Page 31 of Riot’s Thorn (Sons of Erebus: Reno, NV #4)
CHAPTER TWENTY
RIOT
I grip her by the nape and guide her to the little booth where money is exchanged. There, we find Navy sitting in front of her computer.
“Navy,” I say.
The area was made to look like an old-school movie booth, so it feels less like you’re making a bank transaction and more like a fun night out. But safety was a primary concern, so Navy sits behind a sheet of bulletproof, laminated, polycarbonate acrylic with a speaker system built in.
“Hey, guys. Let me close out of this, and I’ll come around.” She grabs a set of keys as Parker and I step to the side and wait.
I can tell my woman is nervous, just how I expected.
She’s not from my world, so all the debauchery she’s being exposed to is new.
What has my cock twitching is that I can tell it also excites her.
After I get this shit done, I want to lock us in the cabin for a good, long while so I can show her everything she’s been missing.
“It’s good to see you again, Parker,” Navy says.
“You too.” Parker holds out a hand as Navy moves in for a hug. It’s amusing to see the two worlds collide.
“Sorry.” Navy laughs. “I have no manners.”
“No, it’s all good. I’m usually a hugger too.”
I place a hand low on Parker’s back and lean in. “You good?”
“Yeah. I can’t wait to see everything.”
Looking at Navy, I say, “My cell doesn’t work down there, so if you need me, have one of the guys come get me.”
“We won’t need you. Go take care of business or whatever. Myla’s already here.”
At the back of the restaurant kitchen is a deep pantry with a hidden door that leads downstairs. The basement isn’t on any of the blueprints we submitted to the city, and only club members know it exists, other than our chef, who knows better than to ask questions.
I give him a chin lift and make sure none of the other staff are around before slipping through the door and heading down the stairs.
The air is thick from the scent of piss and fear with undertones of bleach.
It practically singes my nose hairs, but it’s a smell I’ve grown accustomed to and almost like. It means I get to unleash my demons.
The man of the hour is exactly how we left him last night.
His ankles are zip-tied to the legs of a metal chair and his wrists to the arms. When his friends and family notice he’s missing, the police report will describe him as having brown hair and brown eyes, an average height and build, and a hairline that’s just starting to recede, completely and utterly average in every way.
Because Chap has been in and out of consciousness, there’s only so much we know about him. Under normal circumstances, Killer would’ve stalked him for days before we attacked, but we had to get to him before the cops did. Hopefully, that won’t come back to bite us in the ass.
“Started the party without me?” I ask, slipping off my leather cut and hanging it on a hook.
Killer opens her mouth to speak but is cut off by the man letting out a howl of pain.
It’s easy to see why—his nose is bent at an unnatural angle, and both his eyes are swollen and bruised.
Killer backhands him, dazing him enough to shut him up for a minute.
“As I was trying to say before I was so rudely interrupted, yes, I did get started without you. It’s not often we get to play with our prey, and I was so excited, I couldn’t even sleep last night. ”
Normally, we leave our victims where we find them, but he isn’t from around here, so unless we wanted to run the risk of someone hearing something at the motel he was staying at, we had to take him to a secondary location.
Plus, this one’s personal. Chaplain is a friend of the club, and even though Golden likes to deny it, he has a thing for that girl. Even I can see that.
“Did you get the report?” I ask, putting a rubber apron on so I don’t mess up my clothes.
“Yep. Right here.” She holds up a piece of paper.
After snapping on a pair of gloves, I take the report and begin to read. “Chaplain’s fingernails were broken and some even popped off. You were dragging her somewhere, and she was trying to stop you, right?”
“That dumb bitch isn’t worth your protection.” Bloody spittle sprays from the man’s mouth as he speaks. “But if she means something to you, I’ll back off. I live in New York, so I’ll just hop on a plane, and you’ll never hear from me again.”
I nod, reading the next item on the report. “She had vaginal and anal tearing, along with internal injuries from a round brush with rigid boar bristles being forced into her. The brush had to be removed when she reached the hospital.”
My lack of emotion as I read the police report isn’t necessarily a reflection of how I feel, but it’s easier for me to separate facts from the person.
Killer, however, has so much rage radiating off her, I could choke on it.
She’s on the verge of losing her shit, but that’ll put an end to this way too soon.
