Page 63 of Sweet Anarchy

I catch a brief glimpse of leather boots stopping near my head before suddenly, everything goes black and I pass out.

When I was sixteen, I snuck into an old abandoned warehouse with some friends and drank so much beer that I stunk like a brewery for a week.

It was the most I had ever drank at that point and I tripped over on the cement and busted both my knees and my forehead. I had a headache for two days straight and every single muscle ached.

Even still, that pain was nothing compared to the raging migraine I have right now.

What motherfucking asshole hit me over the head with a glass bottle?!

I can feel dried blood stuck to the side of my face and I try to reach up to swipe at it, but I can't move my hands. I blink, the blurriness starting to fade as I look around.

My hands are tied behind my back and I'm stuck in a chair in the middle of the room. There's not much in the room, just some chairs and an overturned poker table.

"He's awake."

I follow the voice, staring into the dark corner of the room. I can just make out the outline of someone sitting there, a lit cigarette in their hand.

"You're an observant one," I praise sarcastically.

There's a grunt in reply before they stand up, walking over to me. Light hits their face and I laugh.

"Ahh. Good to see you, James," I grin. "You're looking old."

Jimmy flicks the cigarette at me, the red-eye bouncing off my arm. I hiss slightly, jolting as it burns my skin.

"You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?" he says coldly.

"You'll have to be more specific," I tell him. "Did someone shit in your cereal this morning?"

He narrows his eyes at me before lifting his leg and booting me in the stomach. The chair topples over backwards, my head hitting the sticky floor. Argh – God only knows what I'm laying in.

"Fuck you," he snares at me. "You and your pathetic club burned our clubhouses down."

I lift my head despite the agonizing pain. I refuse to show him what he wants to see.

"Oh, was that your clubhouse?" I tease. "I thought it was abandoned. It looked like shit. I mean, I like what you have done with it. Well, liked."

Jimmy laughs coldly. "Bit rich of you to have an attitude right now, cunt."

I shrug, staring up at the roof. "I'm just wondering why you are mad at me. I didn't piss in your drink."

"I never did believe in karma much," he says casually. "But after seeing you at the gas station after we heard the clubhouses were on fire, it cemented our suspicions that you guys were responsible. I was already planning on how to make you pay when you just so happen to fall into my lap today."

I think back, remembering the rider at the gas station. Well… that kind of blows.

"I don't do lap dances, if that's what you're after," I joke. "Weird of you to hang out in places like this."

Jimmy walks to my side, staring down at me. "I think it's fitting. We're responsible for all the deaths here. It's a victory for us. Wish I could say the same for you."

"You have a fucked up idea of victory."

He swings his leg out, his boot connecting with the side of my face. I can't stop the groan of pain as my head knocks to the side, more pain engulfing my already raging migraine.

"Can you fucking leave my head alone?" I say through clenched teeth. The pain is blinding, making everything spin.

Through the fog, I make him out as he leans down. "Don't worry. You won't be in pain for too long. Just long enough for your prez to realize what's going on. I'll be sure to send him a souvenir. Maybe a finger…"

"They aren't going to give you territory for a finger," I mumble, amused.

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