Widow's working this guy.
Paulie's face contorts in terror. "Please! I'll flip on the Kodiaks! I’ll tell you more. I’m sorry I lied, I’m just afraid of what’s gonna happen to me when I get outta here! Just get these things off me!"
Widow cocks an eyebrow. "That so?"
"I swear!" Paulie's voice cracks. "Look, I'm just tryin' to be a good father, yeah? A provider for my girl, for my kids. It was just a job, man. I didn't mean no harm!"
I watch Paulie, seeing the desperation in his eyes.
For a moment, I wonder if I'd do the same in his position.
Would I compromise my morals to keep my family fed?
"A job, huh?" I can't help but interject, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "Funny how 'just a job' involves burning down our shit and putting people at risk."
Widow shoots me a look—part warning, part approval.
I get it—we're playing good cop, bad cop here.
Or maybe it's bad cop, worse cop.
Either way, I'm learning.
Widow nods slowly, his face unreadable.
Without a word, he pulls out his phone and starts tapping away.
I watch, curiosity gnawing at me, wondering who he's messaging.
The silence stretches, broken only by Paulie's ragged breathing and the faint skittering of spiders across his skin.
"Hey!" Paulie's voice cracks. "Did you hear me? I said I'll flip!"
Widow looks up from his phone, his expression calm. "Oh, I heard you all right. My bosses are on their way. You can tell them what you just told me."
Paulie's eyes widen in panic. "What? No, no, no! Just get these things off me, man! Please!"
I watch as more beads of sweat trickle down Paulie's temple, a spider dancing around it.
The poor bastard scrunches up his face, desperately trying to keep the arachnids from his eyes and mouth.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, running a hand through my hair. "This is some next-level shit."
Widow glances at me, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "You ain't seen nothin' yet, kid. This is just the warm-up."
I nod, trying to look nonchalant, but inside, my mind is racing.
Is this what it takes to protect the club?
To keep our family safe?
The weight of it settles on my shoulders, and I realize I'm witnessing a side of club life I've only heard whispers about.
Paulie's whimpers draw my attention back to him.
His face is a mask of pure terror, eyes squeezed shut as spiders crawl across his eyelids.
It's like watching a car crash—horrifying, but impossible to look away from.
"Christ," I breathe, "he looks about ready to piss himself."
Widow chuckles darkly. "Wouldn't be the first time someone's lost control in here. You'd be surprised what fear can do to a man."
I swallow hard, trying to keep my cool. "Yeah, I bet. How long before they get here?"
"Not long," Widow replies, his eyes never leaving Paulie. "Why? You gettin' squeamish on me, Jolt?"
I force a laugh, hoping it doesn't sound as nervous as I feel. "Nah, man. Just curious. This is... educational."
Widow smirks. "That's one way to put it."
The heavy metal door creaks open moments later, revealing Damon and Dixon, our Prez and VP.
The air in the room shifts, becoming charged with their presence.
Damon's eyes lock onto Paulie, his face a mask of cold calculation.
I straighten up instinctively, feeling the weight of their authority.
Damon strides forward, his cut creaking with each step.
He stops in front of Paulie, who's still writhing and whimpering.
"So." Damon's voice cuts through the room like a knife. "I heard you're ready to flip? I don't particularly like rats, so..."
The threat hangs in the air, unspoken but clear as day.
My heart's pounding, wondering how this is gonna play out.
Paulie's eyes are wide with fear, darting between Damon and the spiders still crawling over his skin.
Before Paulie can respond, Widow steps forward.
I'm surprised to see a flicker of something like sympathy in his eyes.
"He's got two young little girls, and a wife, baby on the way," Widow says, his gravelly voice softer than usual. "Dude is tryin' to keep food on the table and lights on, Prez."
I blink, caught off guard by Widow's defense.
This is the same man who just has Paulie strung up and covered in spiders.
But then again, Widow's a father himself.
Maybe he sees something of himself in Paulie's desperation.
Damon's eyebrows rise slightly, considering Widow's words.
I hold my breath, waiting to see how he'll react.
Damon's eyes narrow as he studies Paulie, his gaze calculating.
I can practically see the gears turning in his head.
