If Willow had been frightened by the basement at Mama Liz’s, she would have pissed her pants at the sight of the one at the roadhouse. Stark white walls that often had to be repainted to cover the blood stains were illuminated by a lone light bulb that hung on a chain and cast eerie looking shadows into the four corners of the room. On one of the walls was a rack that resembled something out of a medieval torture chamber. Next to it sat a table filled with tools of torture.
I jerked my chin at Case and Boone before turning my attention back to the task at hand. In the middle of the room, Alex’s attacker was strung up to one of the hooks hanging from the ceiling. His arms, which were covered in multicolored ink, stretched taut over his head, and I knew the position had to hurt like hell after a while. But he deserved it. He deserved every fucking thing I was about to give him.
He was conscious now. He eyeballed me as I strolled up to him with a shit eating sneer plastered on my face. “What’s this fucker’s name?” I questioned.
“Rocker of his cut says ‘Crank’, but his ID says Keith McGuiness,” Mac replied from behind me.
Staring him straight in the eye, I said, “Crank, you fucked with the wrong man.”
He mumbled something at me behind his gag. Cupping my ear, I said, “Sorry, can’t hear you.”
This time when he screamed it, I could pretty much make out the “fuck you!”, but I still reached forward to one side and yanked off the gag. The force was so hard that two of his teeth popped out and clattered onto the floor. “Sorry about that. But you won’t be needing those when I’m through with you.”
Crank’s reply was to spit a stream of blood that spattered onto my boots. For the moment, I chose to ignore it. “Sigel sent you to rough up my girl. Thought it would draw me out for his revenge, right?”
Crank didn’t respond. Holding out my hand, I waited for one of the brothers to hand me a tool. A set of pliers was placed into my palm. “You gonna answer me?”
When he continued to ignore me, I brought the pliers up to his hands. In rapid fire succession, I cracked and broke the knuckles on one of his hands. Trying not to give me the satisfaction of his pain, he sucked in breath and panted it out, refusing to scream. Once I did the other hand, he did cry out as his hands, searing with pain, jerked and convulsed against his bindings.
“I’ll ask you again. Didn’t Sigel sic you on Alex, so he could draw me out to get revenge?”
Once again, he only stared me down with pure venom boiling in his eyes. Over the years, I’d come across men like Crank—tough nuts to crack. Well, unless you actually cracked their nuts, and then they’d start singing like canaries. So, I went back to work, but this time I replaced the gag.
After using the pliers to pluck off each of his fingernails, I handed the bloodied tool back to Bishop. He then handed me a crowbar. With almost the same stance as a golfer, I leaned back before putting all my strength into landing a solid blow into his right kneecap. A muffled scream broke through the gag, but I ignored it. Instead, I launched the crowbar into the left knee cap, shattering it on impact.
Crank now hung precariously by his arms, unable to support his weight by his broken knees. Sweat poured off his face that twitched with the pain that ran over his body. I ripped off the gag again. “Just tell me yes, and this will go a lot easier.”
Eyeballing me momentarily, Crank croaked, “Fuck you.”
“No man, I’ll fuck you with the rusty end of this crowbar if you don’t start talking.”
“Should’ve slit your brat’s throat when I had the chance,” he spat.
“Excuse me?”
A menacing smile curved on his lips. “I could’ve fucked her every which way before slitting her throat, but Sigel said no.”
I swallowed hard at the image he had painted—one I was all too familiar with using during torture scenes. I just sure as hell wasn’t used to having the tables turned on me. Without another thought, I launched the crowbar at his lower back, nailing his kidney. He screamed, a combination of spit and blood spewing from his mouth. After nailing the other one, I allowed him a moment to ride the wave of pain. “Are you going to tell me shit, or should I just end you now?”
“End me,” he groaned.
“Fine.” Tossing the crowbar onto the table, I took the long bowie knife. Eyeing the tats on his chest, I shook my head. With methodic precision, I began to slice at each of the tats that represented his ties to the Nordic Knights and the venomous hate they spewed.
I don’t know how much time passed or when Crank finally stopped screaming. When I glanced up at him, his eyes had glazed over, and I knew he was in the shadowy area where you have one toe still in the living and another one over the line into death. Taking the blade, I slashed it across his wrists. His once groggy state turned over to panic as the last of his life force spurted and flowed out onto the cement and down the drain in the floor.
Glancing over my shoulder, I gauged my brothers’ responses. Only Rev wore a look of disgust. I’m sure he felt I’d gone too far, regardless of what Crank had done to Alexandra. Without a word to any of them, I walked down the length of the room to the shower once again. After pulling off my blood saturated clothes, I ducked under the water. As I got rid of the physical evidence of my crime, my brothers worked at getting Crank down.
Lathering up my body, I watched as they rolled him in plastic and then in a tarp. He would be deposited on the doorsteps of his clubhouse sometime tonight. It would involve a major production plan of changing unmarked cars to go into Knights territory. Most likely a runner, someone who worked for the club on odd jobs, would end up tossing the body, so that none of us would be connected to the crime by the Feds. But Sigel would know loud and clear who ended Crank.
After I showered, I slipped on the pair of sweat pants and T-shirt that Archer brought to me. Although I should’ve gone back home to Alexandra, I headed out of the clubhouse toward the woods. Before I could be with her again, I had to get my head on straight. While there had been many kills in my life, they still all affected me. My emotions got jangled, and I would need some time to decompress.
With only my gun and flashlight, I tromped through the brush and headed into the woods to the one place I always went to find solace and healing.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: ALEXANDRA.
As I slipped into a groggy consciousness, my limbs felt too heavy and laden down to move. Blinking furiously, I struggled to open my eyes. The moment my lids finally flew open everything that had happened the night before came crashing down on me like a building crumbling in on itself. A scream tore from my lips as a reel of images assaulted me. The arms and legs that I had previously not had the energy to lift began to thrash violently on the bed. My body shook and convulsed until a soothing voice to my left calmed me.
“Shh, it’s okay honey,” Liz said, as she took my hand in hers.
