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“Her name’s Riley. She was taken from Daytona Beach four years ago. Did Adriano sell her?” Storm asks, the picture shaking in his hand from the tension.
He’s letting his emotion seep through. Maybe giving him something personal for his first wasn’t the best idea, but when an opportunity knocks…
“No,” Storm's victim shakes his head. “I’m sure he…he gave her away,” he adds, earning him another slam in the jaw.
“Gave her to who?” Storm looks ready to kill, a vein in his temple throbbing as he wraps his hand around the guy's throat.
“To his brother, the girl was too old to be of interest to Adriano's clientele. But Rafe has the facilities to turn a girl into whatever his clients want them to be.” The guy must know how this is gonna end for him. He’s riling Storm in the hope the end will come quicker and less painfully. Judging from the way Storm’s eyes expand and his grip shakes, it's working for him.
“What the fuck do you mean by that?” Storm asks, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice and failing.
“He would have had her trained.” Storm glances across at me but only for a second, and I nod for him to continue.
“Where do I find him?” He pulls a knife from his belt and holds it against the man’s throat.
“Everywhere. Rafe trades all over the country, he’s got training houses in most states. Your sister would have been auctioned off a long time ago.”
“That’s not what I asked. Where can I find Rafe?”
“I worked for Adriano, not his brother. I’ve told you all I know.”
Here comes Storm’s first test. Will he take the man’s word, or will he be certain? I watch my apprentice proudly as he moves across to the filing cabinet at the back of the room, fumbling through all the shit that’s in the top drawer until he picks up what he wants. Then coming up from behind, he doesn’t give Tyler the chance to take a breath before he covers his head with the clear plastic bag in his hands.
I lean my ass against the table behind me and fold my arms, impressed with what I’m seeing. The guy I picked up from outside Denver County yesterday sucks the bag into his mouth, desperate for air, while Storm tightens his grip and watches him desperately seek oxygen through the clear plastic. For a second, I wonder if he’ll let up, but he doesn’t let me down, gaining enough control to peel the bag back just enough to allow Tyler to speak.
He desperately heaves for breath.
“Speak,” Storm hisses in his ear.
“That’s all I know, I swear. If you let me go, I can find out more. I’ll help you get your sister back…” Storm forces the bag back over his face and cuts off his air supply again.
I don’t need to tell Storm that the guy would have said anything just to catch one more breath. He may have become desperate for a quick end of his suffering when Storm flashed his blade, but the thought of death and the brink of it are two very different things.
Tyler’s body struggles against the chair he’s tied to, and Storm keeps the bag tight around his face, his ice-blue eyes staring across the room at me, holding out and waiting until the person whose life hangs on his conscience stops struggling. Tyler’s body stops convulsing, the muffled noises stop, and his arms fall limp. Storm slowly releases the plastic that’s crumpled in his fist and lets Tyler’s head hang over his body.
“I won’t let you down,” he promises me, letting out a deep breath that sings with relief.
“I never doubted it.” I nod back. Storm won’t let me down because he just found a cure to the pain, even if it will only ever be a temporary fix. And on that, I leave him to clean up his mess and head back home to my girl.
Turns out, it won’t be a late night after all.
It’s official. The bitch is getting to me. Crawling right under my skin and spreading like an infestation.
I can’t decide what I want more; her buried 6ft in the ground, or me buried balls fuckin’ deep inside her. What pisses me off most is that, for some fucked up reason, I care about her. Ever since she told me she was after Hawker, I’ve had a nasty feeling in my chest that I can’t get rid of.
She has that flame of determination in her eyes, a flicker of torment that suggests she’s capable of anything. I’ve seen it before in Screwy, and I see it every day in Skid and Troj. It’s dangerous.
I feel a little sad for her that she’ll never get her vengeance. And not just because her principals wouldn't allow her to, because the man she wants to put away is already on borrowed time. As soon as we smoke Hawker out of whatever rat hole he’s crawled into his life will end slowly, and painfully. And Troj will be the one who slowly sucks that cunt’s soul out.
“You coming down?” I flick my eyes up from my smoke to Screwy, who’s standing over me like a tower, his face as stern and serious as ever.
“Sure.” I flick the cigarette butt on the deck floor and crush it out under my boot before standing up.
“Your head with it?” he checks as we step out of our cabin and saddle our bikes.
“Yeah.” Lifting my head, I make sure to catch eye contact with him to assure him. Screwy having to ask anyone about their mindset is a concern in itself.
“Don’t seem like it.” He stares back blankly, his eyes warning me not to lie.
