4. Money may not buy happiness,

but it’s better to cry in a Lamborghini.

- PictureQuotes.com

“You’ll talk one way or another,” Torch promises as his knuckles crunch into the man tied before us. His skull flies back with the impact, and an unpleasant groan escapes his lips yet again. He put up a good fight in the beginning, remaining silent, but Torch obviously got his death dealer patch for a reason.

“I could hit him a few times,” I offer with a shrug.

“I don’t want him knocked out, which seems to be your MO if we go by the scene in Chevelle’s office. I need him to flip and tell me anything that has worth.”

“Well, your easy hits over the past hour have barely gotten a groan out of him.”

“I have other methods.” He smirks with an evil glint in his eyes. “Watch them for a sec.”

I nod as he leaves the club basement. It’s just me and these two dipshits that attempted to rough Chevelle up. I can’t believe they lunged at her. What the fuck were they planning on doing? Beat her up? Rape her? She’s a woman for fuck’s sake. She’d have given them hell, no doubt, but just the thought of them harming her has me biting down hard in an angry snarl.

I’m up and out of my chair in no time, sending a swift kick to the gut of the man tied up on the floor. He immediately wretches off to the side, spilling the little bile he has left in his gut. “Piece of shit, I can’t wait to take your life for trying to hurt her.” I kick him in his nuts next to drive my point across.

Torch returns shaking his head at me. “Hey brother, calm down. I need him alive right now. You can beat him to death soon enough if that’s what you want. I don’t mind sharing when it comes to killing filth.”

With a huff, I take my seat again and watch as he pulls a lighter free from his jeans pocket and lights a small torch. He must’ve gone and retrieved it from his room. The torch flares to life, the yellow and blue flames hot and ready to do some damage. I’m beginning to understand exactly how he got his road name.

“Can you see the flame, Fist?” Torch hisses, holding the colorful flame up eye level with the biker tied to the chair.

He remains quiet. His eyes are nearly swollen closed, and you’d think if he had any type of self-preservation he’d start giving information up.

Torch’s gaze briefly lands on me. “Roll his shirt sleeve up.”

I do as he asks, an Iron Fist tattoo coming into view on the exposed skin.

“They all have them,” he mutters to me and scoots in closer. “Speak Fist or burn.”

The guy grunts but says nothing.

“Have it your way.” Torch scowls and brings the flame to flesh. The skin sizzles black and smokes, it fades away to angry meat underneath as the man wails in pain. This is not your back road, high school car lighter burn dare that a ton of us experienced when we were growing up. This is just plain torture, and it smells horrendous.

My brother pulls it away as the man begins to sweat profusely, gibberish pouring from his mouth. None of it makes any sense though; it’s the pleas of a man being severely burned and nothing else.

“You will tell us what we want to know, or I’ll continue to burn this shitty tat off your arm. You can’t ever be an Iron Fist again if there’s no skin here to tat their mark where it belongs.”

With a cry, the man shakes his head.

Glancing at Torch, my brow hikes. “Repercussions must be worse than this if he refuses to speak up.”

“Probably.” He nods and leans in, continuing to burn the entire tattoo completely off. The smell reminds me of burnt hair, the thick air making my stomach grow nauseous.

“Okay!” The injured biker finally gasps as the pain finally grows to a high enough level to get him to talk.

“It’s too late for this tat,” Torch responds. “But I’m sure you have a bigger one someplace else we can move on to next if needed.”

He wheezes and then gags with his mutilated arm full of twisted crimson flesh. It’s a burn too, so you know that shit hurts worse than a simple slice from a knife.

“Pull it the fuck together and talk or I keep going. Let’s begin with your road name. Your patch says T and homeboy over there says Shaggy.”

“Y-yes that’s us.”

“What were you doing at The Pit?”

He breathes heavily for a moment, a nasally sound coming from his busted nose. “W-went for money.”

“No shit. Now, tell me why.”

“’Cause we knew it was a bitch running it and we could make her pay up easily.”

With a growl and a few quick movements, I plant my fist into his rib. T groans in pain and Torch sends me a frown. “She ain’t a bitch,” I grumble and sit back in my seat.

“Why are you in our territory?” Torch continues his list of questions.

T draws in a shaky breath, hesitating and my brother grazes T’s lower arm with the heat. The man screams, “Okay, okay, okay! Fuck that hurts!” The wound oozes, and I have to glance away.

“Talk, motherfucker,” I gripe, sick of smelling the charred skin. I have a feeling Torch is merely getting started, so this process needs to hurry along.

“We were sent by our Prez to scope the area out at first. See where your members hung out.”

“Why?”

“Because,” T hisses in pain, his jaw trembling to get the words out, “he wants you gone. His grandson is here…he wants him back…and he thinks if your club is gone…it’ll be easier for him to take the other club down as well.”

Torch flicks his gaze to me. I know that look. Pulling my burner cell free I send a text to Viking letting him know what T just shared with us. No one would have any idea what my text means who aren’t a part of our club.

Nobody knows what we’re dealing with and the Prez wants it to stay like that. Well, minus the other Oath Keeper charter down the road. I guess they’re the reason this war between clubs began in the first place. We need these two Iron Fists to give us everything they’ve got on their club, or we’ll be exactly where we started off before finding these two—nowhere.

T continues through broken gasps and wheezes, his forehead and body covered in sweat. The raunchy onion smell only adds to the disgusting stench of burnt skin. “They’ll keep coming.”

“To look for us or to The Pit?”

“Both.”

