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Another pussy. I end all that with my arms up in the air like an Olympic gymnast and grumble once again that there are no cameras here. I would have loved to watch a replay of that display of athleticism from a geriatric like me, but I’ll have to settle for a play-by-play description. My baby girl will love that.
I look at Kraykowski before squatting down next to him. He’s starting to get a nice egg forming on his forehead and he has a trickle of blood running down his temple. He’s middle-aged but still looks like he could fight me if he needs to, so I take my knife out of my boot and slide the blade through his suit jacket, and his shirt, into the soft flesh between his two lower ribs. I flick my eyes up to his face and see he’s still out of it. I snort before stabbing between another two ribs. He’s gonna feel that when he comes around. Taking out Tweedle Dum’s phone, I punch in what I need. Time to bundle this fucker up and get back to the clubhouse for a little fun and games.
Rhodie
I look through the kitchen hatch into the dining room and I can’t help but let my gaze search out my girl. She’s laughing with Ana and that good-looking bastard Sasha. I’d be worried about him spending time with my girl if I didn’t know that he was married to Roman. Taking a bite of my bacon, I choke a little when the main door swings open and slams against the wall with force. Obviously it’s been kicked in. I vault through the kitchen hatch, gun in hand, making my way to Chewy to keep her safe when I look up.
“What the fuck?” Marx roars. With good reason. Standing just inside the door is Pops, with Kraykowski slumped at his feet. There also seems to be blood dripping from somewhere.
“Guys, tracker says Pops is on the move. According to this he’s - “ Tav’s disembodied voice says from the hallway, growing louder before he enters the room, then stops walking abruptly when he glances up from his phone. “Oh, hey Pops.”
“Ho, ho, ho, I bought you kids a present. Your way was taking too long, and no offense Marx, this place is nice and all, but I’m used to slightly higher class entertainment, if you know what I mean.” He waggles his eyebrows and I hear Chewy, Tav, Gus, and Jules all groan. I am damn certain if Pops wasn’t an old man, Marx would have punched him in the face by now. Instead, he takes a deep breath, releases it, and gestures to me and Rider to grab our guest. He doesn’t need to tell us where we’re going, our guest will be accommodated in the back shed, and I’m guessing Chewy will be in on the interrogation. Once Rider and I have secured Kraykowski, we head back to the common room where I can hear Marx barking out orders.
“Right, we have two goals. First goal is to get as much info out of Kraykowski as we can and get rid of him. The second goal is to bring down the auction and get those women to safety and back home. The plan for that will depend on what we find out from our guest. Pops and Chewy, I’m guessing you’ll be in on the interrogation?” Chewy grins wide and nods like a bobblehead. She’s bouncing in her seat and I just know that twisted mind of hers will come up with all sorts of violent ideas.
“Right, so we’ll have Rhodie and myself, Chewy and Pops, Roman, do you want two people to represent Bratva in there?” I look toward the Russian, who, even though it’s still early morning, is sitting in his three-piece suit, hair immaculate. His dark eyes stare at the wall for a moment before he nods his head.
“Lexi and Sasha will represent us.” Before Marx can comment, he holds his hand up to stop him. “Yes, I know that this may not be the ideal place for a young woman. However, she is learning the ropes from Sasha and I believe she will bring value to our endeavor.” Marx flicks me a look and I shrug. I mean, yeah, it’s probably not the best place for an 18-year-old, however looking at Chewy, she seems perfectly normal and who knows how long she’s been at this. If Lexi’s father isn’t worried, I don’t see why we should be. Whatever is on my face must convince Marx, because he gives Roman a chin lift before barking orders.
“Ok, those chosen gather your shit and meet back here in 5 minutes.” Those in on the interrogation get busy, gathering our favorite methods of torture. Chewy is beside herself and I see her and Pops across the room having a serious conversation. There are a lot of hand movements and nodding. My shit is always in the shed, ready and waiting, so I just hang around waiting for the others.
“Wow, so you guys are like real bikers, huh?” Ana asks from her spot at the table. She’s sat with Katya and Gus.
“Yup, pretty much. You have a problem with what’s about to happen?” I raise my brow at her. If she has a problem, then I have a problem and we’ll have to remedy that before we go any further. She waves her hand at me.
“Shit no. You do you. I just need that fucker sorted because I didn’t come halfway around the world to be sold to some old rich dude. Fuck that!” We all smile and I watch as Gus places his palm on her upper back, his thumb stroking the side of her neck.
“It’d never happen. Trust me, we have your back.” She squints at him slightly before a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips.
“I don’t need you to protect me. But thanks anyway,” she answers him. They do a stare-y eye fuck thing before she shakes his hand off and turns to look at me.
“Oh, will we be able to watch the fun stuff?” She asks.
