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“I’ll talk to her,” I growled.
He gave me a look like I was the biggest idiot he’d ever met, but I knew I needed to at least try. If I didn’t, could I look at myself in the mirror with a clear conscience? Could I look at Sioux?
I wanted to be a man she could be proud of. Helping someone who needed me was part of that. I needed to be more than muscle for the club. Because she deserved so much more than that.
When we walked through the door that led downstairs, silence descended on me and my brothers. It wasn’t because what was about to happen deserved our reverence. No, we tended to be quiet when we went down to meet our guests because there is a certain type of terror within the unknown of quiet.
Scythe had already gotten a lot of information out of Hustle during the first session we had with him. Our second visit wasn’t about information. It was about pain.
Even though all my club brothers couldn’t be present, most of them were. And all the men who stormed that shithole were surrounding me, fury rolling off them like mist beckoning a demon of reckoning and retribution.
Hustle looked like shit as he sat chained to a folding chair with his head lolling forward toward his chin. The evidence of the interrogation with Scythe was evident from the blood weeping from wounds and the bruises that littered his naked body.
People who abuse those and are a blight on humanity don’t deserve clothing. And all the better to inflict pain when skin is exposed.
We had full control over the room. We could turn the temperature up or down to prolong their pain and torture. It was psychological warfare just as much as it was physical.
You never knew what was going to get one person to break, but we liked having options.
Knowing today was the day I was in charge of Hustle’s stay with us, I stomped toward him. I kept my steps slow, wanting to torture him a little and keep him guessing about when the next one would land. As I got closer, he started to tremble and I could see he was trying to open his eyes, but they were swollen shut.
That gave me a sense of sick satisfaction, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.
Hustle sneered, trying to find the last of his bravado, “I don’t have anything else to say. You might as well kill me.”
I could have punched him. I could have sliced him with my knife. Hell, I could have taken a bat to his knees.
But I didn’t do any of those things.
With a swift movement, I backhanded him. His head snapped around to the side and blood started to trickle over his lip and chin.
“What the fuck,” he moaned.
“Little bitches get slapped,” my voice was ice cold and monotone.
Hustle tilted his head back as he forced one eye open. The way he cackled was fucking chilling. “Oh, Apostle. I was wondering when you would want a turn with me.”
None of us were surprised that he knew who we were, not after the session Scythe had with him. It was clear that he was given a lot of information about us, but it was all provided. You didn’t need to talk to Hustle for more than five minutes to know that he wasn’t smart enough to get the information any other than through spoon feeding.
“The boss told me about you,” he sneered.
Even though I knew he was goading me, I felt my heart start to pound in my chest as adrenaline rushed through my veins. He was going to get exactly what he wanted from me.
I knew it.
My brothers surrounding me knew it.
Because we all knew that I had one trigger, one thing that would set me over the edge and no one would be able to hold me responsible.
You could feel the tension rising around us and it became crystal clear that Hustle was about to flip my fucking switch.
“Apostle, it was your woman that Anarchy shot, wasn’t it?” His voice was filled with darkness, but it was like hearing a little boy trying to be menacing with the violence that swirled around me to do my bidding. “Tell me, did she make it? I don’t remember.”
With a snap of my fingers, something was tossed in my direction. I caught the machete with ease, having Scythe toss me the same weapon more than once. Not only is it effective, but it’s menacing as fuck.
If it’s used to fell jungles, do you really want it coming near your skin?
Yeah, I think not.
