Page 42

After Birdie told me her suspicions two days ago, I pulled Cypher to the side and ordered him to set up some hidden cameras before we leave for the meetup with Frankie.

If someone is working with him, we need to know so we can cut them off before they accomplish whatever fucking goal they have for my people.

As much as I want to fill everyone, including the council members, in on the new surveillance, I don’t want to take the chance that it’ll get to the person we’re supposed to be looking for.

The fewer people who know, the easier it will be to keep it a secret and catch them off guard.

As much as the brothers hate it, all of them except me have to ride in cages to the meet. We need to stay as inconspicuous as possible so we have the advantage. If Frankie hears more than one bike, that’s all the warning he needs.

They stop about a mile back while I continue on.

Anticipation of the fight licks up my spine.

Pummeling my fists into the man who has terrorized my fucking woman and kids is a dark craving in my blood. Feeling his skin part and his blood drip from my hands is the only thing that’s going to appease this hunger that’s overtaken me.

When I pull into the clearing, Frankie stands next to his bike with his inked arms folded across his chest. There’s a kutte over his broad shoulders that has me lifting a brow.

I shut off the engine and slowly climb from the bike, keeping my eyes locked on his.

We stare each other down, neither of us willing to bow before the other.

Five years ago, I didn’t get a great look at the man who had claimed my woman.

My focus was on her. The only thing I remember with vivid clarity is the fucking smirk he aimed my way when he placed his arm over her shoulders.

I was so fucked at realizing I lost her that I didn’t take it as the warning it was.

Seeing that same smirk now, rage rushes through me so fast my hands shake.

“Hello, big brother,” Frankie greets.

“You don’t deserve to use that title,” I tell him, pulling my kutte from my shoulders and hanging it on the handlebars.

When he turns to do the same, I catch the rocker on the back. I smirk and shake my head, not even surprised.

Demented Demons MC.

Guaran-fucking-tee the front patch says ‘President’.

He wants to be me so fucking bad.

Fucker will only ever be a cheap knock-off. I’m the coolest motherfucker around. Can’t no one copy me.

I roll my head along my shoulders as I stroll toward the middle of the clearing.

“We’ve taken out three of his men so far, Prez,” Cypher intones in the earpiece hidden by my hair.

Normally, I’d have my hair up for something like this. But until I get the all-clear from my brothers letting me know Frankie’s men are down, I need to keep him from spotting it.

Cypher said it was nearly undetectable unless someone is actively searching for it, but I’m not willing to risk it.

“Are we doing this or what?” I ask in a bored tone. “Got a family to get home to.”

We circle each other, our eyes taking in the stance of the other, watching for the perfect opening.

Frankie is quick, I’ll give him that.

His fist lands against my cheek, the sting of his hit sending adrenaline pumping through me. I sidestep his next hit, sending my own his way. My fists are like torpedoes, hammering against any part of his body I can reach.

He’s holding his own against me, but the longer we trade hits, the more wary he looks. Anytime we step away from each other to catch our breath, I observe the way his eyes flit around, as if he’s waiting for his men.

Cypher keeps me updated on the progress throughout our fight.

Honestly, I’m surprised the goddamn earpiece has stayed in against the force of Frankie’s hits. Cypher ensured me that it would, but I was skeptical.

“What’s wrong, brother? Are you expecting someone to come rescue you?” I taunt, charging at him again.

Frankie lands a couple forceful hits against my kidneys that have me pulling back with a laugh as pain rushes through my body.

Whoa, boy. What a time to be alive.

He spits a mouthful of blood at my feet. “Of course, you don’t keep your word.”

“We have something in common then,” I say with a bloody smile.

Frankie lets out a roar and rushes me. His fists pummel me, and I laugh, which enrages him more.

Then I finally hear the words I was waiting for.

“Elimination complete, Prez.”

It’s like they break the chains that were holding my rage at bay.

Locking my fingers at the back of his head, I use all my strength to bring his face to meet my knee.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

He stumbles back in a daze, and I advance on him with cold precision.

“You touched what was mine.”

Frankie tries to deflect my hits, but anger and pain are riding me, urging me to end this fight. Some of his hits get through and blood leaves a warm trail down my face.

Face.

Stomach.

Kidneys.