“Yeah, why the fuck not?” Marx lets out an ear-piercing whistle. I grab Chewy’s hand and we follow him out the back. We have the main guys, me and Marx, Chewy and her Pops with her tool bag, Sasha and Lexi with a sleek black case, Roman, Gus, Tav and Jules, Ana, Katya, Wire, and Rider. She’s a tight fit, but we all cram in, champing at the bit to get going.
We circle around Kraykowski and I’m sure he’s putting on a front. We are one scary bunch of motherfuckers and he doesn’t seem overly concerned. Nor has he said anything.
“Oh shit, I forgot I dislocated his jaw when I was cramming him into the Uber. Paid extra for the guy to look the other way, but in my rush, I accidentally dropped him face-first into the trunk.” Pops shrugs like his sentence made any sense at all.
“Hold the fuck up, you took an Uber? Scrap that. How the fuck did you end up with Kraykowski, anyway?” Rider asks the room the question I’ve been dying to know, but no one seemed to ask.
“Oh, his henchmen sucked. I killed them and set them up in a sweet little scene. Security didn’t realize they were dead and led Fuck Knuckle into the room. I shot the guard, shot Kraykowkski’s gun from his hand,” he flicks his head to the bleeding hand that Rider and I have cuffed to chains above his head.
“THEN I vaulted across the table like goddamned Simone Biles and pistol-whipped him. Stabbed him a couple’a times, then called an Uber for pickup, dropped him on his face, and Voila! We’re here. Lemme fix his face quick smart and we’ll be able to get him singing like Aretha.” Without hesitation Pops grabs Kraykowski’s head, his thumbs on either side of his mouth, his fingers digging into the underside of his jaw and with a quick movement, pushes Kraykowki’s jaw back into place. He moans long and low whilst Pops slaps him a couple of times on the cheek and calls him a “Good boy”. Chuckles and snorts are heard around the room before Marx’s booming voice cuts through.
“Right. How do we want to run this? Chewy, you have a little payback you want to exact. Does this need to be done with him fully intact?” Chewy uses the hand holding mine to guide my arm up over her head, settling it across her shoulders and snuggling into my side.
“He stuck his dirty dick in my mouth when I was 13 years old. So I’m going to teach his cock a lesson. But that can wait till just before the grand finale.” She smirks up at me and I feel like I know where this is going.
“We are happy to attend where needed, so, after you,” Sasha tips his head at Marx before settling in next to Lexi, who is leaning against the metal table. Marx nods at me and Rider and I get to work. We both have the knuckle dusters that Mad Dog gave us for Christmas when we were both 18, and we target Kraykowski’s soft parts. He grunts here and there and even spits blood onto the floor. When we feel we have softened him up a little, I share a look with Sasha as Marx starts with his questioning.
“You know why you’re here. We want to know the ins and outs of the pending auction. What does Ushakov stand to gain? Who will be the big players at the auction?” Whilst Marx has been spitting out his questions, Sasha and Lexi have taken Kraykowski down from the pulleys and have placed him into a metal chair. Sasha has shown Lexi how to tie him down with some pointers from Chewy and Pops. This is some fucked up lesson they’re teaching this poor girl and yet she seems happy to be given this instruction. She looks up at them once she’s done and they all inspect her work before giving her smiles, thumbs up, and, in Chewy’s case, an awkward pat on the shoulder.
Kraykowski is squirming a little in his seat and thus far has kept his mouth shut. I’d admire the man’s dedication if we weren’t trying to get shit outta him. Roman steps up and passes his husband a sleek black case. Sasha places it on the table and opens it to reveal some tools I recognize and some I don’t. Lexi steps up and grabs a pair of heavy-looking pliers, whilst Sasha picks up something that looks like a mini blow torch. Lexi pulls her arm back and then hits Kraykowski across the face with the pliers, causing him to grunt and a long gash to open up along his swollen cheek. He slowly turns his head to look at her, opens his mouth, calls her a ‘bitch’, and then grins, blood smearing his teeth. Before I can step forward, Sasha is there and fires what looks to be freezing air directly onto the cut. This time Kraykowski screams in pain, chest heaving before Sasha takes his finger off the trigger button.
“What in the fuck was that!?” Pops explodes in excitement. Chewy is right there, bouncing on her toes, making grabby hands.
“Liquid nitrogen. So cold it freezes everything it touches -” Before anyone can move, Pops has it in his hands and sprays it directly onto Kraykowski’s pinky finger of his good hand. The way Lexi has restrained him, his hands are tied to the chair armrests, so no matter how much screaming and wriggling he does, he can’t move his hand away. Pops holds it for so long that Kraykowski’s finger has turned an unnatural shade of purple. He stops spraying and then pokes the purple finger, pulling his hand back quickly, making a hissing noise. “Fuck, that’s cold!” Chewy leans forward and does the same thing because, of course, she does. I’m surprised she hasn’t sniffed it yet. Oh no, no, she has now. Jesus. I look up and lock eyes with Marx, his eyebrows raised.