After a long moment, he gives a slight nod, his stance shifting from outright aggression to something more... considering.
"Okay," Damon says, his voice low and gravelly. "What do you want, Paulie?"
Paulie's eyes widen, a glimmer of hope breaking through his terror.
He licks his cracked lips, swallowing hard before he speaks. "Take these damn spiders off me," he pleads, his voice cracking. "I'll tell you anything you want to know. Just... please."
A shudder runs through me as I watch one of the brown recluses skitter across Paulie's cheek.
The poor bastard looks like he's about to lose his mind.
Damon exchanges a quick glance with Dixon, then turns back to Paulie. "I know about the deal Widow made you," he says, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. "Removing a spider for every piece of useful information you give us. We’ll honor that, since it’s obvious they bother you so much."
Paulie nods frantically, relief flooding his features. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. Thank you, thank you."
I lean in, curious to see what other intel Paulie has up his sleeves.
Damon raises an eyebrow, waiting.
Paulie takes a deep breath, wincing as the movement causes the hooks to pull at his skin. "Okay, here's something big," he says. "The Kodiak MC? They only got one real threat in Vegas. It's you guys—the Reapers Rejects."
Damon's expression doesn't change, but I can see the interest in his eyes.
He nods to Widow, who steps forward and carefully plucks a spider off Paulie's shoulder, crushing it under his boot.
We're the only ones the Kodiaks see as a real threat.
If we're their main focus, what kind of shit are they planning to throw our way?
Paulie's eyes follow the crushed spider, a mix of relief and lingering fear on his face.
He licks his dry lips, wincing as another spider crawls across his cheek.
"There's more," he says, his voice shaky. "Serpent, he's... he's obsessed with one of your women. The biker girl, the one he..." Paulie swallows hard. "The one he gutted."
My blood runs cold.
Siren.
He's talking about Siren.
Paulie continues, his words rushing out now. "Serpent said he's gonna come back for her. Said he knew she was getting married, but that wouldn't stop him. He wants to use her like his... his 'little fucked up blood doll.'"
The room goes deadly silent.
I clench my fists, fighting the urge to put them through the nearest wall.
Widow yanks another spider off Paulie, crushing it with vicious force. “Fucker say anything else?”
"He was gonna get Sera, put her head on a platter, and deliver it to her mother."
Dixon's voice cuts through the tension. "No one will ever touch the women or children in our club and get away with it, period."
I nod in agreement, my jaw clenched so tight it hurts.
We protect our own, always.
Accidents and slip ups happen, but not because we allow it.
Paulie's head bobs frantically. "I figured as much, knowin' what I do about you all now," he says. "But Serpent, he's a disgusting fucker. He doesn't care who he hurts, as long as he gets what he wants."
A cold smile spreads across Paulie's face, and for a moment, I see a glimpse of the man who could set fire to our business without remorse. "That's why I was burning down the car wash," he admits. "To distract you guys."
My mind races.
A distraction?
From what?
What the hell is Serpent planning?
I glance at Widow, seeing my own anger and concern mirrored in his eyes.
This isn't just about the club anymore.
This is personal.
And we're going to make damn sure Serpent never gets anywhere near Sera, Siren—or any of our people—ever again.
Damon's eyes narrow, his voice a low growl as he cocks an eyebrow. "A distraction? Or sending a message?"
I watch Paulie's face intently, searching for any sign of deception.
Sweat beads on his forehead, mingling with the blood from where the barbed hooks pierce his skin.
He flinches as another spider skitters across his chest.
"No, no," Paulie insists, his voice cracking. "Serpent wanted to distract you guys, I swear. But I can't... I can't remember why. He said it was important, but..."
Widow steps forward, his massive frame looming over Paulie.
I've known Widow for years now, seen him break men twice his size, but the cold calculation in his eyes right now sends a chill down my spine.
Widow’s voice is deceptively calm. "Maybe remembering might get me to take off another fuckin' spider."
I watch Paulie's eyes go wide with panic.
Paulie's chest heaves as he struggles against the hooks, desperate to escape the creepy little fuckers crawling over his skin.
I can see the moment something clicks in his eyes.
"Wait, wait!" he gasps. "I remember now. Serpent, he... he had someone watching your club."
