Page 2 of Tripp

Lying in bed I took a deep breath, willing the ache from my body, but it was useless. The evidence of the life I’d lived riddled my skin. I’d been shot more times than I’d like to recount, though thankfully nothing had happened to me in the past year. It was a nice change of events.

Absently tracing the scar near my heart, I thought about what I had to take care of later that day. Sighing, all I wanted to do was close my eyes and go back to sleep, but Marek wanted me to check out how shit was goin’ at the new titty bar, Indulge. I had a hand in hiring the last round of talent, and four out of the five were still employed. We’d fired one of them for doing drugs; that shit just wasn’t tolerated.

I believed someone had been hired to replace the chick we got rid of, but I wasn’t sure. I’d been out of the mix for the past couple weeks, helping my prez deal with the final obstacle we faced.

Psych Brooks.

Leader of our most hated enemy, the Savage fuckin’ Reapers.

All the brothers had taken turns standing guard to make sure that bastard got exactly what he deserved. Strung up like an animal in the basement of our club’s safe house, he’d been deprived of adequate food and water, only being provided with the minimal amount to keep the breath in his lungs.

Daily beatings occurred, mostly at the hands of Marek, then Stone and Jagger. And that was because Psych had fucked with all three of their women. Sully had received the brunt of his abuse her entire life, seeing as how she was the daughter of the evil bastard. Her father never protected her, not once in all the years she lived with him. Shit, I hated even calling him herfather, because he certainly was not.

When I broached the subject of Psych’s demise, asking Marek when he was gonna end the fucker’s existence, a sadistic grin lifted the corners of his mouth. Normally the image would have been out of character for the leader of the Knights, but whenever the subject of his wife’s father was mentioned, the look was expected. “I’m not done with him yet,” Marek would always respond. I understood, and while I agreed that he should drag out the man’s torture as long as possible, I also wanted to be done with him. We needed to move on, and put the last link to our old life to rest once and for all.

But all in due time, I supposed.

Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I quickly stood and stretched my arms above my head, chasing away the last traces of sleep. Padding toward the bathroom, my mind was a flurry of thoughts, none of them bringing me an ounce of comfort. I was up next in the rotation at the safe house, and while I didn’t mind gettin’ a little bloody in the name of payback, I’d much rather chill out at home.

After a hasty shower, I grabbed some clothes from my closet, dressed, and snatched my keys. An hour later I pulled up to the safe house, shutting off my bike’s engine and glancing around the garage to see who else would be joining me, if anyone. Looked like I was the first to arrive. Never paying much attention to who was scheduled to show up when, I strolled inside the house with thoughts of gettin’ this shit over with so I could hit up The Underground on the way back. My home away from the clubhouse. The club’s bar didn’t bring in much of a profit, but it was my go-to when I didn’t want to be surrounded by everyone.

We were on strict orders to keep shit as quiet as possible, so no more than three men were allowed at the house at any given time. Marek feared if people came and went at all hours, we’d draw too much attention and the neighbors would get suspicious. My thought, however, was that anyone who lived close would keep to themselves, fearing what would happen if they butted their noses into our business. The few times we did see our neighbors they averted their eyes and hustled inside their homes, slamming their doors before we even had the chance to nod hello. Not that we were out to make friends, but a welcoming acknowledgment here and there couldn’t hurt. At least, that was my take on it.

Strolling through the kitchen, I snagged a beer from the fridge before venturing into the basement. The creak of the wooden steps echoed through the enclosed space, the ominous sound perking my ears with each thump of my foot. The scene I walked into was straight out of some horror movie.

A man shackled to a wall, head hung low and beaten so badly he was barely recognizable. But it wasn’t some low-budget film; it was fuckin’ real life, and the strung-up man was evil personified. Psych Brooks deserved every bit of pain he’d endured, plus whatever was left in our arsenal to deliver. So far, most of his teeth had been knocked out and his jaw was broken, which made eating impossible. The leader of the Reapers was on borrowed time since he could no longer take in food, so we made good with the time he had left. All the fingers on his right hand had been broken, along with his left femur. He’d howled when Stone had taken a sledgehammer to his leg, his wails the sweetest sound to our club’s VP.

