Page 55 of Hell Bent

“What do you want, asshole?”

Vicious pulled one of his nines and shoved it in the guy’s mouth, shutting him up. “Get up,” he told the others sitting in the booth.

“I have questions, Jacob, and you’re gonna answer them. If you don’t, I’m gonna shoot you in the hand. One at a time. Do you understand?” He watched the guy nod slowly. Taking the gun out of his mouth, Vicious asked the only question he needed an answer to. “Where’s Dawson tonight?”

“Fuck you.”

The crowd was too heavy to shoot the asshole. It would draw too much attention. Yanking the knife from his hip, Vicious stabbed it through the guy’s right hand and twisted it. “Wrong fucking answer.” Jacob screamed but didn’t reach for the knife. “Where is Franks?”

“I don’t fucking know. Try the chop shop in the back of Chester’s.”

“If you’re lying to me, I’ll come back and shoot out your kneecaps.”

“I’m not fucking lying.”

Vicious could tell he wasn’t lying due to the tears running down his face.Fucking pussy.“Get that hand looked at before it gets infected.”

He saw the guy’s reaction to his statement and knew he had been there when Sway was attacked. Lunging over the table, he grabbed Jacob by the hair and slammed his head onto the tabletop repeatedly until the guy slumped in the booth.

Moving from the booth, he walked through the bar, hoping someone would try him. No one did. Nothing but dickless assholes.

Tearing through the city, he kept his eyes peeled for anyone or anything out of the ordinary. Someone had to have called ahead to warn Franks. Nothing jumped out at him. The area was a ghost town this time of night.

Passing in front of Chester’s, Vicious noticed three cars parked out front. Making the block, he parked the truck behind an abandoned building and moved up the alley. Running behind a few warehouses that lined the street, he stopped short at the sound of a metal trashcan crash to the ground. Backing up against the building, he stayed still, waiting and watching. The sound of two cats fighting in the distance had him relaxing.Such a cliché, he thought.

If he was going to get in before being detected, he needed to get his ass moving. All he wanted was information on the whereabouts of Dawson Franks and Jerome Michel, and he needed it yesterday.

Using his foot, Vicious kicked a broken section of chain link fence with his boot until it folded back from the pole it was fastened to. Pushing it farther back, he climbed through the opening.

Running across the open parking lot, he flattened himself against the metal building as the door came open and two guys stepped outside. At first, he thought he’d have tosilence them, but then they climbed into an older model sedan and left.

Easing down the building, he checked the doorknob. Finding the door unlocked, he turned the knob and slipped inside the warehouse. Sticking to the shadows, he made his way through chopped cars and rolling toolboxes until he spotted two men in an office counting cash.

Standing in the shadows, he listened as they mentioned cutting Dawson out of the take from the extortion money they’d been collecting from all the businesses. That answered the question of who was behind that endeavour.

“Gentlemen,” Vicious greeted them as he moved into view.

Both men looked up as Vicious stepped into view, pointing guns at them both. One way to have someone come after you was to fuck with their money, and he wanted Franks to come looking for him. “Put the money in the bag and slide it over to the end of the table.”

When neither one moved, Vicious pulled the trigger, hitting the guy closest to him in the shoulder. He wouldn’t die from the wound, but he’d be fucked-up for a little while. “Money in the bag.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

Vicious wanted to tell them, but he didn’t want to involve the club. “Robin Hood, motherfucker.”Who the fuck am I?“Where would I find Franks or Michel?”

“Jerome Michel?” the wounded guy groaned.

“Yeah. He has something of mine, and I want it back.”

“That little weasel is probably wherever Dawson is,” the second guy spit out as he tossed the bag of money to the end of the table.

Vicious didn’t have time for this shit. “Give him a message for me.” Vicious stared at the guy and decided to send his own fucking message. The sound of the gun going off a second time sent the already-wounded guy scrambling for the exit. He didn’t make it far. Vicious shot him in the leg, sending him to the floor moaning. “Your friend’s dead. If you don’t wanna end up the same way, you’ll tell me what I wanna know.”

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“Have it your way.” Vicious picked up a gas can and poured the fuel around the guy, then he doused furniture and barrels of old, dirty rags. Taking out his lighter, he flipped it open and lit a piece of discarded newspaper. “Last chance.”

“I swear.”

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