“She knows the club owns businesses. She’s resourceful enough to find one of their numbers. I’ll get everyone listening out for a call for help. We’ll get brothers to her if she makes contact.”
“You staying here, Demon?”
“Yeah. Just in case she tries to get here. I’ll send Thunder with you, Beef. You need to have a brother with you.”
I’ve already got two. My real brothers, Drummer and Wraith. But I appreciate the gesture and that Demon has started to see me as one of his own. Won’t for long, of course, I’ll be headed back to Tucson as soon as possible. I frown. Without Stevie at my side, I can’t see myself anywhere.
Devil stands and leaves the room with the parting comment he’s off to make the arrangements. RIP follows him out, and I know he’ll be calling Stinger. Demon isn’t far behind them, but he returns shortly with a tray full of beer bottles. They’re only half drunk when the other two men return. Devil saying a plane will be waiting for us in two hours at Pueblo Memorial airport, and RIP reporting Stinger will try to find a Warped Joker. His grin and slight shake of his head suggests the LA Soulz prez isn’t fazed by the task he’s been set.
Four hours later we’re setting down in LA. I’m hopeful we’re not far on the heels of Stevie if this is indeed where she’s been taken. The drive from Denver would take eighteen hours, and that’s if they drove or rode without stopping. We’re less than a day behind her.
Surely not much could have happened to her in that time?
When we disembark, it’s to find three SUVs waiting for us. Stinger, himself, has arrived to escort us to his clubhouse. Chaz and RIP ride with him, I find myself in the next with Drummer, Wraith and Thunder. Charmer, Bull and Devil take the third.
Automatically I go to shrug out of my cut before getting into a cage and catch Wraith’s eyes.
“Feels naked, without one, doesn’t it?”
I’ve worn a cut for fifteen or so years, so it certainly does. But we’re not in Satan’s Devils territory, so couldn’t bring them with us.
“You gonna be okay, Beef?” Wraith’s eyes are watching me carefully.
I shrug, not knowing how to answer. If we can’t find Stevie, I’ll wish I hadn’t risen from the dead last year. I’d believed I had something to live for, but without her, it seems I’ve lived only for life to have a chance to torture me. Why had it taken so long for me to pull my head out of my ass and know I wanted to claim her? If I hadn’t friend-zoned her for so long, I would have been the one she’d turned to instead of Lennox.
“We’ll find her.” It’s Thunder who sounds adamant. “You’ll have her back, Beef.”
He can’t know whether that’s possible or not, but the sentiment is something I have to hang onto.
Taking a deep breath, I force myself to be positive. “When,” yeah, when, not if, “when we get hold of a Joker, I want to take lead, Drum.”
He fastens those steel-grey eyes on me. “Know you do, Beef. And I would if I were in your shoes. But the fact is, we’re in the Soulz hands now. On their territory and will be in their house.”
“But—”
“Beef,” Wraith interrupts. “You’re likely to kill him. You’re too emotionally involved and I don’t fuckin’ blame you for that. If it was Sophie, yeah, I’d want my fists on him too. I’ve no doubt the Soulz will make him hurt, but they’re likely to get him to talk. You let fly? Break his jaw? Might cause him pain but won’t get your woman back.”
LA traffic is a bitch. We seem to be stopped more times than we’re moving and I long to be on my bike. Lane splitting is legal in California and getting through this traffic would be a breeze on two wheels. On four it’s hell on earth. I hate being enclosed in a cage at the best of times. At least the air-conditioning works. The way the road is shimmering as I look ahead reminds me it’s high summer, and the temperature will be hot as hell. Not quite as hot as to what I was used to in Tucson. The climate in Pueblo is slightly cooler, that’s one thing going for it. Though, I wouldn’t be looking forward to snow in the winter. Uh uh, not this Arizona boy. Not that I’ll be there to experience it.
