Page 49 of Apex of the Curve

“Man, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Put your arm on that block there,” I ordered.

He was already hyperventilating. I didn’t care. I was in that place that was divorced from all emotion. He, of course, didn’t comply.

“I said put your arm out. You can either do that or I’ll put your mouth against this brick and stomp the back of your head so hard it’ll not only knock the teeth outta your lying mouth, it’ll break your fuckin’ jaw.”

He put his arm out.

“Where’s our fuckin’ money?”

“I smoked it!”

I stomped on his fucking arm and heard it snap. He screamed, long and entirely too fucking loud. I looked up and around.

“You got a week to come up with the fuckin’ money and get it to us,” I told him.

“Break the other one,” Dump Truck said and sniffed.

I dragged him around so he could set his other arm up for me and he twisted and damn near broke free.

“Motherfucker, you asked for it!” I grounded out. I got ahold of his other fuckin’ arm and pressed it against my knee. I broke it like fucking kindling. He screamed, wailed, and cried like a little bitch and I had no fucks to give.

“That’ll teach you to keep your fuckin’ hands to yourself, huh?” Dump Truck demanded.

We left him sobbing on the ground behind us.

“Get us our fuckin’ money that you stole. Interest is accruing, and don’t think to tell a fuckin’ soul about what went down here,” Dump Truck said.

“I don’t give a shit who I hurt,” I said to drive the point home. Even if it was a lie, he didn’t need to know that.

The club had a creed, no matter how much a man fucked up and got in deep with a Sacred Heart, his wife, girlfriend, or whatever and his kids were off-limits. That is kids that were still minor children. If his kid was eighteen, a man, and somehow involved, all bets were off. The kid wasn’t involved in whatever bull fuckery that earned our pissed off, we let them alone.

Who said there was no honor among brigands, eh?

Dump Truck and I hustled up the block and got on our bikes, riding away and taking some hard turns down streets to avoid the approaching sirens. The pigs were expected. That dude hollered like a fuckin’ baby.

Back at the clubhouse, we retrieved our phones.

“So, how’re things going with the blonde?”

I looked up from my phone screen.

“Alright, I guess.”

My buddy arched a dark eyebrow at me, his coal-black eyes raking me over.

“She’s been staying at my place with me the last couple of nights.”

Dump Truck failed to keep his look neutral and I frowned at what I unexpectedly saw – pride and like he was impressed.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I like her,” I said carefully, then added, “And I’d rather not talk about it.”

DT put up his hands, as though to say he was hands-off the subject.

“The fact you don’t want to talk about it tells me this one’s serious, brother. Good for you, man.”

---