Part 22 (1/2)
”I don't know yet. Depends on what info you give me.”
”I don't have any info for ya.” He shakes his head, not giving in.
”What you doing on our turf?” I ask, keeping it cool to start with.
”Looking for my woman, the one you took from me.”
”You mean the one you beat?”
”I don't know what you're talking about. Whatever she told you is a lie. I hardly f.u.c.king touched her.” He fights his restraints, but I made sure to secure him good. He's not going anywhere. At least not until I'm ready to let him go.
”See, the thing is, Baz.” I squat back down, getting to his level. ”She didn't have to tell me anything. I f.u.c.king saw her face the day I picked her up.”
”It was an accident,” he blurts, only making it worse for him.
”So, you accidently beat your woman.” I bark a laugh. This guy is a piece of work.
I pull my arm back, making a fist with my hand as I go and let it surge forward, pounding it into his nose. A nice crack rings out before blood flows down over his lip. ”Did that seem like an accident?” I taunt, reaching out, pinching his ear between my fingers and twisting it back.
”f.u.c.k!” He screeches, his body twisting to find relief. ”You're f.u.c.king dead.” He tries to spit up at me, but misses.
”Now, now. No need for the death threats.” I release his ear, pus.h.i.+ng his head back into the shelf with a thud. ”Not yet at least. We still have a few things to get through.” I stand and walk toward the tools hanging up on the far right wall.
”W-what are you going to do to me?” His voice trembles as he starts to scramble.
Not so f.u.c.king tough now. Just like I thought. A f.u.c.king p.u.s.s.y.
”Beau,” Jesse warns as I grab a pair of bolt cutters.
”What? We're just gonna play one game.”
Jesse curses under his breath knowing what I'm gonna do.
”I wonder if you didn't have your fingers, would you still be able to accidently beat on a woman's face again.” I turn back to Baz. A fine sheen of sweat breaks out on his forehead.
”Are you just going to let him cut my f.u.c.king fingers off?” Baz looks to Jesse. His plea drips in desperation and fear, and I f.u.c.king love it.
”Don't ask him, a.s.shole. You p.i.s.sed in his bed.” I squat down and force his face my way.
”I'll do anything. Anything you say.” I grip his shoulder and pull him forward. ”Please, I'm begging you.”
”Does your Prez know you're here?” He doesn't answer. His claim to doing anything to get out of this only seconds before was clearly bulls.h.i.+t.
”Which finger do you want the least? I'll let you choose which one I take.” I reach for his hands not in the mood for his s.h.i.+t.
”NONE! I choose none.” He starts thras.h.i.+ng, but it's no use. He's f.u.c.ked.
”Wrong choice.” With a steady hand, I grab his wrist. His fingers are fisted tight, so I pinch his middle finger and pointer. Digging in, I break them free.
”Does T know you're here?” I ask again, holding both fingers firmly.
”NO! No one knows I'm here.” I'm not sure I believe him, so I goad him a little more.
”You sure, Baz? 'Cause it looks like it's gonna be two for one.” I lower the bolt cutters to just after two of his knuckles.
”I swear, I was told to leave you alone. They're not interested in finding Sandra. They know I didn't treat her good.” He starts spilling his guts in an attempt to save his fingers, but little does he know, it's too f.u.c.king late for him. I'm just biding my time.
”How did you get through the alarm?” I ask my second question.
He hesitates, ”There was no alarm.”
He's lying.
”Last chance, Baz.”
”There wasn't.” He hesitates again, feeding me bulls.h.i.+t.
”Wrong answer.” Slowly but deliberately, I squeeze down. The sickening crunch of flesh, muscle and bones is the only thing I focus on, dulling the harsh shriek of his screams.
”f.u.c.k! No! No! No!” His voice cracks in pain and I push a little harder. I continue to torture him, drawing out more pain, more blood, before crus.h.i.+ng them entirely between the metal. The faint thud of his fingers dropping to the concrete ends his torment.
”You f.u.c.ker!” He starts to rock his body back and forth, over and over again. I reach down, picking up his fingers and wave them in front of his face.
”Oh, s.h.i.+t. That was an accident.” His eyelids flutter three times before his eyes roll back in his head, and then he's gone.
Out like a light.
”Pansy-a.s.s pa.s.sed out.” I stand, disappointed my fun is over. Dropping his fingers to his lap, I reach for a rag, wiping the bolt cutters clean.
”You have f.u.c.king issues, man. That's some messed-up s.h.i.+t,” Jesse says, breaking the silence.
”f.u.c.ker p.i.s.sed on your bed, marks me, and beats on his woman, probably in front of their kid. He'll be lucky if I leave him with a finger to scratch his a.s.s.” I place the bolt cutters back on the workbench as the rumble of a bike pulls into the yard.
Leaving the a.s.shole pa.s.sed out on the ground, I walk out to meet Nix.
”He get ya good?” He notices my arm first.
”Nah, graze.” I shrug it off.
”Who is he?” He kicks the stand down on his bike and removes his helmet.
”A f.u.c.king Warrior,” I fill him in, watching his eyes darken.
Yeah, a Warrior on our turf is serious s.h.i.+t.
”Bypa.s.sed the alarm, smashed his way in and ripped the clubhouse apart. Every room.”