Page 44 of Everest

The bastard smirks. "Your clubhouse was my first choice," he spits, his voice full of smugness. "But the mill was more accessible at the time…" he pauses, then says, "Heard there was another fire in the city last night." He smirks.

My jaw locks. The air in the room changes, growing heavier, and the tension amplifies. I glance at Riggs.

He nods once, his mouth a grim line.

The dumb bastard keeps talking. "Your club is in the way, and my boss doesn't like obstacles. You're fucking with his numbers and stirring shit with street-level runners. He doesn't like bikers with reputations that make people nervous. That's his job." He chuckles low and sinister. "So, I sent messages. I hit where it stings."

I roll the sledgehammer onto my shoulder, the weight of it resting against my neck as I circle behind him. Riggs doesn'tstop me. I swing low and fast, driving the steelhead into his lower back with a kidney shot. The impact sends his whole body jerking forward with a strangled gasp.

I let the sledgehammer fall to the concrete floor, and Rollins flinches at the sound. I crack my knuckles and step around to face him.

"Who you workin' for?" Riggs growls.

"I'm still not talking," Rollins mutters.

"Good." I slam my fist into his gut, putting all my rage behind it because this is more than extracting information for me.

This asshole put his hands on my woman.

This is personal.

So I bury my fist in his gut again, and the air leaves his lungs with a violent grunt. I follow with several strikes to the ribs until I hear them crack. I hammer into his face next, my knuckles tearing into his flesh. His nose is broken and bent sideways. Blood is everywhere, but I don't stop. I grip the back of his neck and slam my fist into his mouth, feeling his teeth crunch and my knuckles split.

Still, the bastard doesn't scream.

The only sounds he makes are garbled breaths from choking on his blood.

I step back, chest heaving, blood dripping from my hands, mostly his.

Fender walks over and pours water over the bastard's face to keep him from passing out.

Riggs steps forward. "Who do you work for?" he demands. "We can drag this out for days if necessary. Your death is inevitable, but how long it takes depends on you."

Rollins struggles to lift his head but manages to look at Riggs. "You think you are gods in this city. You're not. The Kings are done."

Seeing he needs more persuading, I draw my knife, crouch beside his left leg, and dig into his flesh, sliding the blade behind his kneecap.

A scream rips from his lungs.

The second guy tied to the chair vomits.

Riggs looks at the weak prick. "String him up, too."

The guy struggles, fighting against his restraints as Nova moves to follow orders.

"Wait, wait, wait…" he cries. "If I talk, will you let me leave?"

"You give us what we want, and you can leave." Nova’s voice is calm but deadly.

“Velasco,” he blurts. "That's who we're running for." The words tumble out of his mouth.

I stand.

The room stills.

The weight of that name settles heavily over us like a thundercloud.

Wick's voice cuts through it. "Velasco is dead."

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