Page 35 of Gunner

I creep up the stairs, peering around the corner before stepping out. The hallway is completely empty, making me think some of these idiots aren’t here. Might mean we need to come back another day and finish them off, but I’ll worry about that later.

I hear muffled cries followed by a loud smack, not far off in the distance. It’s not until I get closer that I realize the people behind the door are fucking. You gotta have real big balls or be a dumbass of epic proportions to be getting your dick wet while your clubhouse is being invaded. This asshole has no fucking loyalty.

I kick my way inside, my gaze landing on a disgusting slob with a hefty beer gut, a stained white shirt, and a pair of ripped jeans around his ankles. I’ve seen this motherfucker before—Snake. The bastard is pounding into a young woman from behind, her head pushed into the dirty sheets that look like they haven’t been changed in months. We all know club bunnies have a role in the MC, but Disciples don’t treat them like fucking trash.

Just for kicks, I raise my weapon and put a bullet in his bare ass cheek. He howls in pain, pushing the girl away and clutching at his wound. She falls limply onto the bed and I can see from here she’s not in good shape. Clearly some kind of addict. Her skin is sallow and her eyes are bloodshot. Looks as though she hasn’t eaten in a few days either.

Fucking bastard, taking advantage of a girl who needs help—not a rough fucking. Probably in exchange for drugs. I should put a bullet between his eyes, but I need the cocksucker for questioning.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he wails.

“Deciding if you live or die.” I’ve already decided but he doesn’t know that.

“What do you want?”

I’m about to kill him just to stop his damn whining. “Answers. And you’re gonna fucking give them to me. Now, tuck your sorry little cock back in your pants and let’s go.”

The body count from today should’ve made me feel better, but it didn’t. I hate that even a single one of those bastards got away, but it is what it is. We had to make a move and that meant missing a few of those motherfuckers who weren’t there, like Striker. But it doesn’t matter. They’ll get what’s coming to them soon.

Besides, Caleb is my main concern—not retaliation—and I still don’t know where he is. Though I have faith that the dipshit presently zip-tied to the chair in front of me is going to give me all the information I need.

Sitting in Crusher’s kill room, surrounded by various torture devices and tools, Snake scans his surroundings as sweat beads on his forehead. He reeks of fear, but tries to hide it while squirming around in his seat like the reptile he is.

Was Caleb afraid when they took him from his home? Does he know that someone is looking for him? That I’m coming to get him?

The thoughts tear at my mind, fueling my anger, and I deliver a punishing blow to the man’s face. He’s been a patch for a long time, which means he ought to be able to tell me what I need to know about Striker.

I rip the duct tape from his mouth and he screams like a bitch. “Start fucking talking, motherfucker,” I demand.

Crusher leans against the wall behind me, turning a freshly sharpened pair of pruning shears in his hands. He’s the one who usually does all the beating, but he’s letting me have my fun since this time it’s personal.

“What do you want?” Snake huffs as if we’re interrupting his precious day.

“Are all the Outlaws fucking cowards or just you?”

“Fuck you. I’m not a coward,” he snarls.

“Says the asshole who was too busy fucking a drugged-out whore to take care of his club.”

He doesn’t disagree but mutters under his breath, “None of your fucking business what I was doing.”

I rear back and punch him in the jaw, his head whipping sideways with the force as a bloody tooth flies from his mouth. “Don’t get fucking cocky with me, you prick. Now, where’s Striker and the boy?” I bark.

Snake doesn’t answer, just spits blood on the ground by his restrained feet. He laughs dryly, lifting his gaze to mine. “Boy? What boy?” Then he glances toward the ceiling as if he doesn’t know who I’m talking about. “Oh, do ya mean that whore’s son?” He shrugs. “Haven’t seen him.”

He’s fucking taunting me right now, which is not a smart move on his part. My blood is boiling and I’m itching to just end him and be done with it. But I control myself and push all at shit down. I need answers. And then I’ll put this motherfucker in the ground, if only for calling my woman a whore.

I glance back at Crusher. His eyes are trained on Snake’s hands, which are zip-tied behind the chair. I’ve known my friend long enough that I can already tell what he’s thinking. I step aside, sweeping out an arm with my palm face up, as if to say: All yours, brother.

A villainous smile spreads across his lips as he pushes off the wall and stalks forward. “Probably not a good idea to provoke us right now.” Crusher tsks his tongue and moves behind Snake.

The fucker stammers, “W-wh-what are you doing?” He glances over his shoulder.

“I thought you wanted to play? No?” Crusher flicks the tips of Snake’s fingers, toying with him and making him ball his hands into fists. “Now, don’t hide… I’ll just pry them loose anyway. Although it is more fun when you squirm and fight.” He snickers.

“Get the fuck away from me!” Snake shouts, jerking at his restraints.

Crusher waves the shears in front of Snake’s face and the coward blanches. “C’mon on, little piggies. Time to come out and play,” he singsongs. I move to stand in front of the chair, to give my brother room to work. Crusher lifts his chin over our captive’s head, in the direction of the instrument table behind me. I look at all the tools displayed and know exactly what he’s asking for.

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