A kick to the shin.

I continuously deliver blows and kicks, trying to eviscerate my opponent. Methodically, I aim my hits to inflict as much damage as possible.

An uppercut to the spot between his chin and jawline drops him to his knees. Grabbing him by his hair, I pull his head back so he has to look up at me.

“The difference between me and you, Frankie, is that you’re fighting because of your ego. I’m fighting for my family. You were always going to lose.”

Cyanide strolls up behind him and aims a blow to the back of Frankie’s head with the butt of his gun. “Piece of shit.”

I let Frankie’s body fall to the ground with a grunt as I stagger back and fall to a knee. Pain comes in waves over my body as the damage he inflicted on me registers when my high slowly fades.

“Get him in the cage,” I croak.

Malice holds his hand out, and I stare at it for a minute. As much as I want to stand on my own, being stubborn won’t do any of us good.

He pulls me to my feet as he runs his eyes over me critically. “Held his own, did he?”

I laugh. “Fucker was tougher than I thought he’d be. Unfortunately for him, there are three people at home I was fighting for.”

This isn’t over. There’s too much up in the air surrounding all of this, but capturing him and bringing him to the slaughterhouse is the start to ending it.

“You going to be able to ride home?” Cyanide asks.

“Don’t think anything is broken. Just fucking sore. I’ll let Giblet check me out before I make the final decision.”

“What about his bike?”

I glance over at Malice and grin. “Burn it and the fucking kutte.”

Pretty Boy holds up the kutte with one finger as if he’ll catch something just from touching it. As evil as this motherfucker is, he probably would. “He’s the fucking president of those Demented Demons fuckers?”

“Not anymore. I doubt he has many men left after the ones you all took out tonight. We never found much information on them, so they haven’t existed long.”

Giblet cleans up my face, applying a few butterfly bandages to the cuts over my nose and eyebrow. “How do your ribs and shit feel?”

“Got me in the kidney a few times, but until I’m pissing blood, I’m good.”

He examines my hands, testing my reflexes and feeling around my knuckles. “Open and close your fists.” He nods. “They feel okay enough to hold on to the handlebars that long?”

“Been through worse shit, brother. I’m good.”

The ride home was rough as fuck. Gritted teeth and determination to end this shit for my family are the only things that kept me upright on my bike. I almost want to gut the fucker for causing me enough pain that I can’t even enjoy the ride.

When they pull Frankie from the back of the cage, he’s conscious and gazing around at everything with a creepy-as-fuck smile on his face.

“Take him to the butcher’s room and chain him up,” I order. “Remove all his clothes and put them in the barrel for the incinerator.”

There’s nothing more vulnerable than being chained up in enemy territory with your dick and balls hanging out.

Manic and Butcher carry a surprisingly docile Frankie inside the building as I lean back against the cage and close my eyes to catch a fucking breath.

I wince when my deep breath causes a pull in my abdomen.

Giblet said everything looked okay, but fuck, Frankie got some vicious hits in that I couldn’t block.

Pain means you’re alive.

It means you’re breathing.

“You okay, brother?” Cyanide asks, coming to stand beside me.

I run my fingers through my hair, grimacing at the gritty texture to it. “Fucking exhausted. I’m getting too goddamn old for this fighting bullshit.”

He chuckles. “You mean we’re not in high school anymore?”

“No, and thank fuck we’re not. I hated that damn place.”

Cyanide sobers. “You need to go home to your woman and kids. We can handle what needs to be done here.”

I shoot him a toothy smile. “Where’s the fun in that? That fucker hurt Birdie and was going to sell my daughter. I’m going to peel his flesh from his bones. Slowly. Then I’m going to make him eat it.”

Cyanide shudders with a grimace. “Nasty.”

Pulling the pink and purple hair tie from my wrist that Lovelyn put there, I pull my hair up. Then I roll my head along my shoulders, gritting my teeth at the way the cuts on my face throb.

“Find me some Tylenol, would you?” I ask as he falls in step with me.

Frankie hangs from the hook in the butcher bay. His dark hair falls into his face as his silver eyes watch me march to him. Tattoos line his body, a vortex of colorful shapes and designs that are meant to draw the eye, but only have meaning to the person wearing them.

Business by day, party by night, apparently.

