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“Are you sure? I’m willing to come to New York and hunt the asshole down.”
“Unnecessary. It’s your right to punish him, but it was me who brought the bastard into your life. Let me help. I wouldn’t want to be that far away from my Gianna if it were me.”
“I owe you,” I replied. It was my way of saying thank you.
“I don’t see it that way, but you’re welcome.”
I hung up and padded back into the bedroom. After setting my phone on the nightstand, I stripped down to my boxer briefs and climbed onto the bed. Curling myself around Dahlia, I reminded myself that she was okay and waited for Nic’s call.
11
FOX
Motorcycle clubs were not the place to find men with clean hands. Some of us, like the Iron Rogues or Silver Saints, had honor, loyalty, and limits, but we were still involved in shady shit, had blood on our hands, and doled out our own brand of justice. At times, we’d worked with the local law enforcement, but in moments like this, I was the judge and jury. And in this case, I would also be the executioner.
I rode my bike out to a small building that sat at a spot on our property that was the farthest from any of the businesses, homes, and clubhouse. From the outside, it looked a lot like the safehouse Dahlia and I had holed up in. But on the inside, it was very, very different. We called it “The Room,” a name as dismissive as its exterior. The interior had four rooms, a lounging area of sorts, a cell, an interrogation hold, and a space that had a cache of…tools that might be needed to aid us in gaining what we wanted.
After parking my hog near the single entrance, I checked my phone yet again, re-reading the text from Molly assuring me that Dahlia was fine. I’d hated to leave my girl, but I needed to get this done so we could move on without lives. Mav and Molly were watching over her, and for the moment, that had to be enough.
The door of “The Room” opened and Storm—the Iron Rogues Captain, and an expert interrogator and negotiator—stepped out into the light of dawn.
“What kind of shape is he in?” I asked as I tucked my cell in my pocket and closed the distance between us. Nic had assured me that he would leave Cordell in one piece and “relatively healthy.”
Storm grinned. “Couple of broken fingers, missing pinky, and a broken knee cap.”
I couldn't help chuckling.How very Mafia.
When I stepped inside, Blade was exiting the cell. He glanced up and nodded in greeting. “I bandaged the missing digit and set the broken ones in a splint. Knee cap is shattered though, not much I can do there.”
“Bet he fell all over himself thanking you,” Storm drawled, clearly relishing what came next. He could be a little bloodthirsty. But only when it came to fuckers who deserved it.
Cordell didn’t know where he was, or why he’d been brought here. So when Blade went in to fix him up, I could see how he might have been mislabeled as a hero.
“Put him in the blue room,” I ordered as I walked through the third door on the right. I flipped on the light and glanced over my options. After some deliberation, I decided to go old school, grabbing a bat, brass knuckles, and a switchblade.
My gun was already loaded for the finale.
When I stepped into the room where Cordell was tied to a chair in the center, he looked at me with surprise, then his expression morphed in loathing and a hint of smug defiance.
“Looking awfully calm for someone who pissed off an Iron Rogue,” Blade drawled as he leaned back against the wall.
“You wouldn't risk Nic’s business by hurting his family,” Cordell spat.
“Don't see any of his family here,” I stated in a steely tone.
“Call Nic,” he muttered, looking just a touch less confident.
“Who do you think gave me your location so fast?”
Cordell blanched. “He wouldn’t betray family…”
“You might have gone after me, but my woman was caught in the crossfire. I don’t know if you didn’t think about that or didn’t care, but either way, you crossed a big fucking line. Nic doesn’t tolerate attacks against wives and children. You were already on thin ice with him. When he found out about my old lady, he washed his hands of you.”
Cordell shrunk into himself as the truth of his situation hit him. “I didn’t mean for her to get hurt,” he whined like a little bitch.
His eyes darted to the left, a sign that he was lying, which just added to my rage.
Stepping close, I rammed my fist into his jaw so hard it snapped his head back and rocked the chair. “You mean you didn’t’ give a fuck if anyone else was hurt when you tried to kill me,” I growled. “Lying to me isn’t the smart play here.”
