Page 37

37

Legacy

The first time I stepped into the Shack, I was ten years old. King set me on a stool near the door and told me to stay put until he was done.

An Iron Sinner was tied to a chair in the center of the room, and he was already bleeding from where two knives were sticking out of his thighs. His face was beaten beyond recognition. To the point where he could barely peel his eyes open. But when his head bobbed, his gaze landed on me.

Only for a second.

Long enough to make my stomach heave.

I didn’t let it show. I swallowed it down and didn’t so much as flinch.

That was the moment to prove myself to my father—to King. To the club.

I gripped my chair but didn’t let King see me flinch as Helix pulled out a carving knife and squatted down, squaring off with the Iron Sinner. When he started the interrogation, I didn’t hear the words so much as I smelled the blood.

Thick and endless.

Pouring from his wounds as Helix skinned one arm at a time.

It took until his eighth fingernail before the Iron Sinner finally gave the club what they needed, and King had the honor of slicing his tongue out before putting a bullet between his eyes.

When all was said and done, I was excused so prospects could dispose of the body, and I barely made it out the door before I puked up everything I’d eaten that day.

Back then, it was still hard to swallow this life down.

I still had mercy.

Stepping into The Shack now, I feel no guilt over Lincoln sitting strapped to the chair over the drain in the center of the room. I feel no compassion for his tears or the piss soaking his jeans.

The stench of vomit hangs heavy in the air from him puking up his guts from his concussion, and I couldn’t care less how much he suffers.

Blood is caked at his side where the Iron Sinner stabbed him. Patch did enough to keep him alive, but that’s it. He won’t be walking out of here anyway.

The Iron Sinners might be the ones who took Reagan from the school, but Lincoln was there too. He cornered her, probably terrified her. If my enemies hadn’t shown up, who knows what else he would have done .

If I can’t get my hands on the people who have Reagan right now, then Lincoln will serve as the perfect replacement for my rage.

Steel, Soul, Ghost, and Venom stand by the pit, talking. A series of iron rods roast over the coals, but it’s mostly to make Lincoln squirm. Everyone has a preference on how they inflict pain—like Steel with his fists and Ghost with his knives. I like to eliminate the problem with a bullet before they have the chance to cause this many problems. But when that doesn’t work, I find simple things do more than enough—like pliers.

Like father, like son.

Lincoln watches me walk over to a cabinet we have on one side of the Shack. According to Steel, he’s yet to say anything, but that will change soon enough.

My hands graze the collection of knives, and I see Lincoln squirm. He doesn’t relax until my hands grip the pliers instead. I’m sure they seem less intimidating than a blade. It’s proof of how little he knows about torture.

Steel nods at me when I turn around. He crosses his arms over his chest, watching. My brothers are here for support, but they won’t step in. They know I need this.

For me.

For Reagan.

I walk over to Lincoln and shove the pliers under his chin to force him to look up at me. “You should have stayed in Glendale.”

He scoffs. “She doesn’t love you. ”

I pull my arm back and slam the handle of the pliers into the side of Lincoln’s face. Blood gushes from the wound, and when he spits, there’s a chunk of tooth in it.

“You don’t get to talk about her.” I shove his chin up again, blood dripping from his mouth. “Understood?”

His jaw tenses, but he doesn’t say anything, so at least he’s learning.

“How long were you at the school this morning?” I get right into my interrogation because I can barely look at this piece of shit.

Lincoln keeps his mouth shut, and I’d be irritated if I wasn’t so thankful for the excuse to let the gasket off this rage.

Reaching for his hand, I pin it to the arm of the chair, and his eyes widen. He tries to thrash, but the bindings hold him in place as I shove the pliers under his nail and rip it off.

The scream that tears from his lungs fills the room while Ghost chuckles.

Not much can get my brother to smile, but torturing a deserving man will do it.

“Want to try that answer again?” I ask, digging the pliers under another nail. “How long were you at the school this morning?”

Lincoln thrashes in the chair, crying and screaming so loud he drools. “I—Early. I don’t know. Five.”

“Good.” I rip the nail off anyway, and his screaming turns to sobs.

It’s pathetic really.

“Stop.” He chokes. “Please. ”

“You want me to stop?” I grab his throat, forcing him to face me. “Just like Reagan wanted you to stop. But you didn’t, did you?”

“She—”

I knock him in the side of the face before he can finish his sentence. “What did I say? You don’t get to talk about her.”

Only I do.

