Page 37 of Ripper's Redemption

“Please, let me go. I ain’t got no choice,” he whispers, fear evident in his eyes.

“Bad choices lead to worse endings,” I pull back, ready for another round if necessary, but hope it won’t come to that.

The easiest option for him is for him to give me the answers I seek.

“Ripper, you good?” Bama calls out, jogging up with Stiletto close behind.

“Yeah,” I reply, not taking my eyes off the kid. “Let’s see what our buddy here has got.”

“You’re making a mistake,” the kid mutters.

But it’s too late.

Whatever he’s mixed up in, whatever path he thought he was on, it’s intersected with ours now.

And in our world, mistakes cost more than just a little pain.

“No, I’m not,” I say quietly, standing up and hauling him to his feet. “The only one makin’ a mistake here is you, and I’m damn sure you’re gonna pay for it.”

“Who the hell are you working for?” I growl, my grip tightening on his jacket.

He keeps looking for a way out of this, but he isn’t going to find one.

“Nobody! I swear!” he yells, but his voice cracks, betraying him.

Does he think I’m an idiot?

Anyone mixed up in this type of shit works for someone.

He’s damn well not smart enough to orchestrate this all himself.

“Wrong answer.” My fist slams into his gut, doubling him over with a pained grunt. “Try again.”

“Please, man,” he gasps, clutching his stomach. “I can’t?—”

“Can’t or won’t?” I punctuate each word with a punch.

Bama and Stiletto stand guard behind me.

The kid’s face is a mask of blood and desperation now, but still, he fights, trying to twist out of my hold.

God, this could be so much easier on him if he’d just tell me what I’m asking for.

“You’re making this harder on yourself,” I mutter, grabbing the duffel bag.

I unzip it and with one look at the logo on the packets inside, my blood runs cold.

“Shit,” I whisper, recognizing the emblem immediately—a stylized skull with crossed sabers. The Commander’s mark.

Damn it, just what we needed: more issues with the Commander.

We still haven’t dealt with him since Bama was shot. I’m sure the full patches and officers have something planned for him, but as a prospect I’m not in the loop.

“Where’d you get this?” I demand, shaking a baggie in his face. “I want a fuckin’ name!”

He flinches, eyes wide with terror.

“Look, I don’t know his name, all right? We call him Commander. That’s all I know, I swear!" His voice pitches higher, raw panic setting in.

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