Page 132 of Avenging Devil: Part 2

“Torture Grit?” While I’m not averse to the idea, we’re in a very public parking lot. Shoppers are going to and from their cars all around me. Full bags one way, empty hands the other.

Dusty cottons on fast. “One scream and all hell will break loose.” He jerks his head toward a security camera.

“I’ve duct taped his mouth,” Kink tells them.

“So how’s he fuckin’ supposed to talk?” Deuce rolls his eyes and looks around warily.

Blaze shrugs. “Yes or no answers only.”

“He’ll be a fuckin’ hard nut to crack.” I’m certain Grit won’t betray the last remaining Crazy Wolf lightly.

Bolt’s still grinning. “You got water in there?” He nods to the truck.

Kink looks startled, but opens the rear door and peers in. “Whatdya know?” he asks rhetorically. “A five-gallon container, looks full.”

I’m not surprised, this truck is known for having a leaky radiator. “What you thinking, Bolt?” But while I ask, I’ve got a good idea.

Dart’s now got a grin which splits his face ear to ear. “Waterboarding,” he says quietly. “It’s hard to scream when you’re drowning.”

Ah yes. My mind goes back to the demonstration Swift had given to us.

Bolt asks, cracking his knuckles, “He conscious?”

Kink nods. “Yeah, he’s moving, trying to get free.” But he won’t. If Kink knows anything, it’s how to restrain somebody.

“I might only have watched,” Bolt informs us, “but how hard can it be? Wanna help, Brother?”

I wish he was asking me, not Kink, but it would be awkward as fuck for me to get into the truck and help hold Grit down. Once again, I curse my injury.

“Give us some cover,” Bolt instructs, then takes off his bandana, as he and Kink get into the back of the truck.

“Cover,” Dart muses. Then, reaching into the truck, he turns on the radio, tunes to a channel playing heavy rock, and dials up the volume. “Come on, Brothers, let’s party.”

Blaze gets out a pack of cigarettes. Deuce is the only taker, but they both light up and sit on the hood of the truck. Dusty starts jiving to the beat. Taking my cue, I balance on my prosthesis, and tap one of my crutches on the ground to the beat, and all the time the San Diego sun beats down.

“Hey, pretty lady, want to dance?” Dusty holds out his hand to a young woman walking by. She blushes, but hurries on past.

“Your charms aren’t working,” Dart informs him, chuckling.

There’s movement from the truck behind us, and muffled cries. A husband and wife—her pushing a stroller, him holding the hand of a toddler—are heading toward us. They give us a filthy look and divert their path so they don’t come close.

One braver man, his back ramrod straight like he’s got military experience, is braver. “What the hell’s going on?” He points to the truck where the suspension is bouncing up and down.

“When the truck’s rockin’, don’t go a knockin’,” Blaze drawls with a wink.

“Brothers having fun,” Dart informs him.

“You got a woman in there?” The man looks on suspiciously.

Grit chooses that time to get out some words, “Oh God, no—”

“Nah, not a woman.” Blaze grins knowingly. He nods at Dart. “What he said, just brothers having fun.”

“Fucking perverts,” the man says with outrage on his face.

“Fuckin’ homophobe,” Dart responds quickly, his face becoming vicious.

The man backs off immediately. “Hey, each to their own, but here, man? Where there are kids?” He throws up his hands and walks off.

---