I tilt my head, studying Jack. For an adult toy, the little bastard is actually kind of cute. Made for one thing, now repurposed for violence by an unhinged woman who treats both uses as equal acts of love.
For women like mine, I'm starting to think they probably are.
“Tomcat, look!” Marigold squeals, aggressively waving the heavily tattooed, mustachioed dildo in the air. “Isn’t he so stinking adorable? I absolutely love him.”
I let out a rough laugh, wrapping my heavy arm around her leather-clad waist and hauling her body flush against mine. “Yeah, baby. The little fucker is adorable. Not nearly as fucking cute as you, though.”
“Duh. No one on this earth is that cute,” she quips smoothly, sliding effortlessly out of my embrace. The playfulness instantly vanishes from her features, replaced by a dead-serious, stern expression as she smacks the flat silicone base of Jack rightagainst her open palm with a loud, fleshythwack. “Let’s get down to business.”
Pope strolls back into the main bar area, his face set in a hard, grim line. "Cypher's going deeper on Ghost. He'll flag me when something surfaces." He looks between us. "You two ready?"
Marigold cracks her neck from side to side, her eyes flashing with a dangerous, electric current before she nods. “Absolutely.”
“Bloodthirsty little wench,” I murmur affectionately against her ear.
She flashes me a brilliant, lethal smile that would make a great white shark proud. “Always, lover.”
The slaughterhouse thrums with its usual daytime chaos, so we skip the main entrance, weaving our bikes toward the locked back lot and gliding down the concrete slope to the underground bay doors. Marigold parks right next to me, her obscene hot pink beast clinging to her custom gas tank like a deranged trophy.
Pope rolls up to the security box, punches in the master code, and the steel doors groan awake, rattling upward. Our engines detonate in the echo chamber below, the sound ricocheting off concrete like gunfire. No one but us ever sets foot in this underground tier. Day shift workers don’t have the codes, much less the clearance to enter the soundproof cells. If they ever glimpsed the darkness brewing beneath their feet, they’d probably drop dead on the spot. And if they saw what the Saint's Outlaws get up to in the butcher bay after hours, their hearts wouldn’t stand a chance.
As soon as our engines die, the steel door to the holding room swings wide, and Malice steps into the gloom. His icy stare snapsto Marigold, then drops to Jack the Dripper the instant she peels the pink monstrosity from her tank.
Malice’s lips twitch. “You brought my bestie?”
Marigold scowls fiercely at him, instantly pulling Jack tight against her chest like a protective mother. “He'smine.”
Malice scowls back, eyes narrowing in a silent dare, looking like he might snatch the silicone beast from her grip just to stir the pot.
“Do it. I fucking dare you,” Marigold snaps, cracking her neck and squaring up, ready to wage war over her hot pink dildo. “I’ll beat you half to death with it, Malice. Swear to the goddesses. Try me.”
“As much as I’d shell out to see which one of you maniacs wins, we’ve got real work to do,” Pope booms, slicing through the tension.
Marigold shoots our President a glare, lips pursed. “You’re such a party pooper, Pope.”
“And you’re an unhinged fucking brat. Move it,” Pope snaps, heading for the door. “I want to know why this bastard ambushed you in our town, and who sent him.”
Marigold points the tip of Jack the Dripper directly at his spine. “Lead the way, boss man.”
Pope just shakes his head at her chaos, already worn out by her antics as he swings open the insulated door to the holding bay.
Before we step into the dark, I catch Marigold’s leather sleeve, gently halting her in the corridor. My chest tightens as I look down at her. “Are you sure you’re up for this, Goldie?”
A soft, knowing look crosses her features, her expression softening just a fraction. “It’s incredibly sweet of you to be so concerned, lover, but I'm tired of being the victim. I've faced the devil before and walked out. Nothing in that room scares me."
I exhale a ragged sigh, then claim her mouth in a deep, possessive kiss. “That’s exactly what scares me, little shadow.”
When I push the heavy door open, the psychological warfare hits our senses like a physical wall. Blasting, distorted heavy metal music thunders through the soundproofed cell, vibrating right through the concrete floor. Blinding, high-intensity strobe lights flash in a rapid, disorienting rhythm, cutting through the heavy shadows and illuminating the battered man hanging from a set of heavy chains secured to the center of the ceiling.
In the far corner, unfazed by the chaos, Butcher lounges against the wall. His cold, unblinking gaze never leaves the prisoner, tracking his fading strength like a vulture waiting for the final collapse.
Pope hits a switch, killing the music and lights in a heartbeat. The man slumps against his chains, his shoulders nearly dislocating. I swear I hear a pathetic whimper in the sudden silence. Not that I blame him. Hours of that sensory-deprivation shit, and anyone would be ready to shove a rusted screwdriver straight through their own ear canal just to make the madness stop.
Marigold has the most beautiful, terrifying mean mug plastered on her face, that fucking fake dick aggressively smacking against her open palm as she tries her absolute best to appear intimidating. I have to physically tuck my bottom lip under my teeth to keep from smiling out loud and admitting that she only looks completely, hopelessly cute.
Pope waves Marigold forward with a lazy flick, giving her the green light to lead since she’s the one this bastard ambushed.
She flashes Pope a wicked grin, then strides into the man’s space and cracks him across the face with Jack the Dripper.Whack.“Who the hell sent you to attack me in that alley?”