My blood runs cold.
Watching us?
How long?
What did they see?
Paulie continues, words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "They wanted to see who left, who stayed behind. How many people were actually here, and..." He swallows hard. "And if they could get onto your grounds."
Fuck.
My fists clench at my sides.
This wasn't just about the car wash.
This was reconnaissance.
They're planning something big, and we've been blind to it this whole time.
Damon's voice cuts through the tension like a knife.
"Take two off him," he orders Widow, his tone brooking no argument.
Widow nods, his weathered hands moving with surprising gentleness as he plucks two spiders from Paulie's sweat-slicked skin.
The crunch as he crushes them under his boot echoes in the room, making my stomach turn.
Paulie's eyes lock onto Damon's, desperation clear in every line of his face. "I promise it wasn't personal," he pleads, his voice hoarse. "I was only a paid man doing what I needed to. Surely you can see that."
I watch Damon carefully, trying to gauge his reaction.
His face is a mask, giving nothing away.
After what feels like an eternity, he nods slowly.
"I can see that," Damon says, his voice deceptively calm.
My chest tightens as I recognize that tone.
It's the one he uses right before all hell breaks loose.
"But I also see how fast you flip." His eyes narrow dangerously. "So why should I keep you alive?"
The question hangs in the air, heavy as lead.
I find myself holding my breath, waiting for Paulie's response.
This could go south real quick if he doesn't play his cards right.
Paulie licks his lips nervously, his eyes darting between Damon and the remaining spiders on his skin.
When he speaks, his voice is low but steady. "Because I'm the kind of man who will do anything for the people I'm loyal to."
I raise an eyebrow, skeptical.
Loyalty?
From a guy who just flipped on his employers without much prodding?
But Paulie's not done. "And given the fact I haven't been killed or tortured crazily, I'd be loyal to the Reapers Rejects. If I'm given the chance."
I can't help but admire the guy's balls.
He's dangling from meat hooks, covered in venomous spiders, and he's still trying to negotiate.
Part of me wants to respect that kind of survival instinct.
The other part wonders if we'd be stupid to trust him.
I glance at Widow, trying to read his reaction.
His face is impassive, but I catch a flicker of something in his eyes.
Interest?
Or maybe just calculation.
Either way, I know he's weighing Paulie's words carefully.
As for me, I'm not sure what to think.
On one hand, having an inside man could be invaluable.
On the other, how can we trust someone who's already proven he'll sell out for the right price?
The silence stretches on, broken only by the soft skittering of spider legs on skin.
We're all waiting for Damon's verdict, and I find myself holding my breath again.
Damon's eyes narrow as he considers Paulie's offer.
I can almost see the gears turning in his head, weighing the risks against the potential rewards.
Finally, he nods, his decision made.
"All right," Damon says, his voice gravelly. "But you have to go back and find more shit out for us. I want details, and I want your number."
It's a gamble, but one that could pay off big time if Paulie comes through.
Paulie's relief is obvious. "Yeah, yeah, of course. I'll do whatever you need. Just... please, get these fucking spiders off me."
Dixon chimes in, a rare note of approval in his voice. "Good job."
Damon turns to Widow and me. "Get Paulie down, address his wounds. Make sure he doesn't die from a fuckin’ infection. And for fuck’s sake, give him whatever anti-venom you have."
As I start working on the hooks, I hope Paulie won’t make us regret this.
"Easy there, prospect," Widow murmurs, his hands steady as he helps me. "Don't want to cause any more damage than necessary."
I nod, focusing on the task.
Paulie whimpers as we work, each movement causing the hooks to shift.
"Almost there, man," I tell him, trying to keep my voice light. "Just hang in there a little longer."
As we lower Paulie to the ground, I catch Widow's eye.
There's a glimmer of respect there, and it hits me—this is a test, too.
Not just for Paulie, but for me.
How I handle this, how I react, it's all being noted.
I swallow hard, pushing down the mix of emotions churning in my gut.
This is the life I chose, the family I want to be part of.
And if that means patching up the guy we just tortured, well, that's what I'll do.
