Page 25 of Jolt's Vengeance

I don't wait for confirmation.

My feet are moving before I even realize it, pounding the pavement as I run like hell.

The world narrows to a tunnel of focus—me and my target.

Nothing else matters.

I can hear Turmoil's heavy footsteps behind me, but I'm faster.

The gap between me and the runner is closing rapidly.

Blood pounds in my ears, drowning out everything else.

With a final burst of speed, I launch myself at the bastard, tackling him to the ground.

We hit hard, the impact jarring through my body, but I barely feel it.

All I can think about is making this piece of shit pay.

My fists start flying before we even stop rolling.

I'm straddling him now, raining down blows with everything I've got.

Each impact sends a jolt of pain through my knuckles, but I don't care.

I just keep hitting him.

"You don't fuck with the club!" I roar between punches. "With my fuckin' family!"

I'm vaguely aware that my knuckles are splitting, blood smearing across the guy's face—mine or his, I can't tell.

Honestly, it doesn't matter.

Nothing matters except making him hurt.

Suddenly, I feel strong arms yanking me back.

"Hold up, brother." Turmoil's voice cuts through the red haze of my rage. "We don't want him dead. At least, not yet."

I struggle against Turmoil's grip, my chest heaving.

"Let me go," I snarl. "This fucker needs to pay!"

But even as I say it, I know Turmoil's right.

We need information, and a corpse can't talk.

I force myself to take a deep breath, trying to calm the inferno of rage in my chest.

The crunch of gravel under heavy boots cuts through the night air.

I turn, still breathing hard, to see Damon approaching.

His eyes sweep over the scene—me with blood-slicked knuckles, Turmoil's restraining grip, and the sorry sack of shit whimpering on the ground.

A slow, dangerous smile spreads across Damon's face. "Damn, good job, Jolt."

Pride swells in my chest, mingling with the adrenaline still coursing through my veins.

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