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“Sweet,” she says.
It was sweet.
Just like everything about Rock.
He can deny it all he wants, but there isn’t a mean bone in his body.
I know it. Not only that, but I feel it.
I can’t wait to see him tonight. The fact he texted me…that has to be good.
I refuse to believe that I’m just another notch on his belt. I don’t care what Tara says, or how naive I’m being. She has it wrong.
Rock isn’t like that.
Even though a deep, dark part of me really doesn’t care if he is.
16
ROCK
I punch him again in the ribs, hearing the crack as Jett winces next to me.
It’s just like old times.
“Think he’s had enough?” Jett gives me a chin lift.
“Nope. He spoiled my fun with a beautiful woman. So I think he can go a little longer.”
We’re at the shipping yard, which is where we go to conduct business that we don’t want anybody else seeing. Such as torturing potential suspects over information they may have on Forger and the Devils Ink MC.
I revel in this. In the pain. In making them suffer. It’s not like they're good people.
Fuck that. They’re not.
I’ve always thought something fishy was going on from the start with the Devils Ink.
Okay, so they had a financial backer who wasn't as smart as he thought he was. Luna’s ex had a price to pay, and he paid it. He was also getting a cut of whatever Forger made on drugs and guns, but it still didn’t explain how Forger went from shit to Shinola so quickly. I guess scum helps scum and loyalty means nothing anymore. Not in the underworld crime syndicate.
I don’t get to do this as much as I’d like, mainly because that’s Tag and Harlem’s job, but since they’re not here and me and Jett are, now seems like as good a time as any to get under the fucker’s skin.
All these assholes are scumbags. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t be involved with the likes of Forger. A man who left his own child in a crypt for her to burn to death.
Sick son of a bitch. We’ve all been instructed that if we capture Forger, he’s to be left for Harlem. And I almost pity the idiot because he won’t walk out of here alive.
“Don’t know…” the man sputters as I pull his head back by his hair.
“You don’t know? How about I cut your nuts off and see how long it takes for you to bleed out? Would that spark your memory?” I snarl angrily in his face.
“We don’t get details, locations. We don’t…”
I punch him again.
We have a fuckin’ location. We’re goin’ tomorrow night, undercover. What I need to know is who is really behind this. I don’t believe for a second that this is cut and dry. Forger ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed.
Something stinks, and until we get to the bottom of it, we all have to do what we gotta do.
“Gettin’ tired of hearin’ excuses,” I mutter. “I sharpened my blade this mornin’, chump. And it would slice through your skin like butter.”