"Let's get you cleaned up," I tell Paulie, my voice steadier than I feel. "Can't have our new informant looking like he just went ten rounds with a meat grinder, can we?"
The air in the bunker feels heavy as we finish patching up Paulie, thick with the lingering scent of fear and blood.
I catch Widow's eye, and he gives me a subtle nod.
We've done our job.
"All right, get outta here," Widow growls at Paulie, who doesn't need to be told twice.
He scrambles to his feet, wincing at every movement, and bolts for the door.
I watch him go, my mind racing.
This shit with the Kodiaks, it's escalating fast.
Widow’s phone goes off and his eyes flicker to mine. "Head back to the club, prospect."
Licking my lips, I furrow my brows. "I’m good, Widow. We have a lot of cleanin’ up to do here."
Widow clears his throat. "I wasn’t askin’. You get your ass back there. Your girl’s in the main area, and she’s not good. Someone beat ‘er, so get the fuck outta here and go check on ‘er."
He doesn’t have to tell me twice.
I run like a bat out of hell, get on my bike, and ride to the clubhouse.
I don’t even know how much time has passed when I’m rushing through the clubhouse doors and find a group of women around Aggie.
Sera, Siren, Sakura, Kat, and Camila are all there.
Sakura’s tending to her wounds, while the rest of the ladies are trying to be supportive for her.
I waste no time getting over to her, "What in the hell happened, Ghost?"
It’s then I see the cut going from the bottom of her chin all the way down to her sternum.
Aggie's emerald eyes, normally full of fire and defiance are murky—clouded over with pain and fear as she meets my gaze.
Her bleached blonde hair is matted with blood, strands sticking to the fresh wound that mars her beautiful face.
A sight that sends waves of seething rage coursing through me.
"Aye, Jolt," she rasps out, sobbing silently. "It was Trevor."
The name rolls off her tongue like poison.
That fucking frat boy.
I clench my fists at my side as an image of him flashes in my mind—the cocky smirk permanently etched on his face.
A primal growl rumbles in my chest, threatening to break free.
"Jolt..." Aggie's voice cracks as she reaches out to touch my arm.
The touch is feather-light, but it grounds me instantly, pulling me back from the dark abyss threatening to swallow me whole. "Don't... Please..."
Her plea hangs between us.
I meet her gaze head on. "You beggin' me not to go after him?"
"Aye," she admits softly, her hand falling away from my arm as if it suddenly weighs a ton. "Please, not yet. I need to get away from here. I need a bloody break."
I want to argue with her—tell her that I can handle Trevor, that I will make sure he would never hurt her again.
But my words get stuck in my throat when I look into her eyes, filled with fear and pain.
Fear and pain this bastard put there!
"Aggie... this fucker has to pay." My voice breaks the silence. "He doesn't get to do this and walk away. Not while I'm still breathing."
"And he will, but for fuck's sake, Jolt, let me have some damn time!" Aggie starts visibly shaking, and Kat turns to look at me.
Her eyes are a silent warning–one that tells me I need to do whatever the fuck Aggie wants right now.
I kneel down in front of Aggie. "Ghost, tell me what you need right now. I'll do whatever you ask. Anything."
Her lip quivers and my heart breaks, because I've never seen her like this. "I need you, Jack. I need you to go away with me, go back home for the holiday, please."
I swallow hard. "I need to ask Damon, baby girl. I can try to get permission, but with shit goin' on right now, I don't wanna get your hopes up."
Kat speaks up, clear as day. "You'll be able to go, Jolt. Don't you worry about that."
Damon might run the club, but Kat does anything for the women in it.
Sometimes, I forget that even my Prez has to answer to someone at the end of the day.
I smile softly. "Looks like we're headin' back to see your folks then. We'll leave in a couple of days, all right?"
Aggie nods, tears streaming down her face. "Okay, b-but I need to get some of my things, and go get Sienna, please. She's going to Montana with me for Christmas."
"Okay, but I'll head to the sorority house to pick up Sienna. Maybe Sienna can pack 'em and I'll just pick her up and bring her here with all your shit tomorrow. Sound good?"
Aggie nods, and the tears continue to stream down her face.
I wrap my arms around her and hold her against me, wanting nothing more than to have my girl feeling better.