Page 26 of Bourbon & Blood

Cy was a good-lookin’ dude. Full country, his neck was as thick as the tree he was named after which is consequentlyhowhe’d gotten his road name. He was born and bred out in these swamps like I’d been. Grew up huntin’ and fishin’ – learnin’ the family trade of gator huntin’ which he still practiced today with his daddy.

“Cy,” I said. “Outta all the bastards we ride with, if it ever came down to it? I’d trust you the most,” I told him, and I meant it.

He frowned, perplexed.

“Even over Hex?” he asked.

“You ever voice it aloud, I’ll deny I ever said it – but yeah. Even over Hex,” I said, which was only partially true. He scowled; his confusion compounding.

“I don’t get it,” he said, and I shook my head.

“Ain’t meant for you to get,” I said, putting us back into motion where we needed to be.

“This one of those ‘the enemy of my enemy’ or whatever?” he asked.

“You ain’t as stupid as you look,” I told him with a savage grin and he grinned back.

“Man, fuck you,” he said and I laughed, the tension dissipating between us.

We made it to the shack in silence. That’s one of the things I appreciated about Cy the most – the tall bastard didn’t feel the need to talk my ear off. I didn’t like idle chatter or conversation just for the sake of fillin’ up the night with a bunch of fuckin’ noise.

We found our captive quarry chained up, a gag stuffed in his mouth and duct tape wrapped around his head to keep it in. He had some more duct tape wrapped around his eyes, and I chuckled to myself. That shit would hurt like a bitch comin’ off and would probably take his fuckin’ eyebrows with it.

Not that he’d really need ‘em where he was going.

“Unwrap his ass,” I ordered Cy. I stood in front of the bastard while he did it, my feet shoulder width apart, my arms barely crossing over my chest from how musclebound I’d gotten.

Cy wasn’t gentle about it, the dude in our crosshairs screamin’ around the gag. Had to hand it to the old cuss; as soon as his eyes adjusted, he couldn’t and wouldn’t quit glarin’ daggers at me.

“That’s good enough,” I told Cy before he could get started on the gag. “I don’t need ‘im to talk – just listen.”

I leveled my gaze on the man. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d killed someone without ever knowing their name.

“You fuck with one of us, you fuck with us all,” I told him, and it was true. “There’s a certain strength in numbers,” I said, and I looked him up and down shrewdly. “Pretty certain, you wouldn’t know nothin’ about that though, am I right?”

His watery brown eyes were downshifting from hatred to wary uncertainty.

“Pretty fuckin’ sure you never saw yourself going out this way, either. Am I right?”

His nostrils flared and his eyes showed a little too much white around them.

“I figured,” I said, and I reached into my back pocket and flicked my Balisong open, back and forth, the steel flashing in the glint of the camp lantern, the only illumination in here. The Smokehouse didn’t have any electricity or facilities, but that wasn’t what we needed out here. Just a private place to deal with assholes like this, far enough away, no one would hear the screaming.

“Beautiful, innit?” I asked, flashing the light on and off the blade into his eyes. “The way the light shines off her, the way she clicks and clacks when you open her up? Like excited chatter. Like she knows she’s about to taste flesh and lick the blood from bone. I know it getsmeexcited.” I gripped my boner and bounced it up and down through my jeans once to draw his eye away from my face.

“Jesus Christ,” I heard Cypress mutter. He’d stood himself way back in the corner, leanin’ up against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest like a shield to defend himself from the uncomfortable display goin’ on in front of him.

I didn’t pay him no never mind.

I was focused on the man about to kiss my blade. About to fuckin’ bleed for me. That warm, wet, wash of crimson that made my own fuckin’ blood sing.

There was only one thing that thrilled me more than the rush of killing a man, of watching the light die in his eyes… and that was getting to touch my little Alina.

Though the thrills were both extreme in the regard that they made mefeelsomething, they were as different as dark was to light, as heads were to tails – both present, both strong, two very different sides of the very same coin.

“Heard a boy from another club say,‘you fuck us, we fuck you back ten times harder,’and I don’t know, it stuck with me,” I said, circling the guy.

He jerked from the chains that held him suspended on his knees from the ceiling, the metal rattling as I disappeared around his back.

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