Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
“Not my problem.”
I laugh. They both look at me. “Sorry, just—dude, it’s very clearly your problem right now.”
The guy swallows, doing his best to keep his head back so Outlaw’s blade doesn’t go any deeper. “Why the fuck would we make a move on the Eagles? You’re nowhere near our fucking territory. And your guy wasn’t the only one who got hit. We lost a brother at the same time.”
“Red. You’re right,” Outlaw agrees easily. Too easily. “So initially we were willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, but see, a lot of shit wasn’t adding up, and every time we get new info, the Devil’s Brigade seems to be right there in our faces. Some of our guys had an interesting talk with Joker’s daughter today.”
Killjoy’s eyes are bloodshot and sunken. “Attacking our women? That’s fucking low.”
“Motherfucker! You’re the one who broke into her fucking house!” I give him a swift kick in the ribs, careful to avoid a hit that might damage something internally. Yet. Sometimes it can’t be helped, but if you go too hard too fast, they’ll either tell you anything you want, even if it’s bullshit, or fucking die before you get what you need.
Besides, Outlaw’s the one who’s owed his blood right now.
I’m a little envious of the guys with families, to be honest. I didn’t exactly grow up with much of one myself, and the whole mommy, daddy, two-point-five kids thing never made sense to me. But I see the brothers at the club with their old ladies, and I could see that for myself. I’d fuck up anything on my own, but with Mad Dog and Rebel, I think between the three of us we could make something good with the right woman.
Outlaw twists the blade slowly. A tear slides down the guy’s cheek. “The Eagles can crush your piss-ant club like a fucking cockroach under our boot, so here’s your chance to be a hero. Tell us who’s responsible, and we’ll leave you to whatever fuckery is happening in the Devil’s Brigade. Start anywhere you fucking like. I’m listening.”
“I… I don’t fucking know.”
I sit on Killjoy’s ankles and use my own knife to slice through the laces on his boot.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He tries to kick, but his legs are tied and I’m a heavy motherfucker.
“I told you.” Touching his sock isn’t particularly appealing, so I just hold down his foot, place the tip of my knife in the joint of his little toe, and use his boot as a hammer, driving the blade straight through the bone and cartilage.
His scream is cut off by dry heaves.
“Rip…” Outlaw sighs.
“I told him!”
“I think—I think it was Red that shot. The guy you found. I wasn’t there, I swear I don’t know,” Killjoy sobs.
Good, we’re getting somewhere.
“He shot our boy, and then shot himself?” Outlaw snorts. “Yeah, sure.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to know.” He’s hyperventilating. “Please, fuck, I’d tell you if I did.”
“One of my best friends, my fucking brother in everything but blood, is still in critical condition. Cut the bullshit and tell us something that makes it worth keeping you alive instead of dropping your corpse off with your buddy’s.”
“I swear, I don’t—”
Outlaw grabs the guy by his hair and holds his head in place while he swings back the knife and drives it straight toward the underside of Killjoy’s jaw. His control is perfect, stopping with the tip buried in soft flesh but before any serious damage is done.
An unpleasant, rotten-earth scent floods the air. Aw, fuck. I hope it’s a good tarp.
“Rocco told us to keep an eye out for the girl! We weren’t going to kill her, just take her back to the club. I swear to fucking God I don’t know who shot your guy. Rumor at the club is that your man shot Red, and maybe Red got off a shot back.”
“Fuck,” Outlaw grunts. He rummages through his goodie bag, pulls out a bottle of water and a roll of duct tape. He squeezes open Killjoy’s mouth. “Drink. It’s a long fucking ride and there’s no AC in the back.”
More water gets on him than in him, but it’s enough to keep him going. Outlaw shoves the gag back in and slaps tape over it.
“You think it’s a good idea to take him back?” I ask.
“I think we already have one message we can send.” He points to the body. “So for the moment a hostage feels more useful than a second corpse.”
We wrap the body up in the tarp and haul it into the van. Outlaw pulls out a paper with the Screaming Eagles logo front and center. He tapes it to the tarp. When it’s Killjoy’s turn, he gets his head covered in a pillowcase and a shiny new set of handcuffs that will keep him in place in the back. He smells like shit, literally.