Page 76 of Jolt's Vengeance

I give a slight nod, preparing myself for what's to come.

As much as I hate this part of the job, I know it's necessary.

We can't let anyone fuck with the Reapers Rejects MC and get away with it.

"All right then," Widow says, his tone deceptively casual. "Let's see if we can jog your memory."

As Widow moves in, I can't help but admire his composure.

The guy's a pro at this shit, no doubt honed from years of protecting the club and his daughter, Zoe.

The man's agonized scream snaps me back to the present.

Widow's got the pliers clamped around one of his fingernails, slowly pulling.

"Stop!" the captive wails. "Please, I'll talk! I'll tell you everything!"

Widow pauses, eyebrow raised. "That's more like it. Start talkin’."

As the man babbles out information between sobs, I find my mind drifting.

Is this really who I am now?

The easygoing, joke-cracking Jolt, now an accomplice to torture?

But then I remember the car wash engulfed in flames, the livelihoods threatened, the message it sent.

This is necessary.

"Jolt." Widow's voice cuts through my thoughts. "You hear that?"

I blink, refocusing on the situation. "Sorry, what?"

Widow sighs, clearly annoyed at my lapse in attention. "He says the Kodiaks are planning something big. Some kind of coordinated attack on multiple fronts."

My blood runs cold, but I’m not surprised in the least bit.

"Shit," I mutter. "Any details on when or where?"

The captive shakes his head frantically. "I don't know specifics, I swear! I'm just a hired hand, they don't tell me everything!"

Widow grunts, clearly unsatisfied. "Keep talking. What else do you know about their operations?"

As the interrogation continues, I find myself studying Widow.

The man's a fucking rock, unwavering in his dedication to the club and his methods.

Part of me admires that steadiness, that certainty of purpose.

But another part of me wonders if I'll ever reach that level of commitment.

I’m sure I will one day, and while I’m here, I’m watching everything Widow does.

Being able to be up close and personal with these kinds of experiences will make me a better man in the long run—for the club, and my woman.

"Hey." Widow's gruff voice pulls me from my musings once again. "You with us, prospect?"

I straighten up, forcing myself to focus. "Yeah, sorry. Just... processing."

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