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1
SONNY
“Get on your fucking knees, you lying piece of shit.”
The demand was made calmly, not with a shout but with a quiet confidence that said everything about the man who made it.
Emerson “Sonny” Dolan never asked. He also never yelled. He wasn’t much for speaking at all but when he did, people listened. Or they paid the price.
The man standing before Sonny was frail, his frame shaking hard at the order. The man collapsed and lay sprawled on the floor in the fetal position, but with his arms tied behind his back. He was begging and crying, snot and tears mixing with the blood that ran down his face. The man was covered in old stains and he reeked of piss.
The stench of ammonia and copper in the basement bunker would make lesser men gag but this wasn’t Sonny’s first rodeo.
“Let me go Sonny, please. I didn’t do nothing!”
“Don’t give me a stupid answer. I caught you in our storage shed, the one that only members know about, stealing our guns. And there’s a shit ton of inventory missing so this can’t be your first trip. How did you find our stash and where’d you take the rest of it?”
“I…”
Sonny kicked him in the back again.
“Alright! I got ‘em hidden in my girl’s shed. Th-the red brick house on the corner of Maple and 4th. S-swear to God, Sonny, you can look, they’re there. All of them. Just let me go. Please.”
Sonny stared for a moment, his disgust as plain as the scar that ran down his face. He picked up his phone with his right hand and started texting.
As lead enforcer for the Hellraisers & Hellions MC, Emerson - Sonny to his brothers and “the devil’s bastard” to everyone else - couldn’t afford to let his temper have free rein. He’d discovered over the course of his twenty-eight years that there was far more fear in silence. In cold, calculated vengeance. Hot tempers lacked control and he was all about control. It meant he held all the cards. He held the power. And power was the only thing that mattered.
Sonny sent a text to his club brother, Jackson, then turned his attention back to his work. He slammed his left fist into the man’s face again. The satisfying crunch of bones, and shrill screams filled the air. Sonny stood up and slowly wiped the blood off his knuckles, marking his leathers. Normally he’d remove his silver rings before this type of job, but the hour was getting late, and he was running out of time. And patience.
Picking up his hunting knife, his pride and joy, second only to his sled, he stared down at the pathetic piece of shit before him.
The shit in question, Raymond Ghest, was a thief, a drug mule, and a whiny bitch. You couldn’t trust anything that came out of his rotten mouth. Sonny caught him stealing from his club. From his brothers, his family. Never again.
Ray was probably a snitch too, given the wad of crisp twenties and fifties Sonny found stuffed in his jacket pocket. Provincial cops had been surveying H&H for years so he wouldn’t be surprised if they’d paid Ray to sneak in and get dirt on them. They probably didn’t care he’d help himself to their guns to make even more cash. But Ray was unreliable and out of control. He had all the usual signs of a drug addict in crisis: bloodshot eyes, sallow skin covered in scabs, and sunken cheeks – a face that was more bone than flesh. A living corpse that smelled of desperation and fear.
Desperate people did stupid shit - like steal fifty thousand dollars’ worth of guns from the most powerful MC in Alberta. And now it was Sonny’s job to clean up the fucking mess.
“Ray, roll over and look at me,” Sonny demanded as he kicked the man in the stomach. Ray’s cry went unheard in the stillness of the room. “Look at me.”
“Let me go. Please. I’ve told you the truth this time. I came back to take a second stash cause I need the money,” Ray glanced up and fresh tears erupted as he looked at Sonny’s knife. “I don’t know nothing else. Please Sonny, please.”
Sonny leaned over and grabbed Raymond’s long, greasy hair, yanking it hard and placing the tip of the knife at Raymond’s pulse point. Glassy grey eyes looked back at him, pupils dilated, tears overflowing.
God, Sonny loved this part. The rush he got from being in control of another person’s life was third on his list of favorite things, after sex and a ride on his sled.
“We better find every fucking gun you took from us. Now how did you get onto our property? You either tell me now, or I’m going to castrate you with this knife and feed your balls to our dogs. And make you watch.”
“No, no! I… I got instructions by text. Look through my phone. Passcode 9145. I deleted the message but it’s still in the trash. They told me when and where. And… I got a picture of the guy who dropped off the deposit. He didn’t think anyone was smart enough to hide and watch, but I was.”
Sonny picked up Ray’s phone and typed in the passcode. He perused the messages and pics. Then he found it. The photo was blurry, not surprising given Ray’s inability to focus on anything that he wasn’t snorting or smoking. The guy dropping off the envelope was a biker for sure, but Sonny couldn’t make out the patch. What rival club would use a local tweeker to steal from them? It was a ballsy move but a big risk.
Sonny’s phone beeped and he glanced at the message from Jackson. He felt the pull of the scar on his right cheek when he smiled.
Time to wrap this party up.
“I told you the guns were there. I told you.”
“Who put you up to this, Ray?”
