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Eighteen years ago ––
The smell of mildew and cigarettes were the first thing I noticed when my eyes slowly cracked open and the fuzzy haze of the last twenty-four hours began to lift. My memory was jogging along at a slow and inebriated pace as I blinked and tried to focus on my surroundings. A steady ache throbbed between my eyes as awareness rose to the surface like a bloodthirsty monster. I winced at the movement of my sore and stiff muscles. Dripping water snared my attention while it echoed throughout the barren room. The steady plop was spaced just far enough to vanish completely before dropping into a ceramic basin somewhere close.
I wasn’t wearing my shirt or my cut and that seriously pissed me off. My colors were sacred, and no way did I remove them voluntarily. The skin around my nose itched like a motherfucker and that was when I figured out that I couldn’t move my hands or reach my face. Cotton mouth proved I hadn’t had anything to drink in a long while. When I licked my lips, I almost groaned with the sting as the skin stretched. My tongue felt thick and unused. I’d been out for a long time. No one had to tell me the situation was dire.
Shit. I wasn’t with my club brothers. Completely alone, I lifted my head as far as I could to figure out where I was being kept.
Assessing my situation, I tugged on the chains holding down my wrists and ankles that were attached to an old, worn wooden table with gouges in the surface where my bruised and bulky flesh settled upon unevenly. Leather straps were buckled across my chest and upper thighs. It was futile to move and try to break free, but I wasn’t above testing the limits anyway.
It was a no-go.
I was locked down and held prisoner. No one else was in the room but that didn’t mean I would have uttered a single word if every motherfucker in Nevada was standing next to my chained and imprisoned ass. I wasn’t a pussy. Whatever was going down, I’d handle my shit.
The room I was being held in was dark and cool, hidden somewhere deep underground with a dampness that chilled to the bone. Bleach added to the odor of cigarettes and mildew. The singular window on the opposite side of my position was covered with a scrap of material black as sin. Fluorescent lights hung down from above where I lay but only one actually worked and the solitary bulb w
as the only illumination available.
Kind of wished the light was burnt out. It was too damn bright. I kept seeing dark shadows and echoes of the light whenever I blinked, and my eyes shut. Old blood stains and crimson splatters could be seen all over the tiled walls and even a few droplets splashed up on the yellowed plaster above my head. The ceiling had once been white from what I could tell but the grime had long ago disguised the original color.
It wasn’t hard to figure out that I was located in a torture chamber of some kind. Blinking, I used all the strength I could muster and jerked at my restraints, but the chains rattled, mocking my pathetic efforts. I wasn’t leaving this table, not until I was released. Didn’t take a lot of brains to know that meant my death.
“Fuck,” I cursed aloud, frustrated at the lack of control. I hated to relinquish any power to anyone else. It was a personality flaw to be sure, but it wasn’t going to change. I needed to be the one who made decisions and led others. I wasn’t a follower. Those who knew me best understood.
Keys certainly did. That was why he helped raise me up and became my sponsor. I served the minimum one-year probation for a prospect and then I was patched in right away. Maybe he saw the viciousness of my nature or maybe he just glimpsed my old man and that was enough to gain his trust and admiration. I wasn’t sure and it didn’t matter.
I was a Royal Bastard, and I was fuckin’ proud to wear my patch.
The door across the room from my position flew open and interrupted my musings. The president of the Scorpions strolled in. Scar was a ruthless piece of shit, but it was his son that truly stole the show. Acid was carrying two knives with gut hooks on the edges of the blades and he smiled with the promise of cruelty that was sure to come.
Scar grinned wide when he noticed my glare. “Look who’s finally awake, son.”
Acid snickered. “Can I tell him about his pres?”
Great. Show and fucking tell. Just what I needed.
“Tell him what? That Keys isn’t doing as well as our friend here?”
“And then there’s Lockjaw. What a pussy,” Acid spat.
Son of a bitch! If they thought that using my brothers against me would make me turn rat they were in for a rude awakening. Right before I killed every last one of these motherfuckers, I was going to ensure a little payback. If Keys or Lockjaw were harmed, the whole damn club would go down in a pile of fucking ash. I’d burn this place to the ground with all of them alive inside it.
Fuck the Scorpions.
Five men filed in behind Acid, all staring me down with a deep and undeniable hatred that was mutual. I recognized the V.P., SAA, two of their enforcers, and Scar’s other son Razr. I smirked when I saw the multiple black eyes, busted lips, and a bruised jaw that the group couldn’t hide. When they captured me, Keys, and Lockjaw they didn’t know what kind of hornets nest they just kicked up. We hadn’t gone down easy. Took ten of their guys to best the three of us.
Bunch of pussies if you asked me. Taking us prisoner and chaining us down, torturing and fighting like cowards. None of them were man enough to unshackle and face us head on, fist to fist. Not even the damn pres or his SAA.
The guys in this MC were pissed and by the eager expressions on their faces, they were ready for revenge. Probably didn’t help that I stared them all down, daring each man to come forward. They circled like vultures as I was unchained from the table and multiple weapons pointed in my direction. I wasn’t stupid. They were waiting for the chance to shoot my ass and congratulate themselves on their good fortune. No fuckin’ way. I needed my vengeance, and I was going to get it.
That was thing about beating a rabid dog. Let him loose and he’s going to fight to the death.
