Page 51 of Diesel
“Look,” he said, making a point to pin me with his dark eyes, “don’t let the past fuck up your future. You want this? Let the past go and let yourself be happy. She isn’t Rachel. But you’ll never know how good it could be if you push it away.”
“Everyone’s got words of fucking wisdom all of a sudden,” I grumbled. He let out a laugh and slapped me on the back.
“You need me, you know how to get a hold of me.” He stood and headed for the front door.
“Hey,” I called after him.
There was one thing that I’d wondered about him. The last couple of years his arrival time had changed significantly. He half turned and raised a brow in question.
“How the hell do you always get here so quickly? I know you service all up and down the coast. And I also know that even if you have more than one place that you stay, that you still couldn’t get here as fast as you do. So, how the fuck do you know how to almost always be less than thirty minutes away when we call?” It was something that had been bugging me. Yet, I never thought to ask until then.
“I have a psychic,” his eyes went distant and his words came out hesitant and confused. Like he couldn’t quite believe what he was saying.
After a long second, he shrugged and walked out of the club. I sat there confused as fuck and still unsettled. Shaking my head, I thought about what I needed to do next.
The club was quiet but I knew I could find Cal in his office. It being almost five in the morning, he was more than likely asleep behind his desk. He had a huge room that he lived in at the back of the club, but he rarely seemed to make it there. I pounded on the door, ready for him to turn down my request.
“There better be a wet pussy attached to that knock,” Cal said gruffly from the other side of the door. I almost laughed. “The fuck is it?”
I stepped in, closing the door behind me. I flopped down onto one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk. He watched me through tired, red eyes. I knew the whole situation of being locked up was weighing heavy on all of us, but most of all him.
“Took you long enough,” he grumbled. “What you got for me? That asshole give up anythin’?”
“Not much,” I said remembering everything that had happened in the basement.
Switchblade laughs as his body sways, the evil sound echoing off of the walls. His hands are chained above his head and his feet barely touch the ground. He struggles against his bindings, trying to shift enough to look up at me.
“What are his plans?” I ask, standing back and watching his struggle.
“Fuck you!” he spits.
I rear back and punch him in his ribs. He screams like the little bitch that he is. I pound him over and over, still getting no kind of answers.
“What is his next move? Why is he so intent to get to our club?” I ask, my voice even and dull. I show no signs that he is getting to me.
“You really don’t get it, do you? You are all so fucking stupid.” His breaths are jagged and he seems to be losing energy fast. I can’t have that. I need more out of him. “He doesn’t trust anyone. He’s a paranoid psycho. Keeps all of his shit to himself.”
I pull out my knife and cut his shirt off. Then I start at his collarbone, digging in deep enough for him to squirm and pull against his bindings.
“Just kill me. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m replaceable. Everyone is to him. Don’t you get it?!”
With a deep growl, I stab in between his ribs. He won’t last much longer and I’m starting to think he really doesn’t know anything. It seems that Savage is smarter than we hopped.
“What does he want from us?” I say into his ear as I slice from his navel to the top of where his pants ride.
“He wants to own you! He wants to be the fucking king! That’s the thing about him, man, he doesn’t do any of the dirty work. He wants to run it all and keep his hands clean at the same time. You are just his bitches.” He sucks in a deep breath and tries to wriggle away from me.
I grab his hair, pulling his head all the way back. Gripping the knife handle with my hand, I punch his face over and over, until I feel the bones cracking. I’m angry and it’s starting to seep through my cool exterior. He killed Stone. He shouldn’t even still be breathing. But I know we need answers, and if I can get even one thing out of him that will help, then it will be worth it.
“What about his wife?” I spit out the word. Because the thought of someone being married to Savage sickens me. She must be as fucked in the head as him. Switchblade laughs like I’m missing some sort of joke.
“She doesn’t know anything. She’s a fucking trophy for him. He keeps her locked up in that house in the back of the compound lot.” His body goes lax and there is no way I am done with him yet. I slap his face and when that doesn’t seem to do anything, I work his body a bit more until he screams.
“House?” I ask.
“Yeah, he keeps her separate from club shit. Fucker won’t even share her. I bet her pussy is tight as fuck, but we’d never know. Unlike those lucky fuckers that were around when he first got her.” He licks his lips, like he’s thinking about fucking her right now. Some fucked up shit. He’s about to die and he’s thinking about shit he will never get to have. “He… He has this leather book he keeps with him. I’ve seen him write shit in it, but I’ve never seen what’s in it. I’m sure he isn’t writing fucking poetry in there. That’s all I got, man. Just do what you gotta do.”
I unchain him and tie him face down on the big steel table. I reach for the blowtorch. He doesn’t get to die with his colors on him. Any honor he thinks he has will be gone, stripped, like the way he took Stone’s life.
