By the time we rolled into the warehouse-style building, my former brothers were ready to start. Heavy chains wrapped around Luca, suspending him against a support beam in the center of the room. He hung like a dead cow in a butcher shop, and I couldn’t wait to slice him into steaks.
A table of tools was spread out nearby, each one laid with surgical precision—Merrick’s trademark. He liked his victims to see their options. Fear was half the work. In the middle of the spread sat one of my favorites: an old hatchet with a dull edge.
I couldn’t help the grin that split my face as I walked over and picked it up, testing the weight, spinning it easily in my hand. “Glad I’m still invited to the party,” I said.
Merrick grumbled under his breath, but I took it for what it was: a tentative peace offering.
The pilot sat in the corner, hands and legs zip-tied. Reaper finished a call and strode to stand beside Merrick.
“Pilot’s not mafia, but he’s far from innocent,” Reaper explained as he showed us what Linc had dug up on the man. Disgust rippled through the room as we realized a monster sat before us. One that preyed on the youngest, most innocent of victims.
“This is a waste of time,” Fuse said, already pulling his 1911 pistol from his hip. He stalked over to the pilot. The guy begged, but it didn’t matter. Fuse put a bullet through his forehead. Blood and brains painted the wall behind him as Fuse turned back around. “There. Now we can focus. Who’s taking the first crack?”
Merci stepped forward. Every eye in the room tracked her. She was pale and breathing too shallow, but her chin was high, and her sharp eyes glittered in a way that stirred something dark and primal in my gut.
“I am,” she demanded.
Merrick and I locked eyes. A whole conversation happened in that one look.
Is she OK?
She’s not, but she needs this.
We’ll let her take everything she wants from him.
Eventually, Merrick exhaled, jaw tight, and nodded, stepping away from the table of torture to let Merci take her pick.
Merci walked to the table like a woman approaching the jewelry counter at Tiffany’s. Her eyes lit up as her fingersbrushed over each tool, trailing slowly. She wasn’t rushing. She savored the choice, tasted the power.
Watching this broken, feral woman who refused to be a victim stirred a possessiveness in me. Seeing my Hellcat ready to make the bastard bleed made me hard.
Merci was perfect for me in every way.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ipicked up a scalpel from the scarred metal table and raised a brow at my brother in question. Its edge, flecked with rust and grime, made my skin crawl.
He shrugged. “Found it in the dump.”
I set it down with a clink. “I hope you at least sanitized it.”
“We sanitize the tools with bleach after every use. Health and safety comes first for the Mavericks,” Reaper wisecracked.
I rolled my eyes. Eva was rubbing off on him.
I picked up a claw hammer, feeling its weight in my hand. A fuzzy sense of power surged through me as I stalked to stand before Luca. He sneered at me. I reared back and slammed the claw-end into his ribs with a sickening crack. He tried to move away, but the chains held him firmly in place.
“Troia,” Luca spat through gritted teeth.
“Come on,” I taunted. “You’ve got to come up with better insults than that.” I flipped the hammer and aimed for his knee. I hit just the right spot to make it kick out.
He buckled, his weight dropping into the chains. “You’re nothing but a biker whore.”
Bitter laughter bubbled out of me, but the pain made me stop. “That again? That’s the best you can come up with?” I flipped the hammer again and slammed the claw side into his stomach, reveling in his groans.
Power thrummed through my veins, the rage and adrenaline fueling my every move.
I glanced at Hatchet and strolled over to him, my legs unsteady.
