Page 13 of Risk (Mayhem Makers: MMM #3)
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Risk
We’ve been at this for hours, and so far, these pieces of shits have kept their mouths sealed. We’ve pulled out some of our best tricks, and yet they’ve stayed silent.
“We need to up our game,” Conan suggests. “Use one as a fall guy.”
Pres stretches his neck, popping it with each twist. “Whatever you want to do, do it,” Kodiak drones. “I’m losing patience with these pansy ass motherfuckers. We need to get this shit done and find out who their bosses are.”
“Risk?” Conan calls my name. “Want the honors?”
“Fucking right I do,” I growl. “No holds barred?”
“Fucking unleash the beast, man,” Conan recommends. “Get creative.”
“Bring me the mouthy fucker,” I tell Stixx. As one of our prospects, he’s here to do our dirty work for us. I don’t mind shedding blood, and disassembling my enemy, but I hate cleaning up afterward.
“The one you told me said your old lady is on the market for a price?” Stixx inquires.
“That’d be the one,” I answer as I make my way to the vault and start looking for the right equipment.
As I scan each drawer and shelf, I shake my head.
Brass knuckles, nope. Too easy. Bowie knife, nah, I could nick an artery before I’m done playing.
I pass a few more sections until one of my favorite instruments catches my eye.
“Hello, old friend.” My grandfather was a carpenter back in the day before his arthritis kicked in and yanked his career away from him.
He and my grandmother are the only fond memories I have from my childhood and even though I only have a few of their possessions, I covet them.
I have a cubby that holds his old tools, and the first smile I’ve had in hours crosses my face as I grab his claw hammer and hold it in my hand.
It’s precisely weighted and will do a lot of damage.
Not to mention, it’s intimidating as fuck to look at.
I stroke his plane and mentally remind myself to bring it upstairs with me later to sharpen my knives.
I longingly look at his handsaws and other handheld tools before saying later to them with the wave of my hand and exit our weaponry room.
The guys give me confused looks when I reappear with only one item on me. I shrug my shoulders at them and say, “Let’s get ready to rumble.”
“Fucking hell,” Regulator grumbles.
“That’s gonna leave a mark,” Rev comments. “Good choice, brother.”
“Thanks,” I respond, going over to the folding chair. I place the hammer on the table in front of it and remove my cut, laying it neatly over the back. No matter how much you scrub, you’ll always leave some sort of trace element behind in the form of DNA.
Conan and Kodiak come over, standing shoulder to shoulder with me. “What do you need from us,” Kodiak inquires.
“Not much. Maybe a little commentary to ramp up their anxiety,” I suggest.
“Mental fuckery. I like it,” Conan says, nodding his head. “I’ll whisper sweet nothings in their ears while you knock a few teeth out.”
“I’m putting a twenty on him breaking the fucknut’s jaw,” Rev announces, pulling out a twenty from his wallet and slapping it down on the table.
“I’ll take that bet,” Tritan replies. “And double it. I think he’ll go for the kneecaps first.” When he tosses two twenties down beside Rev’s the room livens up with ongoing wagers.
I’m not going into this caring about whose pocket is lined, the stakes are higher than that for me.
They can gamble all they want, but once I swing my grandfather’s hammer, all I’m going to be trying to do is cause maximum damage.
“I don’t have a plan in mind, y’all are on your own with the betting pool. ”
“Come on, throw a brother a bone,” Rev yammers. “Daddy needs a new paint job on his baby girl.”
“Get a sugar mama,” I rebut. “I make no promises on where the old claw is gonna strike.”
Conan wheezes, thumping his chest to clear his airway before saying, “I can’t believe you named your grandpa’s hammer ‘the old claw’ .”
“It seemed fitting,” I return, shrugging my shoulders because I don’t find anything wrong with it. “You named your bike, didn’t ya?”
“Leave Rosie out of this,” Conan hisses.
“She and her five sisters have been good to me.” I roll my eyes at his pun.
He does own six bikes, five of them are in storage that only get pulled out on a rainy day because Rosie is his favorite and he won’t take the chance of laying her down if he hits a slick spot in the road.
“I told y’all long ago that he’s… extra,” Kodiak excuses, ruffling his brother’s hair. “It’s why he gets special treatment. You have to crouch down to reach his level.”
“Stop that! I’m not your cub,” Conan grumbles, trying to lay his hair back down now that it’s spiked from Kodiak’s paws. “And I’m not an imbecile, Marcum!”
“Never said you were, baby brother,” Kodiak acquiesces. “But you don’t always act your age, either.”
Conan snorts, slashing his hand across his neck. “One day, you’re gonna push me too far, brother.”
Losing my patience, I ask, “Can you two stop fooling around? I’d like to get back to the business at hand.”
They wave their hands at me, indicating that I have the floor.
Shaking my head, I walk to where the three jackasses are chained to the wall and eyeball them.
I had asked Stixx to bring forward the mouthy one, and he did, but he didn’t separate him completely from his counterparts.
The one I wanted to get my hands on the most, is a smidgeon closer to me so I reach up and stretch my hand across his neck and press in.
When the fucker’s eyes bulge from their sockets as he gasps for air, a viscous grin spreads along my face.
Leaning in, I confirm, “Sure you don’t want to talk?”
He coughs and sputters before saying two syllables that have my ears ringing. “Fuck. You.”
“Nah, you’re not my type and that’s not my kink.
But if that’s your thing, I’m sure I can find a volunteer.
There’s all sorts of nutty fuckers online that I can offer you up to on a silver platter.
Maybe I can bring the club a little income while I’m at it.
How much do you think you’re worth?” I squeeze a little tighter and lean in so he can hear me. “What is my wife worth?”
“Your wife?” one of the other blockheads asks, sounding baffled. “Our ladies are single and available. We don’t offer up taken women; it’s why we get to them while they’re young.”
“How young are we talking?” Kodiak steps forward and asks. “Nineteen? Twenty?”
When the men stay silent, but the two fuckwads share a wide-eyed look, my brothers bristle. “Younger? Seriously? You’re fucking with us, right?” Regulator hisses out the myriad of questions, his face turning a molten shade of red. “Are you shitting me?”
“How old was McKenna?” I ask, placing myself front and center, making sure I’m all they see. “How. Old?”
“Don’t know,” one answers. “You’d have to ask Marshall.”
“Who’s Marshall?” Conan probes. “Is he your boss?”
The men clam up after that, and that’s when I know that I need to press this issue. I release the man’s throat that I never let go of and toss him to the ground, straddling him. “Who? The fuck. Is Marshall?” I ask, drawing out the question.
“Fuck. You,” the man repeats his earlier words.
I draw back my fist and slam it into his jaw.
I hear Rev ask if that counts toward their bet but I’m so out of it, anger riding me hard that I begin punching the piece of shit laid out beneath me in synchrony—one striking blow after another.
I don’t relent, he’s a throwaway as far as I’m concerned. One less scumbag tainting the earth.
I don’t lose steam, I keep going until Kodiak places his hand on my shoulder, telling me, “You broke his neck, Risk. He’s not going to feel anything you’re doing to him. But we have two more victims waiting for you to dole out justice.”
“Now wait a minute!” the blond one interjects loudly, holding his hands up in front of him, trying to talk us down. “If we talk, will you let us live?”
“No,” I answer. “But if you do talk, I’ll make it painless.” Maybe. Possibly. But I doubt it since I’m full of unadulterated rage.