Page 82 of Blue

Blind red rage consumed Mooky as he stomped out the backdoor of the clubhouse. The shit Holt had put his family through was about to rain down on the piece of shit unmercifully. Mooky couldn’t hold back if he wanted to.

While cracking his knuckles, preparing himself for what he was about to do, Mooky flexed his arms. Taking a deep breath, he stood at the door to the shed.

This had to be done.

There wasn’t a question in his mind. Holt deserved everything about to come at him. He’d fucked with Odin’s Fury. That would never be tolerated.

Closing his eyes, Mooky’s nostrils flared as he inhaled yet again. Time to shut off the human part of his mind. He flicked the switch on the doting father portion of himself and engaged the enforcer of Odin’s Fury.

When he was in this mode, he knew no mercy. All that mattered was someone had wronged what was his.

Darkness swallowed him.

A righteous and simple sense of justice filled him. Laws of the land no longer meant anything.

Protecting his family and his club was his sole focus.

Holt had fucked with both.

Now he’d suffer.

Anger surged through Mooky. With shaky hands, he reached for the door. After a flip of the latch, he yanked. The hinges squeaked, protesting the force he’d used. If he were a bigger man, say the size of Dash, he’d probably have ripped that flimsy door right off the hinges.

The profile of Odin with his axes crossed behind him stitched onto black leather stared back at him.

Not what he’d expected.

Blinking, it took a full second for him to recognize Mittens as he kneeled to secure Holt to a chair. Apparently, he was early.

“No,” Mooky proclaimed, drawing a curious look from over his club brother’s shoulder.

Holt’s head flopped around as though his neck were made of pudding. Blood dripped from his nose and his mouth. His swollen left eye had already turned purple.

Peering at Mooky skeptically, Mittens didn’t move from his spot but had stopped tying. Slowly, he pulled his hands away.

“I want him to think he has a chance.” Mooky’s voice was low and far growlier than he had ever heard it before.

His chest heaved in anticipation of what he was about to do. Scanning the room, he took inventory. Various implements meant for torture lined the walls. Wooden and aluminum bats were in the corner. Screwdrivers, Phillips-head and flat head were on the pegboard with ball peen hammers of various weights and sizes.

Mooky was practically giddy with his choices. Reaching out, he let his fingers graze the handle of a rusty hacksaw. Some items in there were meant more for damage than for effectiveness.

Blowing out an audible breath, his brother stood and stepped aside. “Prez okayed this?”

Unable to take his eyes off the man seated in the wooden chair over the drain in the cement floor, Mooky didn’t answer. He didn’t know, and he wasn’t about to lie. Cajun could have informed Clark before Mooky.

After he gave Holt a once-over, his club brother shrugged. “He deserves whatever he gets.”

Damn fucking straight, he did.

With a slap to Mooky’s shoulder, Mittens exited the shed and shut the door.

If it weren’t for the lone bare light bulb above their heads, Mooky and Holt would have been swallowed into darkness. It reminded Mooky of the basement where Holt had abandoned Blue to die alone.

A renewed rage pulsed in his veins. Flexing his fingers, he narrowed his eyes at the disgraced police officer.

Stopping at the twin basin shop sink in the long wooden workshop counter, he surveyed the condemned cop. His hands were bound with the same plastic ties he had wrapped around Blue’s wrists. Except they didn’t slice into Holt the way they had Blue.

More anger boiled under his skin.

---