Chapter Six
~Judge~
“Collector, you know a Daniel Teatley?”
Dover ‘Collector’ Ragnes, our unofficial club president, runs his hand through his shaggy dark hair as he thinks. “Yeah, he’s a doctor at the family practice.” He’s sitting on the edge of his bed at the small motel we are staying at while in Cloverfield.
“Fucker likes to use his hands.”
Collector raises an eyebrow at me. “Elaborate.”
“Went to the store. Woman in front of me was shaken up. Boy had healing bruises. Cashier laid it out for the woman in a way that said go home. I set her and her kid up to get out of Dodge then went back for the scoop. Apparently, the man has a history of leaving marks on his woman. Everyone sees it, and no one stops it because he takes good care of her.” The words coming out of my mouth make me want to vomit.
How can anyone think, because he financially provides, he can do whatever the fuck else he wants? Shit like this pisses me the hell off.
“Lives outside of town,” Collector informs before moving to the back of the room where the bathroom is then returning with his toiletry bag. “Load up. When Rowdy gets back, we’ll ride out.”
His eyes meet mine. No further words need to be exchanged. Once the crew gets back, we are heading to the next city, but first, we will pay Daniel Teatley a visit.
Collector goes outside to smoke while I head to the room I’m sharing with Rowdy to pack up. He’s in the parking lot with Deacon, trying to fix the brake lines on his bike from his own morning of hell.
It doesn’t take me long before I’m tossing my things back in my bag then putting the shit away on my bike.
“Can’t believe you fucked a cop, Rowdy. Like, really fucked her a block from the courthouse. That’s sweet revenge,” Trapper boasts to my brother. “Deacon looks like he pounded into something, but the man of little words doesn’t want to own it.” Trapper smirks as he meets the former SEAL’s gaze. “I’ll just tell myself it was a hole in the tree. The scraping of the bark on your elephant cock has you chaffed, and that’s your problem today.”
“One day, Trapper, one motherfucking day, you’re gonna push too far and get your ass kicked,” Collector states, trying to shut up the loud mouth of our group.
“Oh, I love it when you talk dirty,” Trapper gives back with a wink.
“Do you ever stop?” X pushes off from his place of leaning against the building.
“Now what fun would that be?” Trapper goads everyone.
“Satan himself doesn’t even know what the fuck to do with you,” I join in.
Trapper looks at me, not missing a beat. “That’s how I like it. Keep him on his toes rather than the doorway to hell staying wide open.”
“Only you, fucker, only you,” X adds, going into his room to grab the last of his things.
Within twenty minutes, we have Rowdy’s bike fixed and are all lined up and headed down the road to Teatley’s home.
I sent an email to Tempest to make sure Sabrina is taken care of upon her arrival. Honestly, I thought she would take the money and not leave. She surprised me by purchasing two tickets at the bus station and being confirmed as on her way to Haven’s Harbor. At least I can sleep easy knowing she really did want out and is doing what she can to make her son safe. I can also make sure this man understands she’s off limits for now and forever.
Collector tosses up a hand to signal to us to slow down as we make our approach to the man’s driveway. With a right, we lean in, and the six of us enter the circle driveway in front of the mansion. The towering home is an obnoxious reminder of my past.
Pushing down my own anger, I pop down my kickstand and climb off my steel machine, already itching to hit the open highway and leave the past far behind me once again.
With my brothers taking my back, I climb the five steps and cross the wraparound front porch to reach the front door. Skipping the doorbell, I pound my fist on the wood.
The man who comes to the door is around five-feet-ten, and he hasn’t missed a day at the gym without being overly built. His spiky brown hair is perfectly set like he’s ready to jump off some country club golf magazine with his navy pants and white polo shirt. The red rims around the edges of his eyes show his need for some lubrication to hide his habit.
“Daniel?” Collector looks at the man. “Time has not been good.”
His brows furrow. “Dover Ragnes.” He tsks. “Town talk is you rode out on that metal machine of yours and never looked back. Good cop gone bad. Or is it bad cop gone good?”
“Shouldn’t poke the bear,” Deacon states from behind me. “Only warning you’re gonna get.”
“Looking for a doc? I’m not getting tied up in your mess, Ragnes. Know a guy a few towns over in Dyersburg. Goes by Needles to his boys. He’ll patch ya up if you’re real nice.” The cocky bastard stares Collector down as if we are trash.
If the fucker only knew…
My net-worth would make his home and lifestyle look like he is trailer trash. Money doesn’t buy everything, and it damn sure doesn’t promise safety.
Rather than continue the back and forth banter, I step in front of Collector, invading Daniel Teatley’s space. Like every other halfway smart punk in life, he backs up.
I take another step forward.
He steps back.
Like a rehearsed dance, I move and he moves. It’s not long before I hear the click of the door closing as me and my brothers settle in the doctor’s space.
“Sabrina found herself some back up,” he says on a half-laugh.
“The devil called for his due,” I growl between gritted teeth.
“You put your hands on your boy?” Collector asks from my right.
“Ragnes, you should know better than to involve yourself in another man’s affairs,” Daniel shoots back.
“Did you put your hands on the boy?” Collector repeats without being fazed.
“I remember—the whole town remembers—someone putting their hands on little Raleigh. Cute girl with the yellow ribbon in her hair. Can’t say my son knows what the cold wet grass in a ditch feels like.”
Deacon reacts at the same second Collector lunges, pulling him back from ripping the doctor’s limbs off one at a time.
“Temper, temper,” Daniel taunts.
Reaching out, I grab his throat. “Look here, you dumb motherfucker, your son no longer exists to you. Your wife is now your ex. You will sign the papers being drawn up and sent if you don’t want us to return and make your wife a fucking widow.”
He paws at my wrists while he gasps for air.
“You aren’t a man, but a motherfucking pussy who needs to pick on someone his own size.”
Trapper steps up with a crazy cackle and evil in his voice as he reaches out and grabs Daniel’s crotch. “Want you to remember, fucker, we got you by your motherfucking balls.” He squeezes, and I swear Daniel stops breathing. “Yeah, bitch boy, real nice cock you got in there. Mine’s bigger, but yours could be fun for someone to play with.”
Trapper’s eyes are wild. He’s relentless, and I look down to see the veins popping out in his arms as he applies more pressure to the man I have by the throat.
“I hate a piece of shit who preys on those smaller than him. You wanna act like a man, but”—Trapper makes a clicking sound—“fucker, you ain’t got the balls.”
“We do,” I add, letting up on his throat enough for him to choke on his intake of air.
Trapper releases his grip on the man’s cock as I press him back into his entryway wall. With my forearm on his throat, I kick his feet apart then settle my thigh between his legs.
“Shit’s done between you and Sabrina. You’ll set her and the boy up. You’ll never contact them again. If we get wind you do, you are no longer breathing. You lay another hand on a child or a female, and we return.” I push my knee up, applying pressure to his manhood. “If we have to come back, we cut your cock off and shove it down your throat. With your hands tied behind your back, we watch you choke on your own balls until you take your last motherfucking breath.” With an extra shove, I step back, allowing the man time to take it all in.
Deacon releases Collector who steps up to the man.
“If you ever even think my sister’s name again, I’ll be back to make sure it’s my fucking fist you choke on.”
Liquid pools at the man’s feet as his pants saturate in his urine.
Deacon looks Daniel up and down. “That’s the devil’s due for today. If you don’t straighten up, he’ll call for your soul. And, sir, we’re happy to deliver.” He spits on Daniel’s now wrinkled mess of a shirt before, one by one, we each turn and walk out the front door.
Point fucking made.