Ryder
My mind raced with everything I still wanted to tell Braylen, but I knew I had to focus on what was going to happen as soon as Breck, Jagger, Tripp and Cutter arrived. I had no doubt they’d snag the Reapers and bring them to us to be dealt with.
Hawke and I were in the basement of our club’s safe house, which was only an hour away from our compound. It was located in an average-looking residential area—hiding in plain sight, so to speak.
The room was soundproof, which made it perfect to do what we needed to and remain inconspicuous with our neighbors. I was sure they often wondered about who lived there, but they never saw any of us long enough to inquire. We visited mostly at night, pulling directly into the garage and sealing out the rest of the world until our job was finished.
That night would be no different.
“I can’t take this much longer,” Hawke complained, pacing while driving the both of us crazy.
“If you don’t stay still, I’m gonna put you on your ass, brother,” I threatened, his anxiety increasing my own.
“Fuck you.”
“No, thanks. I got a woman for that.”
“Yeah, a woman those fuckers attacked.”
He just had to go and throw that back at me, didn’t he? I advanced on him, shoving him against the nearest wall, my hands clutching his cut and barely keeping him still.
“I know exactly what they did to her, one bastard in particular. Don’t forget that shit.” I drew my hands back but stayed planted in his personal space. “I know you want revenge for what they did to your woman. I only have a sliver of an idea of the rage flowing through your veins, but you need to rein it in. And do it before they get here. Otherwise you could do something that’ll blow back on all of us.”
Hawke’s expression was blank, his eyes glazing over before becoming glassy. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought he was about to cry, and I knew it would have nothing to do with him being scared or sad or any of that crap. I knew it was because the fury ricocheting through him was almost too much, and his body needed some sort of release.
After several minutes of the both of us standing toe-to-toe, the silence both our friend and enemy, he gathered himself and nodded, the glassiness of his eyes disappearing as if it never existed.
My phone dinged a half hour later with a text message. Looking to Hawke, I said, “They’re coming down the street now.”
I should’ve been used to blood-curdling screams from these bastards, but I wasn’t. It took me a few minutes after Cutter started in on one of the two Reapers they’d ambushed at the Overbrook to regain my steel composure. The smell of blood, piss, and vomit filled my nostrils and turned my stomach.
Breck had been keeping watch in the dark across the street from the strip joint when a man fitting the description of the one who attacked Braylen pulled up on his bike, two more of his buddies flanking him on his right side. More of them had arrived after his initial call to Marek. I was sure if anyone saw Breck, they would’ve thought he was some sort of creeper, hiding in the cage—aka van—with a large pair of binoculars attached to his face.
Once backup had arrived in the form of his father, Jagger and Tripp hid in the back until Breck told them their opportunity had arrived. Two stumbling Reapers appeared outside and briefly argued, their scene enough of a distraction to allow our men to swoop in and snatch them. Jagger had explained it had been easy—a few punches and both of the enemy’s men had been rendered unconscious.
Now they were both strapped to chairs, their hands and feet bound so they had no chance of escape. They’d die in this basement, their bodies never to be discovered. Their disappearance from the Overbook would be speculated over, but no one would be able to prove what happened to them. Much like their president, Psych. They all figured we had something to do with him vanishing, but they had no proof.
And they never would.
The guys had put trackers on all of the Reapers’ bikes sitting outside the joint. We knew their club would recover their rides and take them back to their relocated compound. The night Psych had Zip killed, kidnapping Adelaide and Kena, we’d called in reinforcements from our Laredo chapter, wiping out the Reapers’ clubhouse, killing as many as we could during the battle and setting their compound ablaze.
Circling the two men, reveling in their distress, I cracked my neck from side to side, thinking about exactly what I wanted to do to them. The one with the jagged scar more than the other fucker.
“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” one of them cried. “Please just stop.” Cutter had detached a few of his fingers and was preparing to take off his right thumb when he pleaded with us to cease the torture.
“Man the fuck up,” Breck yelled. “You knew what you were getting into when you joined that cesspool of a club.” He landed a harrowing punch straight to the guy’s nose and blood spurted everywhere. “We don’t need to hear anything you wanna tell us.”
“The time for talkin’ is over,” Hawke mumbled loud enough for the two men to hear.
The crunch of bone had the man screaming once again, the look on Cutter’s face stoic . . . and a bit unnerving. Once his thumb had been severed, the man passed out. It was the only time Cutter smirked.
Knowing he was up next, the man who’d attacked Braylen smiled, although there was a fleeting look of fear that passed over him as his eyes flitted to each of us. He completely ignored his buddy, instead choosing to try and intimidate us with his lack of fear. Little did he know that Hawke and I had something special planned for him.
