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Across from the bed, the door slowly opened.
Lifting my head, I stared between my legs, spread wide from the cuffs. A whimper escaped my throat.
“Hello, my pretty little doll. Ready to play?”
The nightmare wasn’t over.
I looked into the face of evil and knew I wouldn’t survive this time.
Chapter 10
Someone targeted the club. They sent men with the intent to steal Henny, weaken us, and spy on our operation. That much was obvious. I only had one question: who? The why didn’t even fucking matter.
We would find them. We always did. It wasn’t the first time some asshole group thought they could take a shot at us.
It was the fucking move, whoever it was because we were pissed off and looking for payback.
Impatient, I headed downstairs to the basement, skipping steps in my rush to reach the bottom. I needed to talk to Reaper and find out if he learned anything from our guests.
The screams reached me first.
Reaper always did have a flare for the dramatic. He fucking terrified me, to tell the truth. If he wasn’t my club brother, I’d stay far away from him and hope never to piss him off. We joked he was the true devil in the club, far more demonic and deadly than our pres, but everyone knew it wasn’t a lie.
The Grim Reaper lived among us. A brother. Protector. The reckoning.
But he also served his own dark and sinister pursuits. Nothing made him happier than working in his dungeon, firing up the blacksmith forge and workshop he’d built with his own two hands.
Sometimes I wondered if that crazy fucker reincarnated just to torture more victims with his branding tools and various devices. I never met anyone more eager to burn shit than Reaper.
Okay, maybe Manic.
In the end, it didn’t matter. He was reliable, loyal, and family. We watched out for our own. And that meant it didn’t matter if he had a fucked up childhood and it messed up his head.
As soon as my boots landed on the concrete floor, I smelled burned flesh. The stench was nauseating. Smoke hung like a murky gray curtain, cluttering the air with its thick, cloying consistency. A cough sputtered from my lungs as I waved the shit away from my face. My nose burned from the combined assault on my senses.
Fucking hell.
Reaper’s loud rock music played whenever he worked downstairs. Most of us left him alone to do as he wished, but today, we needed answers as fast as possible, and I suspected he knew I’d be joining him. The door stood open, propped with a chair, and I slid inside, leaning against the far wall where the smoke didn’t seem as cumbersome.
A cigarette dangled from his mouth as he held a branding iron in his gloved fist, the tip embedded into the hot coals of his forge. From previous experience, I knew he waited for the end to heat a cherry red glow, indicating the brand was ready to use.
His chin lifted in a short greeting before he pulled the iron from the flames, the end glowing as he turned toward the prisoners. The three men we subdued and brought downstairs were left unharmed, trussed up like pigs, every single one of them naked. Their wrists and ankles were clamped with metal cuffs attached to chains, spread wide apart, and secured to the concrete wall.
I winced when I thought about how much it would fucking hurt when Reaper went for their genitals.
No, he wasn’t sexually aroused by men, but he sure got fucking turned on by the idea of torture and the gruesome things he did for the club. I could see the wild, hungry look in his gaze from where I stood.
When Reaper built this dungeon, he poured the concrete himself, installed the equipment he wanted, and anchored the pieces to the wall, framed with heavy gauge metal studs.
Much like a medieval torture chamber, various gadgets were created for punishment and confession. Reasons that Devil sanctioned the construction of this dungeon and allowed Reaper to work carte blanche. It served a dual purpose. He could purge those demons that haunted him and fuck up our enemies at the same time.
I waited with anticipation, eager to watch Reaper work. I needed to hear what these assholes confessed, including who took Henny and where, so I turned down the music, waiting for the carnage to begin.
Reaper strolled forward with the iron, dropping into a crouch in front of the first prisoner, the cigarette still tucked between his lips. “Who sent you?”
The man lifted his head, staring across the room as he remained silent.
“I hoped you wouldn’t answer.”
