Page 41 of Property of Azrael

Sliding open the rusty door of the warehouse, Van pulls an old red truck inside.

“He give you any trouble?” I ask as he jumps out.

“No. Hit him hard enough that he didn’t see me coming. Bastard’s been knocked out since.”

Orion goes up to the passenger side of the truck, where our new friend is slumped against the window. “How’d you get him?”

“He was out on his own, smoking a fatty. Far enough away from the hotel that none of their cameras should have picked me up. Mindy’s double checking for me.” He goes to stand where O is waiting. “One good hit and I had him. The bitch of it was dragging his ass into the truck. Fucker’s heavier than he looks.”

O taps the glass, and the guy doesn’t budge. “The fuck did you hit him with? Dude’s out cold.”

He shrugs. “A BFR.”

“The fuck is that?”

“A big fucking rock.” We all give him a look. “What? I improvised. Rock’s in the back, in case you were wondering.” He opens the door. “Help me get his ass outta here.”

O and Van get him out of the truck and over to the area already setup. Plastic tarps line the floor, and an old chair sits in the middle. They deposit him there, making sure his arms are secured behind him.

“Wake him up.”

O moves in front of him and socks him hard in the groin. The man’s eyes fly open as he screams in pain. Not what I had in mind, but effective, I’ll give him that.

“Evening, fucker.”

“Where the hell am I?” he groans. His eyes dart around the room, taking in his surroundings, and then turns to us. “Who the fuck are you guys?”

“We met earlier. You may not remember.”

“What do you want from me?” he hisses through clenched teeth.

“We need to talk,” I answer flatly. “About who you might’ve told about our little run-in today. But before we get to that, let’s start with something simple. Tell me your name.”

The man shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “I’m not telling you shit.”

“Wrong answer, asshole.”

He wants to play hardball? Fine. I have all night. All night to pry his secrets out one by one, finger by finger, until he gives me what I want. It’ll be worth the long ride tomorrow, and worth knowing Hallie is safe.

“You realize that withholding your name won’t help your situation, right? We already know who you ride with, whose colors you wear. We just need to know what name to put on your unmarked grave.” Orion circles the chair, slowly and methodically, our friend’s gaze watching his route closely. “Make it easy on yourself. It’ll be much less painful if you cooperate.”

“Go fuck yourself,” he spits.

“I’ll take that as a no.” O tips his head, leaving it up to me on how to proceed. “Suit yourself.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re that model.”

“And you’re the asshole whose ass I kicked.”

“Fucking pussy. Let me guess, she put you up to this. Living out that little biker fantasy for her by getting your hands dirty. Bet she’s watching and lapping this shit up for her next book.” He struggles against his bonds, tugging and pulling at them, but finding no slack. He doesn’t even feel the wire garrote wrapped around his throat until it’s too late.

“Do it.”

Van rears back, the wire biting into our friend’s throat like a bowstring. Thin trickles of blood cascade down his throat from where the wire cuts into his flesh, and he gasps.

“I warned you, motherfucker. I told you what would happen if you even thought about her.”

With a nod, Van applies more pressure on the wire then releases him, only long enough to allow a little air back into his lungs. Dead men don’t talk, and we need him to talk.

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