Stupid thoughts, but I welcome anything to get my mind off Stevie and what she might be going through. I long for a call from Pueblo to say she’s reached out for help, or for Devil’s guys to find she’s on a Greyhound bus and that they can track her. Devil managed to get a plane fast, he can probably manage to get her picked up from whatever bus station she arrives at. Yeah, Stevie’s got away and is safe, and we’re here on nothing more than a wild goose chase. That’s the thought I’ve got to hang onto. The alternative is something I don’t have it in me to even consider.
I swear the journey from the airport to the clubhouse takes longer than the plane ride. As the SUV pulls up, I’m subjected to the full heat of the sun for just a few seconds before being waved on through the door without having had a chance to examine the exterior of the Wretched Soulz clubhouse. Inside it’s much the same as any club I’ve been to. A bar in prime place, pool tables, games machines and an odour of cigarette smoke, stale beer and sweat. A man’s environment. A girl is down on her knees sucking cock, a sight I wouldn’t usually object to, but the thought that Stevie could be forced to do what the club whore is doing voluntarily makes me go cold to my gut. I turn quickly away.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Despite the heavy traffic, we arrive at the LA clubhouse only minutes behind the first SUV, and the third no more than a few seconds behind us. We’re in time to see the various Wretched Soulz prezes meet. Arms clasped, backs slapped and then hugs. I try to suppress my impatience while the greeting ceremony takes place, and the obligatory small talk which follows. Then, finally, when to my mind an inordinate amount of delay has passed, Stinger comes over to us.
Gritting my teeth, knowing we could have been out searching, trying to find a man with knowledge of where Stevie is, I do my best to be polite when he gets to me.
“You’re Beef.”
I raise my chin and hold out my hand.
Stinger’s face splits into a grin. “Got some news you might like.”
I tilt my head to one side.
“Found us a Joker.”
“Where is he?” I rasp.
He jerks his head as though indicating somewhere behind him. “Secure. Got my enforcer softening him up. Letting him know what to expect. Left the actual questions until you got here.”
“How’d you find him so quick?”
“Assholes were still using their favourite bar.” He spits on the floor. “Stupid motherfuckers.”
“You going to clean them out?” Chaz calls.
“Yeah, will have to if they haven’t got the message by now.”
“We’re wasting time,” I interrupt.
“Respect, Beef,” Drummer says, warningly.
Stinger lifts his head and nods in appreciation at my prez, then his eyes narrow. “Him. He’s the one in with the feds?”
Him is Devil. Devil grins and, stepping forward, speaks up for himself. “Your house, your rules. But I work with, not for, the feds. Right now, I’m employed by Drummer to find Stevie Nichols.”
My eyes shoot to Drummer’s, he gives a confirmatory chin lift in return. I didn’t know Drummer was paying him. Fuck it’s good to have someone at my back.
“He straight?” Stinger asks Drummer, clearly still suspicious.
Drummer gives a twisted grin. “He’s watched Blade’s handiwork before, and we’re still here.”
“I can sit the questioning out,” Devil offers. “But could be he’ll let something slip I can get my guys following up on. Save time if I hear it from the horse’s mouth.”
“You a fuckin’ Aussie?”
Devil snorts. “British.”
Stinger regards him for a moment, wasting yet more time, before giving a sharp up and down of his head. He points his finger at him and snarls, “You rat us out, you’re dead.”
Devil shrugs as though a death threat is water off a duck’s back and then, finally,
we’re led out back, across a yard, and into a storage shed. The walls and roof are made of corrugated iron, and to say it’s hot inside is an understatement. I can immediately see why Stinger’s enforcer is stripped down to a naked chest.
They’ve got a man tied to something I’ve only seen on the rare occasion I’ve gone to a BDSM club. I’ve never been into that shit seriously, but I know enough to recognise a St Andrew’s cross that he’s been strung up to. Arms in a V above his head, leg’s in an inverted V tied apart at the ankles. It leaves him wide open and vulnerable.
“How’s he doing, Brake?” Stinger enquires as we walk in.
“Sweating.” Brake, who presumably is the enforcer, grins widely.
Anyone would sweat in this environment. I can already feel my tee dampening under my arms.
