Page 64 of Hell Bent

Vicious eyed the table off to the side and walked toward it. Booker gave him a teasing smile before he removed the black cloth that covered the array of weapons and tools laid out before him. “Get ‘em on their fucking feet.”

Taking off his cut and jacket, Vicious stripped down to just his jeans and boots. He laid his own weapons aside with his clothing. “Do you need a pole, Vicious?” Grinder, one of their newest members, shouted from across the room.Vicious flipped him off and turned his attention to the three hooded figures.

Jagger and Cage dragged them to their feet. Signalling for them to take the hoods off, Vicious watched the three men’s faces. He knew who two of them were—Dawson Franks and Jerome Michel. The third man he didn’t know by name but recognized from the warehouse.

The image of that one motherfucker assaulting Sway was one he’d never get over. Reaching back, he grabbed the modified expandable baton and extended it. The small ball at the end had been sheared off and replaced with a metal tip. Three long strides and he was wielding the weapon repeatedly against the asshole’s knees until the guy was lying on the ground, begging for his life. Kicking him onto his back, Vicious stood over him. Everything went silent in his head, then he let loose the demons that haunted him.

Dropping to his knees, Vicious slammed the baton through the guy’s chest. Ripping it back out, he tossed it aside. Punch after punch, fist over fist, Vicious pummelled the guy’s face until it was unrecognizable. When the body beneath him stopped thrashing and lay motionless, he got to his feet. Unzipping his pants, Vicious pulled his dick out and pissed on the motherfucker. When he was done, he tucked his dick away and zipped up. “Don’t move him. I want these two assholes to have something to look at for a while.”

Walking to the table, his own fucking wounds throbbed, but he embraced the discomfort. Wiping off his hands, Vicious picked up his beer and polished it off. Another beer was offered up by Player along with a shot of whisky. He took the beer but passed on the whisky.

Resting his ass on the table, Vicious ignored Franks and Michel, who were pleading with anyone who would listen. They promised anything and everything to be let go. With a backward look, Vicious caught Dawson Franks’s stare and slid his hand across his throat, letting the man know his end was near.

Vicious stayed quiet while the demons from his past played in his head. Every unwanted touch he’d endured. Every time he was abandoned and let down and he blamed himself. Each and every time the devil raised his ugly head and dragged him down into the gutter. Vicious sat there, letting them all play together as one. They liked being let out to play. Glancing down at his chest, he saw the splatter of blood slashed across it.

“She wanted my cock!” one of the two losers screamed. Laughing, Vicious got up from where he sat. Picking up a gun, he tucked it in the back of his waistband then picked up a Bowie knife and stepped up to Dawson Franks. Tapping against his crotch with the flat side of the weapon, Vicious ran it under Dawson’s balls.

“I didn’t say it. I didn’t say it,” Franks shouted as he struggled to get away from the knife.

Vicious kept his eyes on Dawson Franks, watching the sweat drip down the side of his face. “Get Michel on the hooks,” he shouted. The sound of some of the brothers cheering was barely audible in his head. He was focused on his own emotions. The blood on his woman’s body. The bruises and wounds that she carried when he last saw her. The deep laceration down her sternum.

The knife was plunged into Dawson Franks’s side without warning. Vicious held it there, his fist wrapped around thehilt as it rested against the man’s naked flesh. He felt the rush of warm liquid as blood ran over his hand.

He left the knife sticking in Franks as he turned his attention to Jerome Michel. “Who killed Tesh Roussin?”

“Jerome did,” Franks moaned. But Jerome was already shaking his head as he stared at the knife in Dawson’s side. Vicious pulled the gun and fired off a shot, taking two of Franks’s toes off. “Who did you say killed Tesh?”

“Clay killed him on Dawson’s order,” Jerome shouted.

“Nobody likes a snitch, Jerome,” Vicious said flatly. “Hoist his ass up higher, boys.”

“No. No. Please, man. I’m not the one you want.”

“Fuck you, Jerome,” Dawson said as he spit blood from his mouth.

Another shot was fired. This time, it was Jerome screaming as his kneecap was blown out. Dawson dropped to his knees at Vicious’s feet. Leaving him where he lay, Vicious moved toward Jerome.

“Teller, you think this is taking too long?” Jagger asked until he saw the look on Vicious’s face when he heard him speak. Holding up his hands in surrender, Jagger stepped back.

“I think it’s gonna take as long as Vicious wants it to take. His woman, his retribution,” Teller said loud enough for everyone to hear.

The first one-two to the sternum had Jerome jerking violently, trying to get free. Vicious grabbed him by his belt, stopping his body from swinging. Taking two steps back, Vicious came around with a kick to the rib cage. Hewas rewarded with Jerome screaming like the limp dick sack of shit he was. “Who’s been behind the attacks on the Bastards?”

Jerome shook his head as it hung down.

Vicious cracked his neck as Jerome swung back toward him. Striking out, Vicious landed another hit to the guy’s sternum, taking his breath from him. When Jerome’s body twisted, Vicious took his building anger out on the asshole’s kidneys. His reward was Jerome losing all control of his bodily functions, and he began crying. Vicious grabbed him by the hair on his head, yanking him forward. Through the tears, snot, and smell of piss, Vicious got the answer he wanted.

“Dawson wanted a fight between the Scorpions and the Bastards.

“To what end?”

“So he could run Montreal.” Jerome choked on his sobs.

“And Sway? Why?!”

“Jerome wanted her humiliated for denying him,” Dawson mumbled.

He’d had enough. He’d spent too much time allowing his demons to run free, and now, he was bored with the whole thing. Using the gun in his waistband, Vicious put Dawson out of his misery with a shot to the head. Jerome jerked and kicked, trying to get himself off the hook. His jacket ripped, sending him to the ground. He tried getting up, except his damaged knee had him dragging that leg.

---