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Taunting my Reaper was a bad idea. That motherfucker had a bad temper and a short fuse, and he always came out to play. There was a reason I was the club
Sgt. at Arms. I handled the hard shit. The jobs no one else wanted to deal with because it was messy. Thing was, I loved to lose control. When I was angry, my Reaper couldn’t be held back. And then the real fun began . . . only to cause a shitstorm of carnage and destruction that dripped crimson and left everything in ruin.
Sort of like my past.
Sure, I’d been promoted to SAA, but I started out an Enforcer and that shit was in my blood. I didn’t get to play as much as I liked anymore and that had a hell of a lot to do with my personal vendetta. I was only participating in this particular interrogation because this asshole worked for the same guys I was after. The ones who took everything from me.
Rage bubbled under the surface of my skin and I felt my Reaper stir. “How’s Razr handling his new position? Missing Acid any?”
Biff was still for a moment and then started fighting against his bonds again, only succeeding in wearing himself out as he screamed threats and profanity.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mumbled, twirling the mallet in my hand again. “Answer my questions.”
Biff glanced at his hand and the rod still anchoring his palm to the table’s surface. He paled a little more. “He’s pissed. Your club is going down.”
“Razr picked the wrong club to fuck with this time,” Exorcist interjected.
“Who’s supplying his whores?” I asked, moving closer and lifting the mallet. “Give me a name.”
“Fuck you!”
Whack. The mallet hit his right knee as I swung, and a loud crack could be heard as the bone shattered. Biff’s screams echoed in the room as I walked around the table, leaning down. “The left knee is next.”
His words were almost slurred from the guttural screams that left his throat and the hoarse tone of his voice. “The Russian.”
I already knew that. Needed more detail. “Which Russian?”
Cursing, Biff shook his head. “Vlad.”
Vladimir Solonik. Russian Bratva or mafia. Fuck.
“When’s the last time he visited your pres?”
Biff’s eyes were glazed over with pain. He needed to answer before he passed out.
“When?” I demanded.
“They’ll kill me,” he finally answered, head turning to the side as his eyes fluttered.
Exorcist tossed his cigarette down and smashed it with his boot before turning on the sink. He filled a bucket half full and walked over to the table, dumping it over Biff’s head. Sputtering and cursing, Biff yelled for several minutes.
“When?” I asked again, swinging the mallet close to his left knee.
“Please,” Biff begged. “Fuck! Please stop.”
His pleas fell on deaf ears. Neither Mammoth, Ex, nor I gave a shit. It was far too late to bargain.
“Answer,” Mammoth snarled, his patience gone.
“Last Friday night,” Biff whispered as our eyes met.
“You know anything else?”
“No,” he replied firmly. “Razr didn’t call church. He met with the Russian alone.”
I believed the guy. My Reaper could sense when someone was lying. Biff was more afraid of the Russians than us. Stupid. He would die at our hands as soon as Mammoth and Exorcist were done with him. Suddenly fatigued, I dropped the mallet on my workbench. This shit didn’t matter as much as finding that Russian fucker Solonik.
“Go, Rael. We’re gonna finish this.” Mammoth knew what I needed. Didn’t have to say a word.