“Did you stop when she told you not to call her? Did you stop when she asked you to stop fucking with her? Stalking her. Firing her.” Saying it out loud has me seeing red, so I rip off another nail.

Lincoln heaves forward, and I barely have time to step out of the way of the vomit as he covers the front of his pants.

I shove the pliers under his chin again, forcing him to face me. “Did you?”

“No.” The word chokes out through spit and vomit and tears and blood.

“No, you didn’t.” I slam the pliers into the side of his jaw so hard the crack gives me goose bumps.

At least now we’re getting somewhere.

I force his face up again. “When you got to the school this morning, did you see anything out of place? A van?”

His hazy eyes blink open. “No.”

“You sure?” I dig the pliers under a nail on the other hand, and he tries to pull away, but he can’t. “Try to remember.”

Lincoln’s eyes widen. “I—yes, there was a van. A white one. In the teacher parking. ”

“Was anyone inside?”

“Inside?” His chest heaves as he almost vomits again. I’m losing him. “I don’t know. Maybe. I didn’t see anything.”

“Who stabbed you?”

“I don’t know.” Panic floods his tone. “I swear. I don’t know anything.”

“I believe you.” I glance at Steel, and he nods.

Lincoln is worthless, and he’s given us all he has. It’s not much, but at least it confirms our suspicions. The Iron Sinners weren’t watching the compound to see if I’d be with her today; they were at the school. They already knew the answer.

The only way they would have known that would have been if they were on the inside because I was called into church at the last second. There was only one other person in the bar when that happened—Sera.

She set us up.

She knew Reagan would be at drop-off without my protection. And even if Venom is a good replacement, he doesn’t walk them into the school. She was left vulnerable.

I peel off another one of Lincoln’s nails, and he starts sobbing as I toss the pliers to the ground. He’s a mess of blood, spit, vomit, and piss, and I have no more use for him. He made this too easy by going off the grid when he came to Vegas. No one will know where to look when he stays missing.

I reach behind me and pull out my gun.

“Please don’t.” His eyes widen. “I’ll leave. ”

“You shouldn’t have come here in the first place.” I plant the barrel on his forehead. “You shouldn’t have hurt what’s mine.”

I pull the trigger with no regrets.

If anything, it fills my chest with peace, giving Reagan the closure she deserves. If she asks me about it, I’ll tell her what happened to Lincoln, but knowing Reagan, she won’t. She’ll know the answer and understand why Lincoln will no longer be a problem.

“Feel better?” Steel asks, stepping up beside me with Ghost and Venom trailing behind him.

“I’ll feel better when we get Reagan.”

Venom flexes his fingers. “I should have—”

“You tried.” I cut him off. “This isn’t on you. They could have gotten past any one of us with their numbers today.”

Ghost confirmed it when he pulled up footage from the school. Venom put up a fight, but he couldn’t have stopped them.

“Still. It feels like I need to do something.”

“When we get their location, we’ll all get our chance to do something. At least now we know Sera was the one tipping them off, so we don’t make that mistake again.”

Steel’s phone rings, and his shoulders relax when he sees who is calling, which can only mean it’s Havoc or Chaos.

“Talk to me,” he says, nodding in response to whatever is being said on the other side of the phone. “She asked for what? ”

His jaw tightens as he continues to listen. Every so often his eyes dart to me until he finally drops his chin and drags his hand through his hair.

“Give it to her. I don’t give a fuck so long as she hands over the information. Then call it in and let the cops deal with it.” He hangs up, looking over at me. “They found Sera waiting for a bus.”

“Does she know where Reagan is?”

Steel nods.

“What did she want?”

“Drugs.”

I shake my head. “Are you fucking kidding me? This is about a few pills? Fucking hell.”

“Havoc will pay her off then we’ll call it in and let the cops get her.”

Usually, the club avoids anything dealing with law enforcement, but I can understand why Steel made the call. It’s the best way to deal with Sera without having to actually deal with her ourselves.

Steel’s phone chimes, and he pulls it out. “We have a location.”

“Assuming she’s not leading us into a trap.”

“At this point, I’m not putting anything past her.”

“Me either, but we’re out of options.” And Sera knows it.

Steel starts yelling orders, coordinating the club. And while he does, I turn my gun over in my hands.

This piece is my oldest friend.

The one good lesson I learned from my father .

I grip my gun and imagine a bullet sinking into the forehead of anyone who dares touch Reagan. The thought has me eerily calm.

I’m going to get her back.

I’m going to save her.

And when I do, I hope she still wants this life because I’m never letting her go again.