Starting with Snake.
“How’s that feel, Snake? You feeling warmed up? You don’t want to meet our club torturer cold.”
Snake spat on Tank’s boots. Tank smashed his fist into the bastard’s nose, enjoying the crack of cartilage when Snake’s head snapped to the side. With his broad chest, wide shoulders, and thick arms, Tank had been pegged as a linebacker in high school, but sports cost money, and his family had none to spare.
T-Rex had a similar build, although he was blond where Tank was dark, his eyes blue where Tank’s were brown. T-Rex had missed out on high school football, too, spending time in juvenile detention when he lived in Laredo, although he’d never told Tank why. Not that Tank would ever ask. T-Rex did the talking. Tank did the listening. And yet T-Rex had understood him better than anyone in his life. Maybe because they spent all their time together. Tweedledee and Tweedledum, one of the sweet butts had called them. Jagger had called them “the Twins.” Tank figured that was about right ’cause with T-Rex gone he felt like half of him was missing.
And yet despite evidence to the contrary in the form of a body found in the dungeon of the Black Jack clubhouse, Tank hadn’t given up hope. He couldn’t shake that niggle of doubt that had him riding as close as he dared to the Black Jack clubhouse every week, scouring ditches and forests where they’d been known to dump bodies, checking out hospital emergency admissions … T-Rex was strong. Tough. No one could take him down in a fight. He always had Tank’s back, and Tank always had his. T-Rex wouldn’t go down this way. He had to be alive, and if he was, he would need Tank’s faith, his persistence, and his dogged determination to find his best friend.
He heard T-Rex’s voice in bars and in the executive boardroom where he’d been called to fill T-Rex’s seat as the junior full patch member-at-large. He saw T-Rex’s broad back and his mop of hair on the mandatory Sunday Sinner rides. So he kept looking. Hoping. Because he knew T-Rex would never give up on him. If he could have just one wish in his life, it would be to see T-Rex again.
Snake moaned and Tank tugged on the ropes, testing them for give. He tried to focus on the task at hand, but his mind was still on T-Rex. His buddy would have liked Julie. He was always attracted to loud, bubbly, curvy women; the ones who weren’t afraid to go up to a biker and drag him onto the dance floor; the ones who were the life of the party, making everyone laugh; the ones who were the loudest in bed. Tank went for quieter women, often with hidden depths or vulnerabilities, women who needed protecting and could handle his need for control in the bedroom.
“Let’s get you tied up nice and secure,” he said to his prisoner. “We don’t want you hurting yourself while Dax is working. Nothing pisses him off more than self-inflicted injuries.” He tightened the ropes as an image of Connie flitted through his mind. She was the only woman he’d lusted after who didn’t fit his usual type. Short, cute, with an elfin face, a blonde pixie cut, and a sassy mouth, the motorcycle shop clerk had caught his interest the first time they met. But just when he’d started thinking things were going well, Sparky, the Sinner road chief, moved in on his territory, and Tank walked away. He wasn’t into playing games. Not that it mattered now. She’d just up and left town one day to join her musician parents on tour without letting either of them know when she’d be back.
“It’s too tight.” Snake still hadn’t figured out that he would be grateful for the ropes when Dax arrived. Dax didn’t like irritating things like hands interfering with his work.
“You haven’t felt pain until you’ve spent five minutes alone in a room with Dax.” He heard the door open behind him, glanced over his shoulder and saw Dax walk in the door, but before he could greet the torturer, Snake snorted laugh.
“You’re wasting your fucking time.” Snake spat out as blood trickled down his temple. “If you think I’m going to rat on Viper and the Jacks, think again. Nothing that dude behind you can do to me will even come close to what Viper will do if he finds out I talked.”
“You don’t know Dax.”
“I don’t need to know him,” Snake said. “Viper is a
master
torturer. Hell, he kept your damn Sinner brother alive in our dungeon for three fucking months so he could make him suffer over and over and over again. You should have heard that Sinner scream, man. You should have heard him beg. Even after he spilled everything about your club, Viper didn’t let up. You know why? ’Cause he’s a fucking sadist. He enjoys that shit. Gets him off. That’s the difference between a real torturer and the pussy behind you. And that’s why I’d rather be sitting here than spend a minute alone with Viper after he finds out I failed him.”
