Page 31 of Sweet Revenge for the Bikers

“Fucko mostly, but his cut says Killjoy.” I crouch in front of the goon, so we’re face to face. “My friend here drove an awful long way just to talk to you. I’m gonna take your gag out, and if you start screaming, I’m gonna start chopping off bits that won’t grow back, starting at your fucking feet and working my way up. We can see if you bleed out before I get up to your face. Got it?”

He nods frantically. I think he’s coming to terms with not making it out of this alive, but it’s human to grasp at straws, hoping for that little possibility that you might walk out at the end of the day.

The gag comes out covered in spit and snot. “Ew.” I wipe my hand on his shirt as he works his jaw in relief.

Outlaw pulls a knife from his belt, spinning it around his fingers in a flamboyant display of skill. He touches the tip of the knife to the guy’s neck, just below his jawline. A droplet of blood trickles down the blade.

“Believe it or not, I don’t particularly enjoy torture. You probably know why we’re here. Yes?”

“Your momma didn’t raise you right?” Killjoy suggests.

Fuck, I can appreciate loyalty, but it’s such a waste of time.

Outlaw shrugs. “You’re not wrong, but no.” He pushes the blade deeper. “Let’s cut this dance short. A couple days ago, one of our guys got shot.”

“Not my problem.”

I laugh. They both look at me. “Sorry, just—dude, it’s very clearly your problem right now.”

The guy swallows, doing his best to keep his head back so Outlaw’s blade doesn’t go any deeper. “Why the fuck would we make a move on the Eagles? You’re nowhere near our fucking territory. And your guy wasn’t the only one who got hit. We lost a brother at the same time.”

“Red. You’re right,” Outlaw agrees easily. Too easily. “So initially we were willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, but see, a lot of shit wasn’t adding up, and every time we get new info, the Devil’s Brigade seems to be right there in our faces. Some of our guys had an interesting talk with Joker’s daughter today.”

Killjoy’s eyes are bloodshot and sunken. “Attacking our women? That’s fucking low.”

“Motherfucker! You’re the one who broke into her fucking house!” I give him a swift kick in the ribs, careful to avoid a hit that might damage something internally. Yet. Sometimes it can’t be helped, but if you go too hard too fast, they’ll either tell you anything you want, even if it’s bullshit, or fucking die before you get what you need.

Besides, Outlaw’s the one who’s owed his blood right now.

I’m a little envious of the guys with families, to be honest. I didn’t exactly grow up with much of one myself, and the whole mommy, daddy, two-point-five kids thing never made sense to me. But I see the brothers at the club with their old ladies, and I could see that for myself. I’d fuck up anything on my own, but with Mad Dog and Rebel, I think between the three of us we could make something good with the right woman.

Outlaw twists the blade slowly. A tear slides down the guy’s cheek. “The Eagles can crush your piss-ant club like a fucking cockroach under our boot, so here’s your chance to be a hero. Tell us who’s responsible, and we’ll leave you to whatever fuckery is happening in the Devil’s Brigade. Start anywhere you fucking like. I’m listening.”

“I… I don’t fucking know.”

I sit on Killjoy’s ankles and use my own knife to slice through the laces on his boot.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He tries to kick, but his legs are tied and I’m a heavy motherfucker.

“I told you.” Touching his sock isn’t particularly appealing, so I just hold down his foot, place the tip of my knife in the joint of his little toe, and use his boot as a hammer, driving the blade straight through the bone and cartilage.

His scream is cut off by dry heaves.

“Rip…” Outlaw sighs.

“I told him!”

“I think—I think it was Red that shot. The guy you found. I wasn’t there, I swear I don’t know,” Killjoy sobs.

Good, we’re getting somewhere.

“He shot our boy, and then shot himself?” Outlaw snorts. “Yeah, sure.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know.” He’s hyperventilating. “Please, fuck, I’d tell you if I did.”

“One of my best friends, my fucking brother in everything but blood, is still in critical condition. Cut the bullshit and tell us something that makes it worth keeping you alive instead of dropping your corpse off with your buddy’s.”

“I swear, I don’t⁠—”