Page 11 of Down & Dirty: Rage

“Nope. Gonna keep that little secret between us.”

“Prime.”

What a little bitch. Rage better not hear about one of hisown brothers breaking so easily. They should go to their fucking grave before giving anyone up.

Rage frowned. “Prime what? Prime rib?”

“Prime is one of them! Cobra. And Bug.”

About fucking time. Rage saved those names to memory. He patted the man’s cut. “Knew you had it in you. Now, where can I find ‘em? They part of the PA chapter?”

“Yeah.”

Was that a little blood seeping from the guy’s ear? Pity.

“Whose idea was it for them to do that shit?”

“Dunno.”

“Funny how you don’t know jack about dick.”

“Gave you what you fuckin’ wanted. Now lemme go.”

One side of Rage’s mouth pulled up. “Now why the fuck would I wanna do that?”

Psycho’s eyes went wide, giving Rage a good view of the man’s blown pupils. Yeah, the fucker might have a concussion.

Damn shame.

Not that Rage was a doctor or anything, so he could be wrong.

“Doubt your club likes snitches. They find out you easily gave up those three names, bettin’ they’d do worse than me. Maybe that’s what I should do. Dump you in front of your Church with a fuckin’ note sayin’ what a backstabbin’ bitch you are. Wonder what it feels like to have your colors filleted off your back.”

Psycho groaned and closed his eyes. “Can keep my mouth shut if you can.”

Bullshit.“Ain’t in a position to negotiate,Psycho.”

He pulled the hidden knife free from his custom-made DAMC belt buckle. Even though it was a small blade, it was good in a pinch.

Using his foot, Rage rolled the trussed-up outlaw biker to his back, then leaned over and sliced off his name patch.

“Keepin’ this bitch as a trophy.” He waved the rectangular patch in front of the asshole’s face. He wondered if the man was seeing double. Or triple.

Either way, he didn’t give a shit. He grinned and shoved the name patch deep into his front pocket.

“Let me help you clean that dirt off your face.” He unzipped his jeans, whipped out his dick, and aimed the stream right into the guy’s eyes and mouth.

Psycho twisted his head away and sputtered, “What the fuck!” Then he groaned, since Rage was pretty fucking sure that yelling when you had a concussion hurt like a motherfucker.

But again, he wasn’t a doctor. He could be wrong. Like he was about the dirt.

“Oh fuck. My bad. That wasn’t dirt. They’re bruises.”

He tucked his dick away. He had his names and needed nothing further from this particular Soul.

He wasted no time heading back to Gabi’s cage. But halfway there, his feet stopped moving. He dropped his head and shook it.

After pulling in a deep breath, he spun on his boot heel and headed back to the biker.