Page 41 of Ripper's Redemption

“Old storage building,” Zane replies without looking back. “We need to secure the kid before we start asking questions.”

The old building comes into view, its weathered exterior blending into the shadows.

The van he was driving is parked next to the building, and Bull leans against it, smoking a joint.

Zane unlocks the door, the rusty hinges creaking as it swings open.

Inside, the faint smell of mold and dust hits my nostrils, mingling with a lingering scent I can’t quite put my finger on.

“Get him in here,” Zane orders, flicking on a dim overhead light that casts eerie shadows across the room.

Bama and Stiletto go to the van, open the back door and drag the unconscious kid inside.

They lay him down on an old wooden chair that looks like it’s seen better days.

I take a moment to observe our surroundings—cracked concrete floors, walls lined with shelves full of forgotten tools and parts.

“All right,” Zane says, turning to face us. “Let’s get this party started.”

“Ripper,” Zane calls, snapping me out of my thoughts. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” I reply, stepping forward, uncertain of what my Prez wants me to do. “Let’s do this.”

“Wake him up,” Zane commands, his voice a low growl that echoes off the walls.

Bama steps forward with a bucket of water and dumps it over the kid’s head.

The boy sputters awake, gasping for breath, eyes wide with panic as he takes in his surroundings.

“Please,” he croaks, shivering from the cold water and fear. “I don’t know anything.”

“Bullshit. You always know somethin’ we can find useful,” Zane says, pulling out a knife and twirling it in his fingers. “You’re gonna tell us everythin’ you know about the Commander, or things are gonna get real messy.”

“Look, man, I swear—” the kid starts, but Zane cuts him off with a swift punch to the gut. The boy doubles over, groaning in pain.

“Who sent you to my turf?” Zane demands, grabbing the kid by the hair and forcing him to look up.

“Nobody! I’m just trying to make a living, I swear!”

“A living, huh?” I chime in, stepping closer. “Running product for the Commander is a death sentence around here. Now, talk.”

“Please! I don’t know what you’re talking about! I had no idea this territory was taken. I asked him, and he told me all of Montana was his.” he whimpers, tears mixing with the dirt on his face.

Zane sighs, shaking his head. “Ripper, hold him still.”

I grab the kid’s shoulders, pinning him to the chair while Zane brings the knife to his cheek, pressing just hard enough to draw a thin line of blood.

The kid cries out, trembling beneath my grip.

“I’ll be the first one to tell you, Montana belongs to the Reapers Rejects MC,” Zane warns, his voice like ice. “Not anyone else. Now, tell me somethin’ useful before I end your pathetic life.”

“Okay, okay!” the kid sobs. “It's the Commander! I don’t know his real name, I swear! He runs things from Circle, that’s all I know.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Zane says, wiping the blade on the kid’s shirt. “Now, how long has he been in Circle?”

“I don't know! I’m new to this shit. I just pick up and drop off, I don’t get overly involved in anyone’s shit.”

“All you can give me is a fuckin’ town,” Zane mutters, before delivering a brutal backhand that sends the kid’s head snapping to the side.

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