Tank’s breath left him in a rush. Three months? The dude had to be lying. T-Rex had been gone three months almost to the day. Gunner and Sparky found his body in the Black Jack dungeon only a week after Viper had taken him. Had they been wrong and Tank was right? Had T-Rex been suffering for three months waiting for his brothers to come for him while the Sinners mourned his death?
Nonononononono
. Pain sliced through his gut at the thought of T-Rex waiting for a rescue that never came, holding out hope that Tank would find him. His heart squeezed in his chest, and for a moment he wished it would stop beating, torturing him with each thud that meant he was alive and T-Rex had died alone. The bastard had to be playing him. The alternative was a hell beyond what Tank could bear.
“You didn’t know?” Snake smirked. “You thought he was dead? He wished he was dead. He begged me to kill him more than once.”
A sound escaped Tank’s lips—a roar—pain, rage, frustration, anguish, and grief—accompanied by an almost desperate need for revenge. He lunged toward Snake, reaching for his neck.
“Stop.”
He froze at the sound of Jagger’s commanding voice—the only voice that could have stopped his raging need to avenge his brother. Powerful, formidable, and ruthless, the Sinner president put a hand on Tank’s shoulder, dominating the small room with the force of his presence alone.
“We heard him.” He gestured to Gunner, the Sinner sergeant-at-arms, and Dax beside him.
“By the time I’m done with him, he’ll be begging us to take him to Viper, although we won’t be able to understand because he’ll have no tongue.” Tall, slim, and pale but with a shock of dark hair, Dax placed his black “toy” bag on the table beside the wall, deliberately paying no attention to Snake. He loved the drama of the moment, the slow reveal when he turned his black, soulless eyes on his victim for the very first time.
“Took you long enough to get here.” Tank didn’t understand why Jagger and Gunner had come to the interrogation room. Usually Dax worked alone with the assistance of a few junior patch members of the club.
Gunner reached for the door just as the new prospect, Benson, stumbled in. A former Conundrum deputy sheriff, Benson had asked to pledge to the club after his extra-curricular activities on behalf of the Sinners had brought him to the attention of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives (ATF). Instead of facing a grueling internal investigation, he had handed in his badge and begged the Sinners for a chance to prove himself worthy of the club and the protection they could offer.
“Christ. What the fuck is he doing here?” Gunner slammed the door and glared at Dax.
“I need an apprentice, and he’s already shown some promise,” Dax said. “Bruisers like Tank and Gunner are all about brute force and power. I need them for the heavy lifting. Benson understands finesse and the psychology behind what I do. He knows his torture implements. Plus, I’ve planned a nice, long session and we’ll need someone to bring us snacks.” A trained psychiatrist, Dax had become interested in torture and human behavior while writing his PhD thesis in university. His work had brought him to the attention of several covert government organizations, but Dax came from a biker family, and nothing could pull him out of the life. He liked the freedom to experiment, to come and go as he pleased, to have no one to answer to but his brothers and his old lady.
“Fuck you.” Benson, still unused to being on the receiving end of orders received a cuff to the head by an irritated Dax.
“Don’t care what you did before, prospect, or who you were,” Dax snapped. “Learn your place or go face the ATF firing squad.”
“Fuck you.” Benson’s face tightened when Jagger lifted an eyebrow. “Sir.”
“What happened to our friend T-Rex?” Dax tilted his blade saw to catch the light from the naked bulb overhead. He kept his voice low, deceptively soft, forcing Snake to lean forward to hear him. He’d told Tank and T-Rex over beer one night how much he enjoyed the brutal betrayal of that intimacy, saving some of his more vicious techniques for when his victims expected it the least.
Snake barely gave the blade saw a second glance. “Suck my cock.”
“Not while it’s still attached.” Dax waved Benson over. “But that gives me an idea. Prospect, help the man off with his pants.”
“Jesus Christ.” Benson swallowed hard and took a step toward Snake.
“I’ll give you something for free,” Snake said quickly. “But you promise not to touch the family jewels.”
“Son, you’re not gonna be needing those jewels anymore. They were forfeit the minute you stepped on Sinner property.” Dax glanced over at Jagger, and something passed between them, an agreement made with the barest of nods. “Tell us what you know, and I’ll make it clean and quick.”
“Fucking Sinner bastards.” Snake snarled. “I’ll give you something just so I can watch you fucking suffer. He’s dead. Day before yesterday, Viper finally decided he was finished with his play toy. Three fucking months he kept that bastard alive. But then he got himself a new distraction—one with a pussy. Never got to see her ’cause you caught me the day he was going for her, but she must have been one fine piece of ass ’cause he fucking loved beating on your boy and listening to him scream.”