Torch glances at me again. “Check on her. See if anyone’s shown up and watch your six.”

Nodding, I get to my feet, eager to make sure that Chevelle’s safe.

“Send Sinner down.”

“Bet,” I reply and take quick strides to get some fresh air. The reprieve couldn’t have come soon enough. I can handle blood, but the scent of torched flesh is fucking disgusting. How Torch came up with his method is a little nerve-wracking, but I understand how he got his road name and his death dealer patch, there’s no doubt in my mind.

“I figured those two would’ve kept you busier for longer,” Chevelle mutters, rolling out from under one of her cars. I didn’t think I’d made enough noise for her to know I was even here.

Her eyes meet mine, brow raised, and she has grease speckles on her forehead that reminds me of dark freckles. “Anybody else been by looking for them?”

“I thought we bonded last night, cupcake. You can answer my question.”

“You know my name, brat. Has anyone else paid you a visit?”

“No, but should I tell you since you don’t like to share things with me?”

“I’m a man, I don’t share.”

“You’d be surprised,” she replies with a cocky smirk and stands. “You don’t have anything better to do?”

“You owe me dinner.”

“The hell I do,” Chevelle huffs and closes the hood of the car. She shoots an annoyed glare in my direction before striding away, her ass swaying deliciously with each step. The woman is going to drive me insane either with that ass or her mouth.

I’m able to easily catch up to her since my legs are longer. And damn do I want to snatch her elbow and make her listen, but I learned my lesson the first time about touching her like that. She’d lay me out all over again, and that shit pisses me the fuck off if it’s not foreplay. I may let her flip me if I can bring her down to the ground with me and fuck her...otherwise, not happening.

“Hmph,” I grumble. “You’re lucky I’m even interested.”

She whips around so fast I nearly collide with her sassy mouth. “Excuse me? Look here, cupcake, you may push others around, but not me, buddy. I don’t work like everyone else. I bite back.”

With an exhale, I lean close enough to touch my nose to hers, my groin tightens at the irritation in her features, and with a choppy deep grumble I ask, “The real question is where do you bite?”

“Ugh!” She yells, hands flying up in the air and she stomps off. Knowing I’m getting under her skin has me chuckling. There are so many things I want to do to her, maybe spank that ass to punish her for that mouth.

“I like you speechless,” I call out and follow her toward her office.

“Fuck off, biker boy.” She flashes me her middle finger in her wake.

“No boy here. I can whip my cock out and show you if you’d like.” She’s silent, but I’m able to make out another quiet huff from her, and my shoulders shake with a silent chuckle.

We get to her office, and she plops down behind her desk. She’s crazy if she thinks that hunk of wood will put any distance between us. I round the large piece of furniture and prop my ass on the edge of the desk right beside her.

“What are you doing? Sit in the chair!” she orders, and I don’t budge.

“I’m good right here unless you want to sit with me on my lap.”

“Whatever, cupcake. Now, why are you here in my face?”

“Just stopping by to make sure no other Fists came by.”

“No, it’s been quiet since last night.”

“Mmm.” My icy gaze flicks over her, taking in the cleavage from her fitted, cotton tank. It’s white and smudged with various specks of grease. This woman is a full-on gear head, and it’s sexy as fuck. “Fuck, why do you have to be so stubborn? Especially looking like that.”

“Me? You’re the one who keeps coming around to bug me.”

“I just want to fuck you and then maybe I’ll leave you alone.”

“Oh, I know your type, and that won’t be happening.”

“How about I take you for a ride?”

“We both know I drive faster, so no.”

“Dinner?”

“I already ate.”

“Fine.” The word leaves me with a growl, and I frown. Chevelle’s much more difficult than most women I deal with. You’d think it’d be a deterrent, but it just makes me want her more. This is bullshit.

“See, you can go back to your club now.”

“Nah, I think I’ll stick around.” She wants me gone it seems, so naturally, I won’t be going anywhere.

“Excuse me? And do what exactly?”

“Stare at you all day?”

“Not likely. These cheesy lines leave me as dry as the Sahara.”

“Doubtful. I bet that pussy’s clenching and begging to feel my fingers, then my tongue, and last but far from least, my cock.”

“In that order, huh? You’ve thought of this?”

“Every damn day since I’ve laid eyes on you.”

“Wow, so an entire week. Excuse me if I don’t feel so special.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“And you’re welcome to leave,” she argues, and I have to tuck my hands across my chest. I can feel them beginning to shake, and I just want to make her submit while I bend her ass over this desk and fuck her until she apologizes for her snarky retorts.

“Fine, if we aren’t going to dinner, then do you have anything to eat?”

“Seriously? I paid up my favor to your Prez; I don’t need to feed you.”

“And we saved your ass last night.”

“You did not, I was fine.”

“The least you can do is cook me dinner.”

“Keep dreaming, cupcake. I’m not a domesticated chick.”

“The Pit sells food, right?”

She gazes up at me curiously. “Yeah...why? I’m not paying for my employees to come in and cook for you.”

“Is the kitchen unlocked?”

She nods, biting the inside of her cheek.

“You gonna be here when I’m done?”

“Oh, no, biker boy, I’m coming with you. I’m not going to let you destroy The Pit kitchen.”

With a snort, I leave her behind, heading for the main level where I’m sure the kitchen’s located. She may not be domesticated, but I like to eat, and I actually do know how to cook. So what if I pretty much only know how to make pancakes and steak? It has to count for something. Not that I give two fucks what anyone thinks. Even though I’ve never cooked for a chick before, she doesn’t need to know that small detail.