“Well, make him a bit more comfortable.” Stinger leans back on a workbench.
I stand, my hands clenching into fists. I try to relax, but despite my efforts, each time I force them open, seconds later my fingers have curled inward again.
Clearly knowing what his prez is asking, Brake steps forward carrying a blade that even from here looks sharp and lethal.
“Stay still,” he warns in a gravelly voice.
The man strung up protests, “What you doing? I’ve done nothing…”
Then he goes silent as the knife cuts through his tee as easily as through butter. Brake then sinks to his haunches and begins carving his way up through the denim of his captive’s jeans. “Stay very still,” he warns again. “Or I might cut off your balls accidentally.”
Like any man would, he stills. But protests still come out of his mouth. “Don’t cut my jeans, no man, you can’t.”
But Brake can.
It’s hot, sweat is already running down the Joker’s face, and his face is flushed from the heat. But I’ll be fucked if he doesn’t go even redder as his pants and underwear hit the floor. Yeah, I can see there are benefits to a St Andrew’s Cross. Vulnerability. His legs stretched apart leaving his sensitive parts wide open.
Not that the Joker’s are currently very impressive. Mind you, in the circumstances I would think any man’s would wither.
Stinger leans in conspiratorially. “Blake’s got some fuckin’ good techniques. He put a cock cage, one of those real tight ones on a man once. He then fed the fucker Viagra and let’s just say he didn’t take heed of the recommended dose. You should have seen him. His eyes looked like they were popping out of his head.” He’s not speaking particularly quiet. The Warped Joker looks in complete distress, his eyes flicking around as if to spy what Brake has waiting for him.
“He die?”
“Nah. We let him go in the end. Took that cage off eventually, and, well, I swear this room still stinks of cum.”
Can’t tell whether he’s joking or not, but my story’s the truth. “Worse thing I saw happened to a brother.” I frown, remembering Rock. “Fuckin’ bastards flayed his tat off his back. He said it was the worst pain he’d ever felt.”
Brake, overhearing, picks up another knife. It’s long, and thin. “Haven’t tried that. Sounds interesting.”
“Yeah,” I say, getting into it. “They took their time. He had no skin left from neck to ass.”
“What do you want to know? I’ll tell you,” screams the tied-up man.
Stinger turns away from the man and winks at me, then steps up. “Name,” he snaps.
“Fucker.”
I can only see the side of his face, but all Stinger has to do is raise his eyebrow. Brake growls and steps forward menacingly.
“It is. That’s my name. They call me Fucker.” The Joker screams.
“I can work with that. Fucker.” Stinger grins. His puffed-out chest shows the president patch he’s wearing. Dirty and worn, showing he’s worn it a long time. “You know you don’t exist, right? Yet there you were in the bar the Warped Jokers used to frequent. You got the message you’ve lost your charter?”
A tied-up man finds it difficult to shrug. Fucker tries his best. “Arch said it made no difference. Just that we shouldn’t wear our cuts.”
“You were wearing a cut,” Stinger observes, taking out a packet of cigarettes. Lighting one, he blows smoke in Fucker’s face. If you don’t smoke that shit is nasty. Fucker though, he breathes in and half closes his eyes. Good way of getting him to betray, he’ll be desperate for a dose of nicotine himself soon.
“I like wearing it.”
“I’m sure you do.” Stinger indicates to Brake, who begins cutting Fucker’s leather vest in half. “But you won’t need it anymore.”
Get to it, man. I’m itching to step up and take over. Stinger catches my eye. I feel a hand on my shoulder.
“Easy, Brother,” Drummer’s voice sounds in my ear. “He’s just putting the fear of God into him. Start easy and work up to the hard. Go in too fast, and he’ll clam up.”
“Jokers are a fuckin’ joke in this town now, got it, Fucker. And seeing we’ve got chapters in most of the states, and beyond, doubt you’ll find a new home. You’re done for.”
“Mad Bull said he’d sort it when he gets out.”
“He ain’t getting out. We’ve disavowed him, and your brothers in the joint. You know what that means?”
