Reb

This time he didn’t bother to knock. Reb’s rage carried him through the locked front door and into Michael’s living room. But unlike last time, only the punk’s brother was home.

“Where is she?”

The kid’s face went white and he started trembling. “Wha-what?”

“Where. Is. She?” Reb stalked toward the kid, the baseball bat from his last visit clutched in his hand. “I know your brother has her. Where are they?”

“I don’t…I don’t…” He gulped. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Reb swung the bat into the flat-screen TV. It exploded into shards of glass, then hung drunkenly off the wall in a tangle of cords. That wasn’t enough. Reb swung again and sent more glass and plastic pieces crashing into the room. His chest heaved in huge panting breaths.

It still wasn’t enough. Would never be enough until he had Michael’s neck in his hands. But until then…

He turned back to the only person standing between him and finding out where his girl was. Reb pointed the bat at the guy’s face. “You’re gonna tell me where she is. I know he has her. Where are they?”

The guy shook like a terrified Chihuahua, and a suspicious odor permeated the room.

“Fuck, Reb. You made him piss himself again.” Axle leaned nonchalantly against the open door. “And we haven’t even got to his kneecaps yet.”

Reb growled in irritation. It was already getting messy and they hadn’t gotten any information out of him. “Take him into the kitchen and tie him down.”

Axle and Tank entered the house and prowled toward Michael’s brother.

Reb tuned out the guy’s begging. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that set of false promises—just the first time today.

This was the only place Reb could think of to get answers. When he heard what the sick fuck had carved into Emily’s car, he knew who was to blame. The security cameras at the back of the bookstore had conveniently been turned away, and there’d been no talk as far as his guys knew that the Tramps had a hand in this. Every member of the True Brothers MC was on notice to find out what the fuck had happened to Emily. If they weren’t here in Michael’s house with Reb, they were out looking for any Tramp they could get their hands on.

Lord knew the pigs weren’t gonna do shit about this. They were still in the alley behind the bookstore scratching their asses.

Reb was gonna get answers. And he was pretty sure he had his guy—or the guy’s brother, at least. Shitty leopards never changed their spots, and this wasn’t the first time Michael had left behind his “whore” signature.

Axle snarled in disgust at the mess they were dealing with. “How the fuck can one human hold so much piss?”

“He’s gotta be empty now.” Tank, apparently not above getting down and dirty, knelt to tie the guy’s legs to the chair.

Reb tossed the bat to Axle. Pulling his favorite knife out of his back pocket, Reb flicked it open and gently ran his finger parallel to the blade. It kissed his skin like a lover’s caress. “He might be out of piss, but I can guarantee he’s got plenty of blood to play with.”

“I don’t kn-kn-know what you’re talking about.” The guy’s eyes were wild as he looked from Reb’s knife to Reb and back.

Tank slammed his fist down on the kitchen table. “You damn sure do know. Tell. Us. Now.”

The guy just trembled, his eyes bulging out like a toad’s. He opened and closed his mouth but couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say anything.

Reb had had enough of this bullshit. Grabbing the bottom of the guy’s T-shirt, he cut into the fabric, then slowly drew the knife up, easily slicing the shirt open. A thin raised red scratch ran along the guy’s abdomen from the kiss of Reb’s blade. Reb stepped back and wiped his knife on his pant leg as a huge, shuddering breath left Michael’s brother.

“You only have so many layers of clothes.” Reb pointed the knife at the guy’s crotch. “I’ll ask you again. Where. Are. They?”

“If you mean my parents, they’re out of town ’til Sunday. They went to Texas to visit Michael. I couldn’t go since I had to work. God, I really wish I’d gone with them. But I can call them for you. I’m sure it’s not too late over there. They are older so they go to sleep really early, but I’m sure—”

“Bullshit!” Axle swung the baseball bat at a kitchen chair, sending it flying into the living room in a spray of splinters and broken wood. He turned and pointed the bat at Michael’s brother. “Next one will be your kneecap. First the bat, then my Brother’s blade. We’ll start with your knees and work our way up north.”

“I swear! They’re in Texas. Have been since last weekend. They went after…” He trailed off as his eyes darted to Reb and his looming knife, then he finished in a whisper, “After the last time you guys were here.”

“Bunch of pansy-ass bullshit. You start on the left kneecap, Axle. I’ve got the right.” Reb stepped around to the side and drew his knife along the guy’s right kneecap in a soft scratch. Reb’s knife left a trail of frayed and puckered jean in its wake. But no blood. That’d come quick if the punk kept wasting time with his bullshit.

“I can prove it. I can prove it!”

Apparently they had his attention now.

Michael’s brother was panting so hard he was practically hyperventilating. His eyes wide with his terror, he jerked his head to the side. “My phone. The proof is on my phone.”

“You mean the one I broke the last time we were here?” Axle gave Tank a commiserating look. “Shit-for-brains here thinks this is our first rodeo. Does he really think we’re gonna hand him the means to bring the pigs down on us? What a dipshit.”

“No, no, no, no.” The guy shook his head emphatically. “You were never here. I know. I swear I won’t call anyone. I’ll stay away from the phone icon. I can show you where Michael is. Ju-ju-just turn it on and use the Where’s My Peeps app.”

Tank grabbed the phone and held it out to Reb.

Waving him off with his knife, Reb said, “Nah, you do it. I’m gonna be too bloody in a minute to make the touch screen work.”

Michael’s brother whimpered.

Tank chuckled and fired up the phone. After putting in the passcode and opening the app, Tank held the phone up to Reb. A little blinking icon showed Michael’s location as Arlington, Texas. Along with two other icons with the names Mom and Dad.

“Doesn’t mean shit.” Reb tossed the phone down on the table. “All that tells us is that Michael’s phone is in Texas. Fucker could’ve mailed it to some schmuck friend while he’s holed up somewhere in town with my kidnapped girlfriend. He took her. I know it.”

“Oh God.” The guy whimpered. “Oh God.”

Reb really should remember the name of the guy he was preparing to carve ’nads to neck. But he was counting on the prick selling his brother out before he got to the neck. Or near the ’nads, actually. Given the way the guy was sweating, it wouldn’t take much more to break him. Reb took a step toward Michael’s brother and the guy caved.

“Facebook!”

The guys looked at each other in confusion. Of all the places they’d expected Michael’s brother to name, that wasn’t on the list.

“Fuck me.” Tank grunted. “I really thought he would’ve given his boy up by now. I’m surprised he had it in him. I owe ya twenty bucks, Axle. I’ll go get the blowtorch out of my pickup.”

“Nooooo!” Michael’s brother cried with an agonized moan. “I swear…My phone…Facebook…It’s all there!”

Between the sobs it was kinda hard to make out exactly what the guy meant, but Reb got the gist. He grabbed the cellphone and opened the Facebook app.

And right there in the top of his news feed was a time-stamped photo of Michael and his parents at a Rangers game. That evening. In Texas.

Shit.

Reb deflated.

There was no way Michael had taken Emily. He was three states away.

Fuck. But then, who had Emily? Reb’s mind whirled. There was only one other suspect he could think of, and it wasn’t pretty.

“Untie him.” Reb tossed the phone back on the table and shoved his knife back into its sheath. He sent Tank a look as he picked up his bat.

Tank nodded and followed him out the door.

They had to get their hands on some bastard Saddletramps.