Not five minutes after we get back to the clubhouse, Stone, Jinks, Colt, and Torch are pulling up outside. Huck’s black Labrador, Bullet, runs through the lot, tail wagging and barking up a storm. When he doesn’t see Huck, he stops in his tracks and drops to the ground in a disappointed heap.

“Need a minute,” Stone says, already heading toward the back of the lot.

“You hungry, Bullet?” Shy coos, bending down and giving him a scratch between the ears. “There’s leftover spiral ham in the refrigerator from dinner last night.” Perking up immediately, the dog pushes to his feet and heads inside with Shy and the rest of the ladies.

“Not anymore,” Colt mumbles, rubbing a hand over his stomach. “Bullet will have to settle for Dog Chow in-between licking his balls and howling every time the wind blows.”

“Bottomless pit,” Torch laughs.

“What’s the story on the two guys we grabbed at the school?” I ask Stone once we reach the back building, not wanting to fuck around with the small talk.

“Jet says they’re not talkin’,” he replies, sounding severely pissed off. “Yet.”

“I want first shot at them,” I announce. “They came after me with Shy on the back of my bike. This is mine.”

“You just expect that?” Colt asks, looking at me. “Gonna be questions about your intentions.”

“My intentions for those assholes should be pretty damn clear at this point, don’t ya think, V.P.? Did Stone wait for a club vote before roastin’ Laswell like a fuckin’ s’more? Fuck no.”

“I don’t give a shit what you do with those assholes,” Jinks grounds out. “I’m more interested in what your doin’ with my sister.”

“I think we all know what they’re doin’,” Colt blurts, a smug smile nearly splitting his face. “They’re—” Dropping my hand to the piece in my waistband, I silently challenge him to finish his sentence. Clearing his throat, he laughs. “He sleeps in her bed every night. Got her ridin’ bitch on his bike. I’d say our boy here’s all but stamped his name on her ass.”

Jinks’s stare lands on Colt, his eyes filling with rage. “You knew about this shit before today, didn’t you?”

“Of course I fuckin’ knew,” Colt laughs. “Only one shocked about it is you, Brother.”

“My relationship with Cheyenne isn’t club business,” I interrupt, knowing that she would blow a gasket if she heard the turn this conversation has taken. “It’s between her and me.”

“Oh yeah?” Jinks turns his rage-filled eyes to me. “What if I said you’re not good enough for her?”

“You know a motherfucker who is?” Squaring my shoulders, I take a step closer to him, wanting to make sure he gets the goddamn point I am about to make. “Difference between me and every other shithead is I know Shy’s not a woman any man’s good enough for. Nevertheless, I damn sure know she deserves for her man to spend every day tryin’ to be.”

“You expectin’ me to buy that Hallmark card bullshit?” he asks, getting up in my face.

“I don’t give a fuck if you believe it,” I ground out, not backing down. “Only care that she knows I mean it.”

“Alright.” Holding up his hands, Jinks takes a step back, his scowl turning into a satisfied smile. “That’s good enough for me,” he says, shocking the shit out of me. “For now.”

“What the fuck?” I look between Colt, Torch, and Stone, who are enjoying the shit out of this.

“You expect me to find out you’re fuckin’ my sister and not call you out?” Jinks asks, punching me in the arm. “It’s not like I pulled my gun.”

“If it makes ya feel better,” I chuckle, shoving him. “Your sister did that earlier. Nearly fuckin’ shot me.”

“’Atta girl.” Bracing himself on the corner of the building, Colt laughs long and hard.

“Yeah,” Jinks nods thoughtfully. “Sounds like she’s holdin’ her own.”

“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” Stone begins, changing the subject. “We’ve got some business to handle.”

Swinging open the door, Stone gestures for me to take the lead. Stepping through the door, I unbutton the cuffs on my shirt, rolling my sleeves up to my elbows. “Fellas, great to see you again.”

“Bob and Tim,” Jet says, gesturing to two men tied to chairs in the center of the room. “You’ve met Schrader.”

“You think we’re scared of you?” Bob asks, baring his teeth. “You’re nothing but biker trash. You and that whore.”

“That whore?” I ask, my voice menacingly calm. My eyes move to Stone, standing against the far wall. “You wouldn’t be referrin’ to my girl, would you, Bobbo?”

“Oh, I think he was,” Torch says. “Whatcha think, Prez?”

“Sounds like it to me.” Rubbing his hand over his jaw and chin, Stone’s eyes fill with silent rage as he stares down Bob. “Schrader?” he asks, his sinister tone making me giddy like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Yeah, Prez?”

