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“What the fuck is all of this, VP? None of this makes sense, not without them reading our charges anyway.”
I nod in understanding. “You’re right, I don’t know what this is.”
“Why us though?”
All I can do is shrug in response. I don’t have the answer to that either, so I don’t make any effort to pretend to. All I do know is Ryker won’t have us sitting here forever, he’ll have plans in motion and we just have to ride it out.
Eyeing the metal bed frame that’s bolted to the floor, I stretch my leg a little before moving toward it. My ass barely touches the seat before the door is swung open again, but it’s not the sheriff or Porter stepping back in. No. It’s worse than that.
Their faces are unrecognizable, but the cuts that they’re wearing are not.
Devil’s Brutes.
Those motherfuckers.
The door locks behind them, the catch of the metal echoing around us as I watch the grins spread across both of their faces. One of them has brown hair and a scar down their left cheek, while the other is blond with piercing green eyes.
Without a word, Scarface dangles the key to our cell on his pointer finger, before he slowly slips it into the lock and lets the door swing open.
“I didn’t realize we would be having visitors so soon into our stay. Did you bring any snacks with you?” I ask.
Not liking my sense of humor, the blond guy sneers at me as he kicks the door shut behind them. “The only gift we’ve brought you is your last breath.” He pulls a switchblade from his pocket, flicking the knife out, and it shines under the light.
The cops have always refused to take payouts, and now I understand why. They wouldn’t take it off the Ruthless Brothers because that would put them in conflict with the deal they had already made with another motorcycle club. The Devil’s Brutes. But if they think they’re going to drag me in here to meet my maker, then they’re delusional.
Placing my hands on my knees, I rise to my feet, ignoring the throb in my thigh as I take the two steps necessary to come to a stop beside Euro. He doesn’t look at me though, he’s too busy staring at them with a mixture of anger and uncertainty in his eyes.
“The devil isn’t calling for me yet.” The bite in my tone is undeniable at the same time Blondie swings his arm out, attempting to come at me with the knife, but I manage to step back just in time. Lifting my foot high, I kick him in the gut, my thigh screaming at the feel of my stitches tearing as he stumbles back.
Grunts sound from Euro and Scarface, but I leave them to go at it while I stare at the man standing in my way. He quickly regains his balance, charging toward me with his arm swinging left to right, and I manage to catch him just in time and knock the weapon from his grasp, before smashing my fist into his face.
My knuckles vibrate from the force as his head rears back dramatically, blood instantly bursting from his nose as he swings his leg out and kicks me in my bad thigh.
Fuck.
My leg gives out, forcing me to my knees and making me hiss. Blondie scrambles to get his knife and I try to beat him to it, but he boots me in the face, sending me sideways as I struggle to see through the pain.
Lying on my side, I blink through the pain, working my jaw as I see the Brute heading toward me with determination in his every step. Swinging my leg out, I hit his shin and he cries out with intense agony.
Despite my own discomfort, I manage to get to my feet before he can come at me again as I feel the trickles of blood dancing along my skin, down my cheeks and chin, before landing on my cut.
He’s going to pay for that.
I don’t rear my right arm back before I throat-punch him, catching him completely by surprise as he staggers back, one hand around his neck while the other grips the blade. He’s not going to stop coming for me until I’m dead… or he is.
Rolling my shoulders back, I sway on the balls of my feet as I assess him thoroughly this time. His nose is busted, his leg is likely throbbing, and his cheek is swelling. His hand flexes around the blade as he lifts it once more, but I’m done worrying about his weapon.
I drop my height, bending my knees as I charge toward him, not stopping until my shoulder hits his stomach and I barrel him into the bars of the cell with a grunt. A burning sensation drapes over my neck, and I know he’s caught me with the blade along my skin. Not wanting to give him the chance to thrust it into my neck deeper, I swing my fists at him repeatedly.
Gut. Gut. Thigh. Face.
Gut. Gut. Neck. Chest.
Gut. Neck. Thigh. Face.
The blow knocks the air from him as he plasters his back against the bars. He came in here to take a life, to feed it to the devil, he just didn’t realize it would be his.
He’s barely holding on to the blade and it’s far too easy for me to pry it from his hands. With the handle in my grip, I turn the blade in his direction and waste no time thrusting it into his gut. Once. Twice. Three times.
