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While we may be allies and friends, we still make sure to keep business separate, so he was surprised when I told him that we had a problem. Because for the most part, when it comes to the streets of Havok Hills, our paths tend not to cross. The lines run parallel, never overlapping.
Reaching the back of the club, I knock on the heavy, black steel door as I grip the silver handle and push it open.
“Arsenal?” I ask, popping my head into the office.
“Yeah man,” his voice echoes through the room as he spins around in the chair at his desk, pushing up to his feet. “Blaize is upstairs, we should head up there for this. I don’t need someone sticking their fucking nose in whatever this supposed problem is.”
“Got it,” I turn as Arsenal exits the room and follow him along the long stretch of wall to the back staircase.
We climb the steps quickly, taking them two at a time, and when we reach the 2nd floor, Arsenal places his palm on a scanner affixed to the wall. A hidden door slides open once his palm is scanned, and I’m low-key impressed with their security because on the surface, they don’t seem to put a ton of effort into technology.
Following closely behind him, we step into a large room with marble floors and a vaulted ceiling. The room’s largely empty, but as I open my mouth to question where the hell we are, blood-curdling screams bounce off the walls, piercing my eardrums.
“Blaize is working. This way,” he nods his head, tilting it to the side, and I follow him around a corner and down a long hallway. Who would have known that this rundown industrial style club would have a large space like this, tucked away on the 2nd floor?
The further down the hall we descend, the louder the screams grow. Reverberating off the walls, resounding through my ears, the screams are sharp enough to shatter glass. I’m used to intense shrieks and wails simply from watching Travis in action, but I prefer playing nice until I go in for the kill. Something about those screams will always make the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.
“Blaize, muzzle the motherfucker. We’ve got business,” Arsenal barks, and a very annoyed sounding Blaize merely growls in response.
As Arsenal steps foot into the room, I step around him and I’m completely fucking floored. Blaize’s torture chamber makes Travis’ look like a daycare center. Blaize is leaning over a long metal table, which contains the chained body of a nude man on top, and he’s pulling the man’s teeth out with some kind of pliers, as the man howls in pain. Below both the table and his feet, the slick sheet vinyl floor is covered with a large plastic tarp, splattered with blood.
Sighing, he sets the pliers down on the shiny metal surface and grabs a large white rag that he uses to wipe the blood from his hands. Balling up the bloody rag when he’s finished, he simply shoves it into the man’s mouth, effectively muting him. Arsenal reaches down onto a small table just inside the doorway, snatches a roll of duct tape, and tosses it over to his brother.
Unrolling a section of tape, the ripping sound cuts through the air as he tears the strip off and drops the roll to the torture table. Standing above the man’s head, he places the strip of duct tape from cheek to cheek, sealing it with his thumbs, securing the thick cotton in the man’s mouth. Gripping his cheeks, Blaize leans forward, placing a kiss over the tape.
“Don’t miss me too much,” he grins, as he steps away, circling around to the other side of the table.
Brushing past us, he walks across the hall into a small office with Arsenal and I on his heels. When he reaches the desk, he spins around, leaning back on the wooden surface, feet crossed and his arms folded over his chest. Arsenal circles around me joining his brother, as I flop into the nearest armchair.
“So what’s up kid?” Arsenal raises his eyebrow as I grip the brim of my hat, pulling it off, flipping it backwards, and sliding it back down on my head.
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my thighs, linking my fingers together.
“Darren caught one of our guys, Pete, skimming cash a few days ago,” I start.
“The fuck does that have to do with us?” Blaize barks.
“Well first, asshole, didn’t we agree to favors? So even if it didn’t involve you, it still involves you right?” I snap, immediately regretting my decision as I look up to see Blaize snarling, his upper lip visibly twitching.
Not many people scare me, but Blaize is a fucking lunatic. Without Arsenal he’d probably lose control entirely, and I prefer to stay on his good side, so I immediately reign in my attitude.
“Okay, well, anyway our guy isn’t the problem. I took care of him, it’s what he told us. And it involves you, so you might want to be part of this.”
“We’re listening,” Arsenal nods.
“We caught him on surveillance handing over the stacks of cash to a blonde in a trench coat. She was smart enough to conceal her face. None of the camera angles caught more than her hair and eyes. When pressed for a name - Pete gave us one. Well, two.”
“And?” Arsenal uncrosses his arms, resting his palms on the desk behind him as he leans back lazily.
“The names Cadence and Dante Knight ring any bells?” I ask.
“Yeah, fucking snake,” Blaize grits between his teeth. “Dante ratted out a few guys for a lesser sentence when he was pinched for possession a couple years back. He just got early release a few weeks ago. Came back begging for his place, and I told him to fuck off unless he wanted me to decapitate him and send his head in a box to his woman.”
“Well, I guess you pissed him off enough that he decided to try and fuck us both. He’s the one who took our cash. Ten grand. Sent his woman to pick it up.”
“What the fuck?” Arsenal squints his eyes with a questioning look, “Why would he be stealing from the Brotherhood?”
“Turns out our guy robbed Dante, stole ten grand in product. So our guy, fucking dumbass that he is, thought he could just skim from the top to pay Dante back, and we would never notice.”
