Page 85 of Rage's Heart

“Get up.”

The figure that’d been slumped against the wall groaned.

“I said, get the fuck up!” I roared.

Chad flinched, but slowly climbed to his feet.

Two weeks in our care had not been kind to him. His face was a mess of purple bruises and partially healed cuts. His right eye was swollen nearly shut, and dried blood crusted the front of his filthy t-shirt. The stench coming off him was enough to make any normal man hurl. I wasn’t that man.

“Look who’s awake,” Reign called out, his voice bouncing off the concrete walls.

Chad’s good eye widened when he spotted the men who filed in behind me. He scrambled back, pressing himself into the corner of his cage like a cornered animal.

The sight of the motherfucker sent me back to the night we found him two weeks ago.

Leaving the hospital, the address Zero’d given me burned in my brain as I tore through the streets of Jacksonville. The rage I felt was like nothing I’d experienced before. I was hyper-focused, cold, deadly.

I parked a block away, walking the rest of the way to avoid drawing any unwanted attention. As I approached the house, Cueball was already waiting in the van.

“He alone in there?” I asked, voice low as I met Killer around the side of the house.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “The older woman just left.”

Perfect.

“Back door,” I instructed, slipping on a pair of leather gloves. “Quick and quiet.”

The lock was child’s play. We were inside in seconds, moving silently through a kitchen that smelled of coffee and cinnamon. Following the sound of a television, I found Chad in what must have been his childhood bedroom, judging by the faded posters still hanging on the walls. He was sprawled across a twin bed, snoring softly, one arm dangling toward the floor where an empty whiskey bottle had rolled. He’s shot my woman twice and was sleeping like a fucking baby?

No. That wouldn’t fucking do.

The rage that had been simmering inside me reached its boiling point as I looked down at him.

I moved without conscious thought, one hand closing over his mouth while the other pressed a knife to his throat. His eyes flew open, panic replacing sleep as he realized what was happening.

“Make a sound,” I whispered against his ear, “and I’ll open your throat right here in your mama’s house. Nod if you understand.”

His head jerked in a quick nod, eyes wild with fear.

“Good boy.” I pressed the knife harder against his skin, drawing blood. “We’re going for a little ride. You can come quietly, or you can come bleeding. Your choice.”

Twenty minutes later, Chad’s hands and feet were bound with zip-ties in the back of the van, and we were headed for the warehouse where I could take my time teaching him exactly what happened when you fucked with what was mine.

Shaking off the memory, I approached the cell.

Chad whimpered as he tried to make himself smaller.

Yeah, motherfucker. You should be scared.

“You know,” I said conversationally, “I’ve been thinking about this moment for two long fucking weeks. Thinking about what I’d say to you when it was finally time.”

I grabbed ahold of the bars separating us. “Wondering if you’d beg. If you’d cry. If you’d try to justify what you did.”

Chad’s eyes darted to the other men in the room, finding no sympathy in their hard faces.

Chief tossed me a key. “I’ll be upstairs,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. “Try not to make a mess.”

As Chief’s footsteps retreated up the stairs, I unlocked the padlock securing the cell door and stepped inside.

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