A smile spreads across his face. “Make it last.”

Those words are like pouring gasoline on an open flame. Grabbing him by the shirt, my other fist connects with his face. “My fuckin’ pleasure.”

Rage is an emotion that I enjoy feeding from. The blood pumps through my veins, blood roaring in my ears, everything around me instantly fades into a haze of background filler. All I see is this piece of shit. And all I want to do is rip is goddamn head off and piss down his fucking throat.

Giving pleasure and administering pain both have a similar result in the end. No matter which one I am handing out, my main goal is to always walk away satisfied. In one way or another, both are a build up to a release, and two of my favorite ways to work off pent up frustration and tension.

“You’re lucky I’m tied to this chair, pussy,” Bob bites out, blood running down his lip.

“Oh yeah?” Walking over to the workbench, I strip off my leather, gun holsters, and my shirt. Bob’s eyes stay on me. “Let him loose,” I say, rolling my shoulders.

“What?” Jet asks, pushing off the wall.

“Let him loose,” I repeat. “If this motherfucker’s got somethin’ to prove, I’ll sure as shit let him try.” I shrug my shoulders. Stone nods in understanding, clearly getting where my head is at on this. “Bobbo, if you can put me on the concrete, you can walk your ass right outta here.”

“The fuck?” Jinks blurts, his eyes going wide.

Lacing my fingers, I crack my knuckles. “You heard me. He puts me down, he’s free to go. Hell, I’ll even give the fucker a free shot.”

Jet works the knots loose on Bob’s wrists, while Blip gets his ankles free. “Stupid,” Bob says, pushing to his feet. Balling his fists, he steps closer to me. “You’d let me walk off this lot, knowing I’d bring back enough men to kill all of you?”

“Not over ‘til the fat lady sings,” I inform him, waving him over with my hand. “Just know, if you don’t take me down first hit, Bobby Badass, I’m lettin’ loose on you. Full-fuckin’-throttle.”

Bob’s fist slams into the side of my face. I stagger back a step, the ache of the impact radiating through the entire right side of my face. “Again,” I ground out, squaring my shoulders. “This is your only shot. Make it memorable.”

He hits me again and again, each punch harder than the last. I stumble back into the workbench, my chest heaving as blood pours from my nose and the split in my bottom lip. No one else in the room makes a sound, or attempts to stop Bob from his assault.

They all get why I have to do this my way.

“Not bad,” I commend him, swiping at my face. Reaching behind me, I grab the wooden tire thumper from the hook on the wall, between punches. “Just not good enough.” I swing as hard as I can, the end of the thumper colliding with his jaw. Bob goes down like a sack of bricks. His head bounces off the concrete floor, his body going limp. “Well, hell,” I mutter, tapping the thumper against my thigh. “How’s that for anti-climactic?”

Bending down, Blip checks Bob’s wrist. “He’s still got a pulse.”

“Who’s the pussy now?” I ask, cracking the unconscious asshole in the ribs with the thumper. “That was a love tap.”

“You hit him in the face with a club,” Torch snorts. “Did ya think he’d keep swingin’?”

I shrug. “I never said I’d use my fists.”

“Hell, he got off easy with Schrader,” Jinks admits. “Shy woulda just shot his ass and called it a day.”

“Mhm,” I nod. “She’s not into draggin’ shit out. It’s sad really.”

“Jinks.” Stone moves away from the wall, crossing the room to where a large metal cabinet is. “Take their wallets and the folder Blip found in their car. I want everything you can get your hands on.” Pulling the keys from his front pocket, he unlocks the cabinet doors and swings them open wide. “If this was Lorzano, the deal’s off the table.” Grabbing a wide serrated blade from the shelf, his eyes meet mine. “And I’ll slit his throat myself.”

Jinks walks over to the folding table in the far corner, where his laptop is already set up next to what I assume is Bob and Tim’s wallets, and a blue folder.

“If it wasn’t?” I ask, knowing that, thanks to D.A., we’ve pissed off more than one high-handed motherfucker with anger issues.

Stone blinks slowly, rage simmering beneath the surface of his hardening expression. “Then we call up Merc and take the fight to Teague’s front door.”

Taking the knife from his outstretched hand, I toss the thumper to the workbench and immediately look to Jinks. “Need a finger?” I ask, raising my brows.

“I don’t need it removed from their body to get a print, you sick fuck,” he laughs, fingers already flying over the keys. “There’s other ways that don’t involve dismemberment, if I end up needing a print.”

“You order one of those ink set ups like they’ve got at the P.D.?” I ask, tapping the tip of the blade on the workbench. Glancing over at Tim, I wink. “We can decorate ‘em with glitter and frame ‘em for your geek central command center.”