Even if I’m not showing it like her, I’m disgusted by this piece of shit and want to make sure he gets the end he deserves.
“Go take a walk,” I say.
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? No, I’m not going anywhere.” She flips open her butterfly knife and proceeds to spin it in an intricate way that looks badass. I’ll have to look that up later.
“If you go anywhere near him right now, you’ll kill him in seconds. Is that what you want?”
“No,” she admits while the man sobs.
“Then take a walk and calm down.”
“Fine.” She disappears up the stairs.
“Where were we?” I flip to the next page of the report. “Broken ribs that punctured a lung, a ruptured spleen, a bruised liver, and ten of the fourteen facial bones broken. Dang, dude. You didn’t hold back.”
“She was pregnant and left me. I didn’t want my kid being raised by some asshole she picked up off the street.”
“Right, because you’d be a better father.”
“I would be.” He scoffs. “Too late for that shit. She had an abortion. She killed my fuckin’ kid, man. What would you do?”
I tsk. “Her body, her choice.”
“That’s bullshit. She’s a murderer and should be in prison right now.”
“Okay, that makes more sense. Tell me, are you a podcast bro?”
“Man, I don’t know what that means. Yeah, I have a podcast, but it’s only one of my sources of income. Why, you need money? I have a shit ton saved up. Just get me out of here and?—”
I take Killer’s butterfly knife off the counter and open it with a basic flip that feels stupid now that I’ve seen Killer’s trick. I stab it into his thigh, leaving it there. “I think we both know you won’t be leaving.”
It takes him a second to register what I did and said, but when he does, he screams like a baby, cursing and blubbering while yanking at the binds on his wrists. “You fucking stabbed me!”
“If that freaks you out, just wait.” I take a pair of pliers and grip the end of his thumbnail.
It would’ve been easier to pull a pinkie nail out, but thumbs seem to get a bigger reaction.
It takes some maneuvering, but eventually, I separate it from the nail bed and tug.
His screams are otherworldly now and beginning to agitate me.
I need my headphones, which I find in the cupboard.
Once they’re on, the noise cancellation does its thing, and the sound is instantly muffled.
“You fucking asshole. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill every single last one of you.”
Too bad I can still make out his words.
I get to work on his other nails, and minutes later, all ten are in a pile on a tray. Naked fingers look so strange. They’re like eyebrows; you just look odd without them.
“Okay, so that makes up for her broken nails. What was next?” I walk over to the drugstore bag on the counter, knowing what I’ll find. “Killer is more violent than retaliatory, so I don’t think she’ll mind if I do this part.”
His mouth moves, but I can’t hear, and honestly, I don’t care what he has to say.
When I turn around and he sees what’s in my hand, his eyes go so wide, I fear they’ll pop out.
He rocks the chair backward as if he stands a chance at getting away.
There are some things in life you can’t avoid, and I’ll never understand why people don’t just accept their fate.
He and I both know this brush is going up his ass. There’s no way around it.
After setting the brush on a tray Killer has set out with her favorite knives, I spot exactly what I need.
Sometimes, it’s easier to drug a captive if we need to transport or, in this case, get him into position.
The club is lucky enough to have a doctor for a member, and though he keeps up his license, he really only practices when we need to be patched up.
Instead, he spends his days growing marijuana and selling it at the club’s dispensary, aptly named Dope.
But given Killer’s mission in life, he stepped in to teach us about a few drugs that’ll make our lives easier, like this one.
“This is Methohexital. It’s a barbiturate that has a rapid onset but is also short-acting.” I flick the syringe Killer had pre-loaded. “Since I have to get you into position and I don’t feel like fighting, you’re going to take a little nap.”
“Don’t do this, man. Please!” His cry is so loud, even my headphones can’t keep me from hearing it, so I increase the noise cancellation level, turning his pleas into muffled garbage.
I stab his thigh with the syringe, not so gently. By the time I’m done slowly injecting the drug into his system, his head is wobbling. Ten seconds later, he doesn’t even have the strength to hold it up at all.
I work fast because I only have five to ten minutes.
There’s a whole cabinet full of wound rope since that’s Rigger’s preferred kill method, so I cut two lengths off and set them aside.
The only way this’ll work is if he’s on the floor, so after cutting the zip ties, I give him a little nudge with my boot, and he topples to the side, hitting his head on the concrete with a thud .