Page 75 of Healed

Vienna

As we walked into the garage, we heard the unmistakable sound of skin hitting skin, and the pained grunts from the Riders vice president.

“Having fun?” Dante said casually, watching as Hacksaw repeatedly punched Sam in the stomach.

“Our little birdie here doesn’t want to sing,” Hacksaw replied, his breathing heavy. “I was just warming him up for you.”

He punched Sam across the jaw, hard enough to loosen a few of his teeth. Sam’s only response was to spit blood on the floor and glare at us.

“We got it from here, brother, thanks,” Dante said.

Hacksaw nodded once, unwrapping the tape from his knuckles.

“Let me know if you need me to come back in. It’s been a while since I had this much fun,” he grinned. He went to leave, slapping me on the shoulder as he did so.

When the sound of the door closing behind him echoed into the garage, Dante walked over to Sam, grabbed one of the foldable chairs, and sat in front of him, straddling the chair and leaning his arms on the back of it.

I stayed where I was, close, but not too close, waiting for instructions. Usually, our roles were reversed. I was the “good cop” sitting in the chair, and Dante was the “bad cop” ready to torture out the information if our captive didn’t answer my questions.

He hadn’t needed to ask me if things were changing this time. He knew this was more than just a job for me. This was personal, and I would get my pound of flesh before the session was over.

It was just a case of biding my time until we extracted the information we needed. I could wait a few minutes longer.

“Sam,” Dante said casually, resting his chin on his hands. “Have you enjoyed your time with my secretary?”

“He’s a bitch,” Sam spat, clenching his hands behind his back and testing the strength of the rope.

Hacksaw had done a good job tying him up. I had no doubt he was stuck there until one of us decided to free him. I quickly glanced at his wrists, seeing that the rope had dug into him, and chuckled under my breath.

Shame.

“I’ll be sure to pass that on,” Dante said. “Hacksaw loves the feedback. Do you want some water or anything? Vienna, get the man here some water. What must he think of our hosting skills?”

I did as he asked, going to the mini fridge that was always kept under the desk, and pulled out a bottle of water. Unscrewing the cap, I walked back over and handed the bottle to Dante.

Sam looked at me warily and I grinned back, rocking on the balls of my feet, my hands in my front pocket.

He knew who I was. The bruises on my face—the bruises he had helped give me—were giveaway enough. But our paths had crossed often enough outside of the attempt on my life.

“Thank you. You remember Vienna, don’t you, Sam?” Dante asked with a frown. “Where is it you would have seen him before? Oh,” he clicked his fingers. “I remember. It might have been when you hit my vice around the head with a metal pole and allowed your president to attack him?”

“I—”

“Water under the bridge,” Dante waved him away before he could say anything else. “We know how it is. President makes an order, you follow the order.” He got up from his seat and walked closer to Sam. “We’re a club, too. We know the rules. And as you can see, Vienna has no lasting damage. Besides, that’s exactly what Vienna will be doing today. I make the order, he’ll be following. So we get it. Here,” he said, putting the bottle of water near Sam’s lips, ignoring the way his eyes slightly bugged out at his words.

As Sam gratefully accepted the water, Dante subtly nodded to me.

Pulling the knife from my back pocket, I marched forward, seized Sam’s hand and flattened it. In the next second, his index finger was on the floor, and he was spluttering behind the water bottle.

Dante grabbed the back of his head and pulled it back, tipping the water into his mouth as Sam tried to scream.

Gargles filled the air as he spluttered, trying to catch a breath, trying to yell his pain, but Dante pushed the bottle further and further down his throat.

Sam’s eyes widened, the front of his shirt now soaking, and I saw that as my opportunity to slice off his middle finger as well.

“Settle down,” Dante hissed, breaking his composure for a split second as he snapped Sam’s head backwards, away from the bottle.

And in the next second, he was straddling the chair once more and looking at Sam with mock patience.