Page 61 of Depraved

Dutch nodded over his shoulder. “In the back.”

“Good. Did they talk?”

“No. Maybe you can persuade them.”

Dutch stepped out of my way as I stomped to the back, wanting to look these assholes in the eye. Manic and Ink were already there, both standing guard, making sure the fuck-faces didn’t try anything stupid.

Biting my bottom lip, I pulled out my gun and aimed, pulling the trigger and planting lead in one of the fucker’s head. The sound of a small sonic boom echoed off the goddamn walls, and the guy tied to the chair next to my latest victim screamed, flinching as blood splattered on his face.

“Jesus Christ, Granite,” Ink moaned. “Would you stop doing that?”

I glanced at the fucker sitting next to the fresh corpse. Piss dripped down his thighs, pooling around his tied feet. The way his body shuddered, his lips quivering, I knew my violent display of power and control made him flip a switch. It was time to see how loyal Slither’s fuckers really were.

With my attention—and gun—turned his way, I scowled. “If you’d prefer not to end up like your friend, here, I suggest you start talking.”

Tears mixed with uncontrollable sobs painted the picture of a man about to crack under the pressure, but everyone knew when you were with an MC, you had a code. You didn’t fucking talk, no matter what. Sometimes you’d get the coward who spilled his guts like a chicken under a butcher’s knife. Other times you got the hardcore motherfuckers who would rather burn in hell than live with the shame of being a rat—not that he’d live very long, anyway. Nothing stuck like the stench of a rat, and in our world, it was something no one could outlive.

I stepped closer, aiming the gun at his head. “What were you looking for?”

He just continued to cry, not saying a word.

The muzzle of my gun dug deep into the flesh of his temple, and he winced, shivering like a fucking baby out in the cold.

“I asked you a fucking question.”

Blood oozed from his bottom lip as he bit into it, eyes shut completely. Odds were this fucker would probably sing like a boys’ choir if the right amount of pressure was applied. But I was out of patience, and to be honest, I was looking for a fucking reason to unleash my demons. A part of me hoped he would keep his motherfucking mouth shut, giving me a reason to inflict pain.

Abruptly, I dropped my aim from his temple to his foot, shooting a bullet straight through. The scream that ripped from his lungs was deafening, but fucking exhilarating. Screams turned into sobs, and sobs turned into whimpers. The adrenaline was setting in quickly, acting as a pain reliever.

As he finally managed to take a deep breath, his foot bleeding all over our garage floor, I decided it wasn’t enough. So I shot his other foot.

This time, it wasn’t screams. It was a shrill sound of pain echoing from his throat, and honestly, the noise hurt my fucking ears.

Manic laughed, but it was more like a frenzied chuckle, and the sound blended perfectly with the Python’s shrieks of pain. If someone had to stand outside these walls, they’d be convinced this was an insane asylum.

Plucking out my blade, I crouched down to be at eye level with him, not caring that I was stepping in a pool of blood. “Tell me why Slither sent you here. What does he want?”

The guy licked his chapped lips, his mouth already dry from adrenaline. “He’s looking for evidence.”

“What evidence?”

“That the girl’s here.”

“What girl?” I played dumb.

He swallowed, eyes pinched closed. “The PC’s daughter.”

I rubbed the blade of my knife across my beard, loving the sight of pain on his face. “The girl ain’t here.”

“Slither thinks she is.” He winced, his nose covered in tears and snot.

“Well, then he should have come here himself. But we all know your president doesn’t have the balls, so he sends his pissy prospects, blood he doesn’t mind sacrificing.”

The poor bastard cringed. I knew the kind of pain he was experiencing. There was a scar on my left shoulder to prove it. It started out as a hot ache, like a blister. But then the blister would turn into a searing pain that felt like it was melting your flesh, as if lava had been poured over your skin, penetrating deep as if it was searching for bone. Adrenaline would kick in, and the burn would fade to a throbbing ache, more like you had been hit by a bat rather than shot by a gun. Adrenaline was an amazing thing. The human’s most powerful asset.

Still playing with the knife in my hand, I kept my eyes on him. “What else does Slither think he knows?”

The prospect let out a tight scream, smothered by the clenching of his jaw. Sweat ran down the side of his face, and it reeked. Mixed with the stench of piss and spilled blood, it assaulted my nostrils, burning every time I inhaled.