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“I don’t know what you’re fucking talking about,” he spits in my face, baring his teeth. “I’m just here mindin’ my own business ...”
“So it wasn’t you who tried to jump my shipment and fuckin’ steal my stash?”
His eyes flash, but I already know he’s going to deny it. “I said, I don’t know what you’re fucking talking about.”
“Then let me refresh your memory.”
Using my other hand, I curl it around his throat and squeeze, my arm pulsing and aching as he squirms in my grips. His face slowly starts going red, and I know any second now, he’ll cave because he won’t want to die. The problem is, he is going to die today, he just doesn’t know it yet.
“It wasn’t me. It was ordered. I had no fucking choice,” he wheezes.
“Who ordered it?”
“My boss, Cole. He wanted the shipment, he wants control. I was just doin’ my job.”
“And where,” I growl, squeezing tighter, “might I find this Cole?”
He squirms, clawing at my arms. “Let me fucking go.”
“You have a matter of seconds left before the air runs out and I keep hanging on until you don’t start breathin’ again. The choice is yours. Tell me or die. Either way, it ain’t lookin’ good for you.”
“Warehouse on second street.”
Grinning, I release his throat but not his shirt. I keep him pressed against the wall as I pull a syringe out of my jacket, and, before he can question it, I plunge it into his neck. A lethal dose of drugs. It will only take minutes to kill him, if he’s lucky. I hope it’ll take a lot fucking longer than that. Men like this don’t deserve the air they breathe. I know for a fact he has assaulted more than one woman in his time, not to mention the charge for child abuse.
That alone is enough to bring him down. I threw the extras in for fun.
“I told you what you wanted,” he wheezes as his face turns blue and he tries to push me away, his strength waning.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I changed my mind. See you in hell.”
His choking sounds grow louder as I drop him to the ground. He claws aimlessly at his throat as his body twitches before he finally passes out. His heart will stop, of that I have no doubt. Staring down at him once more, I turn and walk out of the alley without a second glance. Good riddance.
My phone rings just as I get out of the alley and throw a leg over my bike. Pulling it out, I see Muff’s name flashing across the screen. I answer it with a gruff, “What?”
“Don’t even want to ask where the fuck you are.”
“Ain’t any of your concern, brother. What can I do for you?”
“Jackson wants you to check out a job while you’re in town.”
“Flick me an address.”
“Spike ...”
“Later, Muff.”
I hang up the phone before he can get another word in and start my bike. I don’t need his fucking lecture about what I’m doing. If this club was running the way it should be, I wouldn’t have to be doing this shit. The fact is, we have been too lenient on the people who continue to mess around with us, and now we’re overrun by shit.
Jackson isn’t stepping up, but I am.
He wants quiet, peace, a club that keeps on the downlow but when I was running a club, the world knew who we were and they didn’t fuck with us. That’s how it should be. Ain’t no reason for it to be any different. We’re a motorcycle club, not fucking Girl Scouts. If Jackson has a problem, he knows where to find me.
Pulling out onto the street, I make my way toward what I need to do, and then I have places to be.
Places like finding where my woman is because she ain’t answering her phone.
I don’t like her being so far away, but I especially don’t like when she doesn’t answer the phone.