I was more of a subtle torture kind of guy—rubbing salt into tiny slits in the skin, shoving sharp objects under the fingernails, that sort of shit.

Once I’d hit the last step, I covered my nose with my hand. “Holy fuck, it reeks down here!” For a split second I thought I saw Psych lift his head and grin, but it could have been my eyes playing tricks on me. The man was more than beaten down, holding on to the last remaining threads of his life.

Marek had told us all that with each of our visits we were to inflict some sort of pain on Psych, making sure to save the big shit for him. Broken bones, stretching his limbs by tugging on the chains—all that sort of shit was permissible, but no one was to slice him open or cut off anything. That was to be left for our prez.

Ever since Sully had come into Marek’s life, I’d witnessed the changes in him. Before her, he was a serious guy, but pretty laid-back. Not too much rattled him. He took things as they came, reacting when necessary and taking appropriate action.

These days, Marek barely cracked a smile, except when his wife was around. He’d aged a few years in the short span of time since her arrival. His expression was a constant grimace, and his eyes had taken on a darkness only a few of us could relate to. But it was all understandable. Knowing what Psych had done to his daughter her entire life, what he allowed others to do to her, gutted Marek. He didn’t have to voice it in order for it to be known to all of us. I only prayed that after he finally had the chance to purge, after he was able to rid the world of Psych, he’d go back to the man I once knew.

Revenge had a funny way of flipping you on your ass, however. For so long, thoughts of getting even fueled the desire for justification. But when it was all said and done, sometimes all you had left was a shell of your former self.

As I reached for the chains, knowing my form of torture that day was gonna be to stretch Psych’s arms so far above his head he’d have to step on his tippy-toes or else risk popping out his shoulders, I heard footsteps above me.

“Grab me another beer,” I shouted toward the stairs, not givin’ a damn who was there as long as they brought me a replacement. I was gonna be there for a while and wanted extra suds to help deal with what was to come. I’d never say I was a fan of inflicting pain, but the shit didn’t faze me either.

“A please would be nice, brother,” Hawke responded, pounding down the steps so hard I swore I heard one of them crack. He tossed me the bottle before plopping down on a metal stool in the corner, rubbing his hand over his head. His hair was finally growing back after having been balded when his woman had found out he’d cheated on her. Their relationship had taken a turn after the incident which still gutted my little brother.

“You actually left Edana’s side?” I asked in surprise. Ever since his woman had been beaten and raped by some of Psych’s men, Hawke never left her alone, bringing her to the club every single time his presence was required. Marek had given him a short reprieve from dealing with some of the club’s business, the trips to the titty bars on hiatus until he knew Hawke could handle it without being distracted. I’d talked at length with him over what happened with Edana, but in the end he was the one who needed to come to grips with it and decide what needed to be done.

“Yeah,” he answered, taking a slow pull on his bottle. “I figured it was time for me to step up and start doin’ my part again.”

I’d always been protective over my younger brother, going to bat for him and sometimes helping him clean up his messes. An incident happened a few years back, a scuffle with some random guy who went after him after finding out Hawke had fucked his wife. And because I was tired of jumping to his defense because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants, I’d stepped back and let the guy get in a few good punches, my arms crossed over my chest, just watching the two of them battle it out. I knew Hawke could handle his own, even with traces of alcohol flowing through his blood, so it was merely seconds before my sibling had the man on his back, turning the tables and beatin’ the shit out of him. I’d finally intervened when I saw that Hawke was doing some damage, dragging him off the half-conscious man. I’d also warned him that the next time he messed with a married chick and the husband found out, I’d jump in with the stranger and help teach Hawke a lesson.

One glance at the Reapers’ leader and Hawke’s eyes darkened with anger. “So what are we doin’ to him today?”

“I think he’s in need of a bit of a stretch, don’tcha think?” I grinned, glancing at Psych to see if he was even aware he had company. The slight shuffle of his feet indicated he was, and I had no doubt he knew he was in for one helluva day.

Nothing but pain.

Reece

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