“Why don’t you cut off the whole arm?” he deadpans, not taking his eyes from the screen. “Then I’ll have somethin’ to shove up your ass besides my boot.”

“Sorry,” I shrug. “When it comes to anal lovin’, I’m a giver not a taker. You’ll have to find someone else to be your fuck boy.”

“This idiot’s fuckin’ my sister,” Jinks mutters, shaking his head. “Talkin’ about anal. Somebody better shut him the fuck up.”

“Let’s focus on the important shit,” Stone says, attempting to get us back on track.

“I.D.’s are fake,” Jinks says, ignoring me and the others laughing while he continues to type. “Big shocker there. Plates are bogus too. VIN number on the shitter they were drivin’ is registered out of Desoto, Mississippi, to Waylon Jessup. Jessup, who’s eighty-seven next week, is currently livin’ it up at the Bayside Elder’s Village, on the scenic and luxurious shores of Palm Beach. Waylon has lived at Bayside for the last three months, has full amenities and access to all available VIP perks of a platinum residency,” he adds, mocking the ad as he reads. Jinks stops typing and adjusts his screen. “Where the female to male ratio is five to one.”

“Lucky bastard,” Blip laughs. “That fucker’s currently burnin’ through Viagra like breath mints in a Heaven made of nothin’ but lonely pussy and slip-resistant socks.”

“No shit,” Jinks mutters, shaking his head. “Jessup has one daughter. Marla Jessup-McCall has been doin’ a twenty-five to life stent for the last nineteen years. Jessup finished raisin’ her two boys after she was found guilty of killing a man’s wife she was having an affair with.” Jinks turns the laptop to face us. Filling the screen is a picture of Bob and Tim, with a man I assume has to be Jessup. “Guys, meet Nick and Shawn McCall. Two slimy pieces of dog shit, who cost Gramps nearly everything because of a mound of gambling debt Nick got himself in with none other than— Drumroll please!” he shouts, banging on the table. “Maxwell motherfuckin’ Teague.”

“Nice work, Jinks,” Stone says, turning his attention to Shawn. “Secrets never stay dead but people sure as hell do.”

“You better start talkin’, Timmy-Shawn,” I explain. Stepping closer, I poke him in the chest with the tip of the knife. “We only need one brother; and trust me, you really want that to be you.”

After our little heart to heart with Timmy-Shawn, he starts running off at the mouth like a hypochondriac in the emergency room triage while Blip and Jet get a now partially conscious Nick back into his chair and restraints. Trading the knife for my gun, a sort of calming rush begins to flood through me. Walking over to Nick, I release the safety. “I wanted you to be awake for this, Nick.” His eyes widen when I use his real name. “Wanted you to hear your brother throw you under the bus before I blow a hole in your head.”

“Don’t say a goddamn word,” Nick grounds out, glaring at his brother.

“I never wanted anything to do with this! You’re the one who said we had to come back here and finish what we started,” Shawn argues. “I didn’t kill that fuckin’ cop. You did. The hell if I’m gonna die because of your debt.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Nick shouts, then a confident smile spreads across his face. “Teague wired up me and the car before we ever set foot into Tennessee. He’s got eyes on us right now. You just brought the devil right to your front door.”

“You tell the devil he can ring my doorbell any day, asshole,” I fire back, unafraid. “I guarantee I’ve got a few tricks he ain’t seen yet.”

“Your car’s at a chop shop a few towns over. Probably already bein’ stripped down,” Blip informs him. “As for that little black box you had in your back pocket, it went into the river before we ever left the school parking lot.”

“Newsflash, asshole,” I laugh, pressing my gun to his temple. The smile falls right off his face. “You’re not fuckin’ with amateurs here. Teague knew that before he sent you. That calculated fucker doesn’t give a rat’s ass about you. And he sure as shit won’t be wastin’ an ounce of manpower on a couple of worthless shit stains like you. He sent you to do his dirty work because you’re expendable. To him, you’re already dead.”

“You’re wrong,” he shouts, struggling against the ropes. “Dead fuckin’ wrong.”

“That’s funny.” Taking a deep breath, I squeeze the trigger, sighing contently when the gun jerks and the bullet smashes through his skull. “He took the words right outta my mouth.” Looking to Shawn, I smirk. “I’ve got six more in the clip. You wanna make sure it stays that way, ya feel me?” Shawn trembles like a little bitch, but manages to give me a nod.

“Now,” Stone says, stepping up beside me. “Let’s start from the beginning.”