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Carter, Nevada
Bishop
“I don’t know anything,” the beaten and bloodied man pathetically whined.
“Don’t lie to me,” Reaper said, giving me the silent signal to proceed when the man refused to talk.
Not holding back, I swung my fist so hard I felt two successive snaps against my knuckles. The fucker’s ribs broke easier than a goddamned dollar-store toy. Taz screamed and thrashed in place, his body shuddered from his hairline down to his toes as he registered the magnitude of the pain.
Reaper held up his hand to get me to stop. “That’s enough, Bishop. I think he got the message.”
And, lucky for us, he did. The piece of shit junkie confessed to having kidnapped and raped three under-aged girls before selling them off to an even bigger piece of shit pimp than he was.
“Where are they now?” Reaper demanded, his face as cold and remote as Mars.
“I don’t know, man,” Taz cried. “I don’t exactly send them postcards once I sell them.”
Not bothering to wait for Reaper’s signal, I backhanded the man across his already bruised cheek. His nose immediately broke open like a faucet, pouring down and staining his filthy t-shirt.
Ever since our MC had been accused of trafficking women and children a few months back, our Club President, Reaper, had decided to check into what was actually going on. Though we were no saints, we didn’t put up with shit like this. And doubly so when our names were attached.
After we’d kicked over some pretty big rocks, we’d discovered more than a fair amount of snakes beneath them. It turned out that there were scumbags doing the exact thing the Feds had tagged us for doing, and that just couldn’t stand with the Devil’s Riders. We got busy taking names and kicking asses in retribution for these unforgivable sins and we weren’t about to stop any time soon.
To put a stop to this shit, Reaper had declared it open season on any motherfuckers tying our names to these horrific crimes, as well as any rapist, pedo bastards we happened to discover along the way. We figured it was our way of giving back to the community. It saved the taxpayers a shit-ton on housing these rat bastards in prisons across the state until they finally got shanked by someone with big enough balls to permanently clear them off the gameboard.
“Why do I keep hearing your name every time I step out my front door?” Reaper demanded. “It’s come to my attention that you’ve been feeding all the stray girls you can find over state lines to perverts and sex fiends in exchange for free product. Now why would people keep telling me that if it wasn’t true?”
“It’s all lies,” Taz choked out through a mouthful of blood. “I only sell a few here or there when my business isn’t doing well. You know, even the score a bit.”
What I think Taz meant to say was that he kidnapped and raped women when he consumed too much of his own product and needed to make up the difference to his dealers.
I snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause everyone knows that junkies stop buying their drug of choice whenever we’re in a recession.”
Reaper snorted. “Doesn’t sound right to me. Bishop, remind this sack of piss what happens when people lie to the Devils.”
Tying a plastic bag around the man’s swollen head, I held it tightly in place until I knew his lungs would be screaming for air. Allowing several more precious seconds to tick by, I pulled it off his head and watched the man’s eyes slowly come back online and roll back into place.
“Who gave our names to the Feds?” Reaper pressed, spreading his feet wide and folding his arms across his chest.
“All I know is that one chick who turned on you guys. The stripper that used to work at the Happy Ending. I don’t know anything else,” Taz blurted out in a rush.
Flecks of bright red spittle flung out in all directions as he talked, and I stepped out of reach to avoid being covered in it.
“Come on, man!” Taz begged. “Why would I have that kind of information? I’m a nobody. People don’t tell me shit!”
Well, we at least agreed on that. This cocksucker was a nobody. And since he was nothing, I wasn’t going to mind dumping him like the trash he was when we were done with his sorry ass.
Reaper barked an unamused laugh. “While I don’t disagree that you are less valuable to me than the shit I scrape off my boots, I don’t fucking believe that you don’t know things, Taz. Someone’s whispering in your ear, and I want to know who.”
When I stepped forward to deliver another round of blows, Reaper raised his hand to tell me to hold up. After a few seconds of the rat considering his best options, Taz finally caved. “I heard the story from Penn when I was making a deal for some ice.”
“The heroine dealer?” I clarified, as that was the only one I knew by that name.
“Yeah, that’s the one,” Taz replied, liking me better when I was talking than when I was silently beating his ass.
Reaper tilted his head to the side. “What exactly did he say?”
Taz licked his dried and cracked lips rapidly like a nervous lizard. “He said that you had a rat in your club. That he was causing you all sorts of trouble and that you couldn’t figure out who it was.”
