Page 4 of Tormented
“Oh, no,” I say. “She’s pretty darn smart.”
“How?” He screws his nose up at my assertion.
“Because she took all that information you gave her, all those murders, those shoddy deals, and that clever fuckin’ woman put the puzzle pieces together. And you know what she got?”
He shrugs.
“A fuckin’ morbid picture that showed her the one thing no expectant mother wants to see: danger for her baby. She’s worried that your selfish fuckin’ actions are going to get her and that kid killed.”
“No, she’s got it wrong. I’d never let anyone get to our kid. Let me—” he splutters “—talk to her.” The blood pumps from his side faster the more agitated he gets.
Stop playing . . . it’s time . . . .
I shake my head and push out of the chair. “Sorry, friend. Your woman was pretty firm on her rules.” I make a mock sad face at the guy. “Didn’t want anything to do with how you went, just to know that you had.”
“Fuck you,” he slurs, spitting blood with his words. “Fuck you, asshole.”
I lift the knife to his jaw, ready to cut his tongue out from underneath when my phone vibrates on the porch rail. I glance over and lift a finger to the guy. “Hold that thought.”
He coughs, spitting up more blood as I answer.
“Go ahead.”
“You busy?”
King. “Depends what you count as busy, Pres.” I swing my gaze back to my new friend, smiling.
“I’ll make it brief anyway.”
The asshole on the chair moans amongst his cough, probably realizing just how screwed he is as the pool of blood at his feet grows from both the knife wound and his mouth.
“Sure I’m not interrupting something?” King asks.
“No. You’re fine.”
Makes the climax that much better when we drag it out, anyway . . . .
“I need you to head back to Lincoln.”
I turn away and absently choose the next knife while we talk. “Why?”
“I’ve called the officers together, and I want you there to tell them what you told Hooch. They need to know what your father’s got planned. I think it’s time we put his future to the vote, don’t you?”
“Long overdue, brother.” The grievances between my drug lord father and the Fallen Aces go back further than my history with the club. He’s been underhandedly trying to get the Aces on his payroll for years, but these boys don’t give in to blackmail lightly.
“I’m counting on you bein’ onside with the Aces takin’ the lead in this,” King says.
“If it puts that fucker six foot under, I’m in.” I jam the phone between my shoulder and ear. “Just one request.”
“That?”
“You let me finish him off. I’ll allow your boys to bring him to his knees, but I want to be the last face he sets his dyin’ eyes on.”
“Deal. I know what it means to you, and I respect that. You think you can make it here in time for the meetin’?”
My captive spits off to the side, panting as he stares out at me from under his brow.
Impatient little bastard . . . .
“Sure, I can make it. I’ll finish things here and head right on up.”
King ends the call, and I set the phone back on the porch rail while I crack the joints in my neck. My heart beats a little faster, my smile a little wider as I turn back to my victim with renewed enthusiasm.
Fuck, I love the smell of blood and revenge in the morning.
Me too . . . .