I’ve never been a man who feels fear. I’ve looked death in the eyes so many times and lived to tell the tale, but it’s not just me now. I have Briella to consider and if anything happens to me, it will fucking destroy her. The thought of being without her makes my body fill with ice, my heart race. I don’t want to lose her, but this might not be my choice.
“You spying on us?” the other guy demands.
“The fuck?”
“You spying on us?” tattoo guy presses.
“Sic Bastards ain’t got shit we’re interested in.”
I earn a kick to the head for that disrespect, which leaves my vision rolling. I groan and try to control the fire burning through my skull. Fuck, these bastards have lead feet. Their kicks add more damage to the hurt I’m already feeling and my head and stomach feel like a ball of pain.
“Ain’t even lying,” I growl through my teeth, anger making my tongue loosen. “You ain’t shit to the Sons. Ain’t one of us giving two fucks about what you’ve got going on.”
I see the fist coming at me. Then, darkness claims me.
When I come around, I’m aware of intense pressure on my shoulders. My chest is a ball of fire and I can barely draw air in. I wheeze out a breath, my lungs burning and try to make sense of my new situation.
I’m still in their kill room, but now, I’m hanging from a hook in the ceiling, my arms stretched tight over my head. My tee is gone and I’m hanging there in just my jeans. My feet are bare and I’m barely able to get more than my big toe onto the concrete, which is putting even more pressure on my shoulders. I let out a frustrated breath. This isn’t going to end well.
The two arseholes who beat on me appear in my line of sight. I watch as tat guy moves over to a tray on top of the table and starts to examine an impressive collection of knives.
He’s trying to scare me, to get into my head, but he picked the wrong bloke to try that with. I’m not easily frightened, and this isn’t my first time on the end of a torturer’s blade. If he thinks he can break me, he’s mistaken.
I give him the laziest look I can manage as he turns with a knife in his hand. It’s a wicked looking blade, with a serrated edge that will hurt like a bitch. I don’t show any concern, though.
“Why were you in our territory?” tat guy demands.
I sneer at him, not answering his question. I’m not bringing Briella’s name into this shit storm ever. I’ll die before any of this bounces back on her.
Tat guy steps forwards with a macabre grin. I stare him down, not willing to let a single emotion play across my face. He doesn’t hesitate to drag the knife down my bare chest. I grit my teeth. It is like dragging a line of fire through my skin and the burn is deep. Blood pumps down my torso, splashing onto the floor beneath me.
“Why were you in our territory?” he repeats.
“Fuck you,” I spit out.
He slices again, this time low on my side, beneath my ribs. I try to breathe through my nose to block the pain out, but I’m not sure it’s helping.
I’ve watched men be tortured many times, I’ve even tortured myself, but this guy lacks the finesse of Fury or even Rav. Our sergeant-at-arms has a way with a blade that would break even the strongest man. This guy is a fucking amateur. It hurts, but he could make me scream, if he had the first clue what he was doing.
“Why were you in our territory?”
My eyes slide to the dirty ceiling, asking the universe for patience. “My club will be here soon, and for every wound you inflict on me, they’ll pay it back ten times. Ever heard of Fury? He loves his knives too.” I give him what I’m sure is a bloodied grin.
Tat guy snorts, but his friend has the sense to look a little worried. His eyes widen at Fury’s name. None of us in the club are bitches. The Sons have a reputation, and for a good reason. We’re the nightmare that’s whispered in the dark, but Fury is the master of nightmares. These fuckers acting as if we’re a two-bit, weekend riders club is laughable. I wasn’t lying when I said the club would deliver retribution. It’ll be swift, too. I just have to survive long enough for them to find me.
“Wasn’t spying,” I grind out.
“What where you doing there then?”
Rescuing a girl. “It was personal business.”
Tat guy snorts. “Would that shit wash with your club?”
It really wouldn’t. Respect has to be shown. I underestimated the Sic Bastards, something I’ll never do again.
“You already know the answer to that, boy.”
I shouldn’t poke the bear, but these blokes are pissing me off. Wannabe gangsters without the first clue how to take on a world that will chew them up and spit them back out.
Tat guy doesn’t take well to my slight. He pulls his hand back and slams the knife into my thigh.
I scream out. It’s an instinctive reaction and one I can’t stop. Pain pounds through my leg as blood bubbles around the blade embedded in my flesh, soaking through the denim. Fuck, that hurts. My body starts to shake as I stare down at the knife sticking out of my jeans, unable to comprehend what just happened. Nausea rolls over me and I swallow down bile, but the steady blood flow tells me he hasn’t hit anything major.
“You fucking cunt,” I gasp out, making the chains wrapped around my wrists rattle.
Tat guy smirks, then without warning tears the knife back out of my flesh. I sag against the chains, unable to put weight on the limb. Fuck.
“Why were you in Bastards territory?”
“Fuck you,” I snarl.
He slams the knife into my other thigh and I see double for a moment. I’m sure I’m going to pass out from the pain, but I force myself to breathe through it. I won’t show weakness. I’m a Sons. I’m better than that.
When he pulls it out this time, I feel blood pooling down my legs.
“Bandage the wounds,” tat guy tells his friend. “Don’t want this shit over too fast now, do we?”
I glare at him, ignoring the sweat beading on my forehead, ignoring the pain radiating through both legs, ignoring everything but the burn of vengeance that I will have before this shit is through. I’m going to kill both men, slowly, and I’m going to enjoy every fucking minute of it.
26
Briella
By the time I hear the rumble of Harleys, I’m nearly hysterical. It’s only been a few minutes since Daimon was snatched—five at the most—but it feels like an eternity has passed. I push up off the ground where I am sitting and scramble to my feet as Levi and what looks like most of the clubhouse pull their bikes up next to where Daimon’s is abandoned.
Levi is first off his bike. He tugs his helmet off as he rushes to my side, his eyes crawling over my face. A snarl greets me as he takes in everything. I haven’t looked at the damage, but I was hit a few times and I can feel the dried blood against my skin. My jaw and cheek are aching fiercely. I’m sure I’ll be bruised tomorrow, but that’s the least of my concerns. Right now, my only focus is on Daimon and getting him back.
“He’s gone, we have to get him back,” I ramble, gripping my brother’s arms as I try to steady my suddenly wobbly legs.