I’d snapped pics of both of them and sent them to Marek, asking him to show them to Braylen, Adelaide, and Sully. I was still waiting for a response when Jagger spoke up.
“Listen, as much as I’d love to hang out and see these two take their last breath, I wanna get back. Do you need me for anything?”
“I think we’re good,” I said. “Take my bike. We’re definitely gonna need the cage to get rid of ’em.”
“I’m gonna go too,” Tripp announced. “I need to make sure this whole thing isn’t stressing Reece out too much. Don’t want anything to happen to her or the baby.”
“You can take my bike,” Hawke said to his brother. “But if you do anything to it, I’m gonna kick your ass.”
“You’d like to think you can,” the nomad responded, snatching Hawke’s keys midair before giving him the finger. Jagger and Tripp ascended the basement steps, leaving Cutter, Breck, Hawke and me to take care of the two Reapers. The guy who’d passed out was slowly coming to, and as soon as his eyes finally focused, his body started trembling.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Breck barked. “I can’t take this guy anymore.” Before any of us could stop him, he pulled his gun from his waistband, pointed it at the guy’s chest and pulled the trigger. Perfect aim. Right to his heart. The man slumped over as blood coated his shirt, his cut hanging open so we could all see the fatal damage Breck had caused.
My hands flew to my ears. “Goddamnit! You could’ve warned us,” I roared. “My fuckin’ ears are ringin’” To say I was pissed was an understatement, but it wasn’t me who shoved Breck. It was his father.
“What were you thinkin’?” Cutter asked.
“What’s the big deal? The room is soundproof.”
“Yeah, but it’s not idiot-proof,” Hawke retorted, wiggling his finger in his ear while throwing Breck a nasty look.
“I don’t wanna be here all night,” Breck continued. “We snatched these two, now let’s just kill ’em. Get it over with.” Tossing his gun on the metal tray in the corner, he stared at his father, then looked to Hawke and me. “What?” He threw his hands up in frustration.
“Cutter, maybe you and Breck should go. We’ll take care of these two,” I said, knowing damn well it was gonna come down to Hawke and me finally ending the lone Reaper’s life.
A hesitant look flashed across Cutter’s face.
“Are you sure?” He reached for a rag and wiped some of the blood from his hands.
“Yeah, we got it,” I replied, glancing to Hawke before turning back to father and son.
“Okay. We’ll see ya back at the clubhouse.”
Cutter had driven his truck to meet Breck at the Overbrook, so that was what they took back with them. As soon as we heard the squeak of the garage door, Hawke and I stood in front of the Reaper, feet spread wide and our hands resting in front of us.
“Then there was one,” Hawke uttered, rolling his shoulders and fisting his hands. “You know we’re gonna fuck you up, don’t ya?” Hawke asked, landing a punch to the Reaper’s ribs, knocking the breath from him before taking a step back.
It was then my phone dinged, and I hoped and feared it was the answer I’d been waiting for. Opening the screen, I saw the reply from Marek. He said that while Adelaide and Sully didn’t recognize him, Braylen did. Closing my eyes and desperately trying to gain some sort of control, I took a deep breath, but it was useless.
No words were spoken as I landed a few quick jabs to his face before turning to face Hawke. “It’s him,” I confirmed. “Braylen identified him from the pic I sent Marek.” I knew in my gut he was also the one who’d raped Edana, the description on point from what Hawke had told me.
The next few minutes were a blur of Hawke and me going at him, one after the other, until he was covered in blood and air barely filled his lungs. Only when we took a quick reprieve did he attempt to goad us.
“B . . . big tough guys,” he gasped. “Un . . . untie me. Then we . . . we’ll see.” The enemy bargained for freedom but he wasn’t gonna get it. It wasn’t about beating on a man who was tied up, his hands and feet restrained so he couldn’t fight back. Under other circumstances, we would’ve gladly released him, given him the chance to defend himself. But he lost that privilege when he raped Edana and attacked Braylen. They were defenseless. Helpless. But that didn’t stop him.
“If we released you, it’d be over too soon,” I taunted. “And we wanna have our fun.”
Blood spilled from his mouth when he coughed, the grimace on his face indicating we’d broken some of his ribs. However, his injuries didn’t stop him from further sealing his fate.
“The kind of fun I had with your wo . . . woman?” His head lolled but he kept eye contact with me briefly before glaring at Hawke. “But I gotta say . . . I prefer the sweet taste of redheads.” The evil smirk that appeared on his ugly-ass face sparked the simmering rage rattling around inside Hawke.
He lost it.
His eyes darkened.
His movements became meticulous.
Swift.
Deadly.
Before I could stop him, Hawke snatched the hatchet from the metal rolling tray beside him and buried it in the top of the Reaper’s skull.