Page 48 of Ronny

Christopher moves next to me. Right now he looks just like his dad, but he has one thing that is more fucking scary than I want to admit.

He has his grandpa’s smile and he is wearing it right now. Right behind him is the ex-president and Lane’s dad, grinning ear to ear—that is why they call him Smiley.

Lane stands by his son as my dad comes to my side. “I guess we have some fuckers that don’t want to talk.” My dad grins and walks to the wall, picking a bone saw. “I think this will be a great start, because that arm is fucked.”

I nod. “That is a good idea, Dad.”

Elliot looks at the saw. “Wait, they can fix my arm,” he pleads with us, while the gang members are silent and watching the scene in horror.

“Didn’t expect this to happen, did you, fuckers?” They shake their heads no, petrified, and I grin at the one closest to me with a dark stain on the front of his pants. The fucker pissed himself.

I lift up Elliot’s hand and give it a shake before letting it fall to his lap. “Yeah, I think it’s fucked.”

His face is pale white, like he is seconds away from throwing up again. I take the bone saw, done playing games with him. If he doesn’t want to speak, I will make him.

My dad takes ahold of his wrist, slamming it down on the arm of the chair, then he holds it down, leaving Elliot’s wrist exposed so that I can use the saw.

Christopher moves behind him and holds his shoulders to ensure he doesn’t pull away. I press the blade on his arm as he shakes his head no.

“Oh yes, you touched my girl and now I am going to take your hand.” I press down hard, making a sawing motion with my hand and running it across his skin over and over. Blood is running down his hand, spraying across his legs, and his head falls forward.

“Well, he didn’t last long.” My dad chuckles, taking ahold of Elliot’s severed hand and throwing it toward the gang members.

“What is the name of your gang?” Lane asks them, walking the line in front of the men. They’re not looking at him but at me and the hand that is lying in one of their laps, and they can’t do anything about it since they’re tied up.

One of the guy’s swallows hard. “We don’t have one yet.”

I close my eyes at how pathetic this is. Konrad walks over and gives him a shot of adrenaline to wake him up, and not even seconds later Elliot is awake, looking wildly around the room.

He looks down at his arm and screams the worst blood-curdling scream yet. “Ready to speak now?” I ask him, confident he is ready to sing for us now.

I grab my bone saw, ready to start taking off the rest of his limbs. “I can start taking care of your other body parts.” I look down to his dick and he gasps, blood spraying from his mouth, and that sends that tooth sailing across the room, landing right in front of Smiley’s foot.

Elliot swallows hard, trying to clear his throat of the blood. “You’re going to kill me either way, aren’t you?” he asks.

I nod. “You are not going to leave here alive, but how painfully you die is up to you,” I inform him.

It’s his own fault, he signed his death warrant, but I won’t kill him until I find out what the hell he has done to those kids and where they are.

“A year ago, I was approached by a man with a long beard, wearing rags that are something hippies would wear. He smelt really bad, like he didn’t believe in soap.” I close my eyes, annoyed that he is drawing this out even more.

He lets out a shaky breath, his body vibrating, and he can’t pass out because of the adrenaline in his body not allowing him to.

He will die of blood loss soon. “Konrad, can you put a tourniquet on him so he doesn’t bleed to death?” I ask him, wanting Elliot to be able to talk.

Konrad is a surgeon and our club doctor. He makes sure to keep them alive long enough to have them suffer more, because sometimes an easy death isn’t deserved. They need to suffer, be tormented.

One of my brothers in the MC kept a fucker who hurt his ole lady alive for years in this very basement with the lights off, to the point it drove the guy insane, and if Elliot doesn’t start talking, I’m thinking I might just keep him until he dies of old age.

We have dog cages across the room that we can store them in from small to large, and we have chains where we can tie them up around their throats like animals.

Christopher even got some older medieval torture devices that he looked into, and they’re fucking scary, I have to admit. He had them specially made by someone out of state.

After Konrad is finished, he steps back, and Elliot continues talking with a lot of effort, his skin paling further whenever he looks at his arm, which looks gruesome, but the line is completely straight and even.

“You know social workers don’t make a lot of money and this guy promised these kids would have a new life, a home, that he would pay me to send them to him and I could even reroute the money to my account which the state gives to foster parents.

“Then I couldn’t keep up with the demands and they were starting to get pissed, and the money I owed started to add up. I got scared and I told him that my wife is a social worker too, then I started stealing cases that were meant to be hers.”

---