Red sheeted Tank’s vision and he threw himself at Snake, fists thudding into the Black Jack’s body. The chair toppled backward and Tank followed it down, raining blows as if the thunder of his fists could drown out the keening sound in his heart. This was for T-Rex, for every fucking hour of every fucking day he suffered, for every minute he waited for his brothers to come for him, for every second he doubted Tank’s love. For the moment he lost hope.
Arms as thick as tree trunks wrapped around his chest, pulling him against a body as hard as concrete. Gunner. Six foot six of pure muscle. Not even Tank’s rage could loosen Gunner’s hold.
“Fuck.” Jagger’s voice was raw, thick with emotion. “Tank, stand down. Let Dax get as much information from him as he can, and then you can have him. And I promise you, T-Rex will be avenged. You have my word.” He turned to Benson, his face tight with pain and anger. “Find Sparky. He and Gun found the body during our raid on the Black Jack clubhouse. I want to know if it’s possible they made a mistake.”
“Gimme twenty minutes.” Benson headed for the door. “Sparky’s at the shop.”
Sparky, the Sinners’ road chief, responsible for maintaining the club vehicles, ran a garage at the edge of town with Jagger’s old lady, Arianne, a journeyman mechanic.
“You got ten,” Jagger bit out. “Maybe seven if I lose my patience with this Black Jack bastard.”
“He’s not gonna say anything different than we told you before.” Gunner tightened his grip on Tank as if he knew Tank was still not in control. “We found T-Rex’s medallion on the floor beside a body that was the same height and build as T-Rex. His face had been so badly beaten he was unrecognizable, but our sources had confirmed that T-Rex was in that dungeon.”
“Bring him anyway,” Jagger snapped. “I won’t leave a stone unturned.”
Now that he’d had a moment to cool off, and Snake was lying in a bloody heap on the floor, Tank’s tension eased. “I’ll stand down. You have my word.”
Jagger nodded, and Gunner released him right away. A biker’s word was his bond. And Tank had given his word only because of Jagger’s promise to avenge his friend. Not that they hadn’t attacked the Jacks already. After T-Rex was abducted they turned up the heat, going after the Jacks on all fronts, trying to break the Jacks’ stranglehold on the lower-level clubs in the state. And although the executive board that ran the Sinner’s Tribe MC had decreed their actions were for T-Rex, the attacks were politically motivated and strategically executed. Tank wanted something just for T-Rex. Something that would have made his friend smile.
Something personal.
Should she stay or should she go?
Naiya looked from the motel room door to the bathroom and back again. With the shower going, Holt wouldn’t hear the door close. She had enough money from Larry to pay for a cab and find another motel for the night. In the morning she could go to the bank, withdraw her savings, call Ally or Maurice, then jump on a bus heading across the state line. Away from Montana. Away from Viper. Away from Holt.
What would Holt do if she left? Despite the fact he’d crossed the room without her help, she could see the pain etched on his face with every step. He needed medical attention and she couldn’t understand why he didn’t contact his club. Not only that, she owed him a debt. No way could she have escaped the dungeon without him. And she didn’t know anyone who could do what he did. Her loose association with the Black Jacks had taught her how ineffectual the police could be when it came to biker politics. Aside from leaving the state, if she wanted protection from Viper, she needed the Sinners and Holt was their man.
A man who’d gone to take a shower, although he could barely stand, and she still hadn’t heard the water. She crossed the room and knocked on the door.
“You okay in there, Holt? You need a hand.”
“S’good.” His voice was faint, far away, and she felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of leaving him alone.
Sticking with Holt wasn’t an entirely unpalatable idea. Yeah, he was battered, bruised, and broken. But that hadn’t stopped him from doing what they needed to do to escape. He’d been resourceful, strong, and cunning. And she had to admit, riding behind him on the bike as they raced away from the Black Jack clubhouse had been just about the most thrilling experience of her life. At least until he’d crashed. She liked how he slapped Larry’s hand away from her leg when he became a little too affectionate in the cab of his truck, and how he snatched Larry’s phone number from her hand. Almost like he was jealous, although she was sure it was more about getting them to safety than anything else. Bikers and geeks didn’t mix.