Page 12 of Vicious in the Dark

“Who sent you to make the drop?” I asked for what felt like the thirtieth time since we brought him in. “You must have a name.”

I gave him a second kick for good measure, smiling when he screamed again. Blood dripped from his wrists, down his arms. I felt no sympathy for anyone who worked in human trafficking. I didn’t have a lot of hard limits on what kind of activity I allowed in my city, but that was one of them. It was an automatic death sentence.

“I don’t. I swear. Some guy with a shaved head asked me to drop them at the hotel. Promised me a big payout when I got there.” Our guy stuck to his story, willing to repeat himself to the bitter end.

A witness had seen this piece of garbage shove two drugged out women into the back of a van. Luckily a few of my people were in the area at the time. They chased him down and freed the women, taking them safely to a hospital to be checked out. Then they brought him here, to the small nightclub that acted as a legitimate front for some not so legitimate business. Right to Ruthless and me.

We’d strung him up in an empty, soundproofed back room of the bar and set to work on him, using everything from brass knuckles to pliers to get him to talk. So far it had mostly been a lot of screaming. We had another two hours until opening. Plenty of time before the staff arrived to concoct fun new ways to make a man sorry he’d landed on our radar.

“Did he have any obvious tattoos? Any gang ink?” Slow, menacing steps brought Ruthless closer to our friend. He twirled a screwdriver between two fingers.

Bruised eyes bulging, the man gaped at Ruthless with sheer terror. “No, I don’t think so. Wait. Maybe there was something. Uh, a clown I think. On his arm.”

It wasn’t much but it was something. I filed that away for later. Watching Ruthless press the tip of the screwdriver to the man’s jugular gave me a rush. Tall and broad with a mohawk, covered in ink, Ruthless carried himself with an air of menace that never seemed to completely fade. Not even when he relaxed.

Although I wasn’t sure he did relax anymore. Not since the night the Archer crew tortured him at an unknown location for three days while trying unsuccessfully to obtain information about me in particular, as well as a partnership we’d formed with one of the three local MCs. Archer had relied on the Sanguine Dragons MC, using them to do the grunt work he didn’t want linked back to his organization. They’d let several club members take the fall for hits they’d issued. We swooped in and offered the MC a better deal.

Little by little over the years, we’d been dismantling the Archer empire. One day it would all be ours, ruled by Ruthless and me. It should have been the four of us, but Wolfe and Ace had made their choice to walk. I sure as hell wasn’t about to kiss their asses and beg them to come back.

“What else? Did you see the car he drove? Was anyone with him? Stop fucking around and spill it.” Ruthless issued the command with a punch that left the guy dazed and blinking hard in an effort to stay conscious.

Eyes narrowed, I watched Ruthless for any sign that he was about to snap. It happened every now and then. The man carried more rage than any one human should have to contain. He tended to stifle most of it—along with every other human emotion—although it occasionally burst out in his passion for violence and bloodshed.

Ruthless’s inked body bore the scars of his experience. Knife scars slashed through his tattooed arms and up the side of his neck to his jaw. Burn marks decorated random spots of flesh. There was more hidden beneath his clothes. It was the invisible wounds that worried me. The damage done to his body had healed. I wasn’t sure if the damage done to his mind ever completely would.

As the game of torture and answers continued, I grew restless. Ruthless could spend hours this way and barely notice the time. I preferred to get the job done and move on. Already I was bored with the lack of info and ready to kill the guy.

Plucking my whiskey glass from a shelf near the door, I leaned against the wall and watched Ruthless break our guest down further. There were a lot of places a screwdriver shouldn’t go. When he hung there limp, I finished off the amber liquid in the glass and offered my unsolicited opinion.

“Put a bullet in his brain,” I said, ready to head home for a shower. “We’re not going to get anything else from him.”

I had a meeting to get to. A woman was interested in securing our services to help acquire a painting her ex-husband refused to give up in their divorce. An easy payday no doubt. Just one of many ways I made my money, preferring to have my hands in several honeypots. My father built his business on illegal weapons and narcotics. While the syndicate still dabbled in those things here and there, most of my business came from various hired gun jobs such as protection, theft, and hits.

“Are you sure? You can take off. I’ll stay here and work on him some more.” Ruthless dug the screwdriver into the guy’s chest, cutting in deep in an attempt to wake him up.

The last time I left him behind to pump someone for info I’d returned to find Ruthless covered in blood, surrounded by entrails and brain matter. I enjoyed my share of inflicting pain and punishment, but Ruthless took it to another level. One that left him a stone cold shell of himself. I was no therapist but I knew it wasn’t healthy to let him go to that place.

“He’s not worth more time. Maybe you can pay Trent’s wife a visit. See if you can scare her into talking about Wolfe. I want to know what she told him. No violence though.” I held his gaze, waiting for his nod. It was rare that I pulled rank on my best friend. In this case, it felt necessary. We didn’t condone violence against women, children, or animals, but I didn’t trust Ruthless’s dark side.

Ruthless twirled the screwdriver a few times before plunging it into the man’s throat. Blood spilled from the gaping puncture, splattering the tile floor. “Do you really think Wolfe would do that? He’s always been good with keeping his distance and doing his own thing.”

I couldn’t argue that. My brother had worked hard on building his organization with Ace after the four of us went our separate ways. The two of them managed to grow an operation almost as big as the one they left behind. Sure we’d had some conflict with one another over the years, but Wolfe had never obviously gone out of his way to screw with me. Which is what made me wonder if he was somehow doing it on the downlow.

I tried to think about my brother as little as possible. Thinking about him led to thinking abouther. And I did everything in my damn power to keep that from happening.

“Honestly, I’m not sure what those two are concocting. Maybe they’re waiting for us to take out Archer before making a move against us.” Even as the words came out I knew they were bullshit. That wasn’t Wolfe and Ace’s style. They were sly. Clever. More likely to charm and schmooze their way into greater power.

A chime from my pocket indicated an incoming text message. Pulling my phone from my jeans, I frowned when I spied Rumer Hart’s name on the screen. Hadn’t heard from her in a while.

Just in case she’d run into some kind of trouble, I didn’t wait to check the message. My heart stopped as my eyes ran over the text again and again.

Heads up big brother. Maven is home. Thought I’d tell you and save you from making a fool of yourself if you run into her somewhere. Don’t tell her I told you.

“What is it?” Ruthless asked, seeing something on my face that made him approach.

Unable to speak, I handed him the phone and turned to let myself out of the room, heading straight for the bar. I didn’t bother with a glass this time, drinking from the bottle instead.

No amount of alcohol would dull the shock of this news, but I could sure try.

---