“Cypher, dig into his business. Find out who gets it when he disappears. Birdie is married to him, so it should go to her unless he has something else in place.”

Frankie laughs. “It’s going to be so fun watching your face when you finally uncover everything.”

“You know what’s going to be fun? Peeling your flesh from your bones.

I’m going to have a great time doing that.

But since I want to draw this out as long as possible, we’ll save that for last.” Grabbing the filet knife from the weapon stash Butcher laid out, I carry it with me as I close the distance between me and Frankie.

“This ink looks too pretty on you. Let’s see if I can’t fix it to match the ugly on your inside. ”

I run the knife through the tattoos covering his body until he’s bleeding from many shallow cuts. It won’t kill him, but he’ll feel the sting of them.

For the next few hours, I inflict pain on the piece of shit hanging like a slab of meat from the hook in my butcher’s bay. When I drop the pair of pliers to the table, I sigh as exhaustion weighs me down.

Frankie is a work of cuts and burns. The nails from his fingers and toes are gone. Blood leaks past his lips from the teeth we’ve removed.

His feet splash in the puddle of piss under them as he tries to move from the hook.

“You won’t get out of this on your own. Butcher earned his name for a reason. Just be glad it’s me doing the work and not him.” I pat Frankie’s bloody cheek. “Now, you get to sit and think about why you’ve found yourself in this position. You shouldn’t touch things that don’t belong to you.”

For all the taunting and shit he’s done over the phone, he’s not had much to say since we’ve brought him here.

I could pull a few screams from him, but not enough to appease the reaper that’s clawing at my skin.

If it wasn’t for the craving in my soul to get back to my family, I’d spend more time with him.

“Malice, let’s give our guest a tune to keep him company,” I order, walking over to the hose hanging from the ceiling.

I pull my clothes off as the childish tune bursts from the speakers. “Baby shark,” I sing in a whisper as I wash the blood and grime from me.

The music is loud in the room, causing the pounding behind my eyes to worsen. So, I finish cleaning myself quickly, tossing the dirty clothes in the barrel and grabbing the ones that Blitz holds out to me.

Butcher secures the chains around Frankie and clears away the weapons before following us out of the bay.

The music is softer out here, and I sigh, rubbing my temples.

“We’re going to need to take shifts guarding him.

Butcher, Ducky, and Blitz, you three will take the first shift.

I need to get home to my family and fucking rest. My body is killing me.

Keep the music going. Specifically, that song on repeat.

Lights on. I want sleep deprivation. That way, when I come back, he might be ready to crack.

We need to get all the information we can from him about his contacts into the trafficking ring he was going to sell my daughter to.

We know she was going to the Villarrubia Cartel, but there are other players.

There’s a connection to the churches, I’m sure of it.

I don’t give a fuck how long it takes us to wipe them out.

It could take us years to get them all, but I can’t stop.

It’s eating me up that I left it for as long as I did. ”

“You were a kid when you left, Prez,” Blitz says. “You couldn’t have done shit back then.”

“I could have when I got older. It was easier to pretend that shit didn’t happen, you know?”

I peer around at the brothers who continuously have my back without hesitation. There aren’t many people I give a shit about outside of my Birdie and my kids. These men . . . I’d lay down my life for them without fucking hesitation, and I know they’d do the same.

There’s something fucking humbling about that.

If I got all emotional on them now, they’ll probably kill me on the spot, assuming something done took my body over.

I’m sure it’s just because I’m tired, anyway.

A good night’s sleep will have all these warm, fuzzy feelings disappearing.

“The rest of you get back to the club and get some rest. It’ll be your turn on shift next. Butcher, I’ll send Hannibal back with some grub for you. Maybe even a sweet treat from Wicked Whisk.”

Butcher groans. “Not playing fair, brother.”

I laugh, knowing the man’s weakness for sweetness. More aptly, for the little raven-haired beauty that owns it. “I’ll be sure to have them inform Snow it’s for her most loyal customer.”

“You’re a cruel man, Prez,” he grumbles.

I chat with everyone for a bit longer before I head back home.

Despite the pain riding my body, my shoulders aren’t as heavy from the burden of Frankie.

He’s not out there anymore.

They’re safe from his threats now.

Frankie’s reign of terror is over.