As Fucker’s eyes widen, it seems that he does. Without protection, his prez’s lifespan doesn’t look like it will last much longer.
“As for you, you’re on your own. You got one chance to get away from this alive.”
Now he’s going to ask about Stevie. Only, he doesn’t.
“I want to know your safe houses. Where you stash your girls before moving them. Every fucking one of them, you get me?”
“You’re taking over our businesses?”
“You won’t be working the trade anymore.” Stinger neither confirms nor denies it. I don’t want to know the answer, right now I’m only interested in one woman.
“They’ll kill me if I tell you.”
Another rise of Stinger’s brow. He doesn’t need to tell him he’s got a more immediate threat from him.
Brake steps forward ominously. He’s got a rubber mallet in his hand which he’s bouncing against his fist. “I love the way they squeal when this hits the sac,” he offers in a conversational tone. “I must be warped, but I get a thrill from seeing those balls swell up and turn purple.”
“Go the size of water melons,” Chaz puts in. “Seen that myself.”
“Oh fuck, no. No. Not that. No.”
My balls seem to shrivel in sympathy. Worse pain a man can go through. If Fucker’s cock could shrink anymore, I think it probably would. It’s trying to make itself even less of a target.
“Start talking,” Stinger snaps.
“I, I… can’t.”
I suppose you have to admire his loyalty. Brake steps forward and starts an upward swing aimed straight through the V formed by his legs, then brings the mallet back down. “Just getting the right angle,” he explains. “Need to get it just right. Course, I may pop one of the fuckers if I’m not careful. Hey, one of Fucker’s fuckers. It’s almost worth it to be able to say that.”
Fucker’s eyes are wild. He’s looking around each of us, wanting to see sympathy. Well, that he might find, the kindred of men who know just what terrible pain to expect, but he doesn’t find any for him.
Brake looks like he means business this time. He grabs the mallet with both hands taking a firm hold.
“I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you.”
Stinger stays Brake’s movement. “Everything?”
With tears rolling down his face, Fucker nods.
If he doesn’t spill everything fast enough, I’ll be taking that mallet off Brake.
Suddenly Stinger does what I wanted to do. He lurches forward and tugs the mallet out of Brake’s hands and starts a swing which is certain to end in agony.
“I’ll tell you everything!” Fucker screams before it hits him.
Stinger eases the arc but still makes contact. I wince as Fucker unsuc
cessfully tries to curl up. Screams of pain fly out of his mouth and tears start rolling down his face. I see his stomach muscles clench, and his balls seem larger than they were a moment before.
Without giving him time to recover, Stinger threatens him with the mallet again. “Next time I’ll do it properly. Now what about the blind bitch, where’s she being held?”
His eyes meet all of ours, then his chin drops against a chest which is still heaving. “A house on fourth,” Fucker rasps out, each word punctuated by an intake of breath. It might only have been a tap compared to what Stinger could have done, but he’s finding it hard getting air. “That’s where they were planning to take her.”
I note he didn’t even try to deny he knew who we were talking about, and that they had her.
Stinger considers for a moment, like me, probably weighing up whether he’s told us the truth, and coming down on the side that in all likelihood he has. “Get him down and dressed. Fucker can take us there.”
Losing interest in the tortured man, the Wretched Soulz prez comes back to me and the rest of the interested group watching his technique.
“Quickest way to get the info.” He nods at me. “Show him what’s he in for, then fire the question you want answered. Now, do you want to go find your woman, Beef?”
He doesn’t wait for my answer. It’s obvious. I might not have been able to lay hands on Fucker, but I will on any man who’s dared touch a hair on my woman’s head.
I’ve no sympathy for the man who’s struggling to get dressed, gingerly tucking his family jewels into a baggy pair of sweats that’s been found to replace his jeans and struggling into a plain borrowed tee. Brake shows no compassion as he hurries him up, then, after zip-tying his hands behind him, none too gently pushes him out of the shed and into the sun.
The rest of us follow. The sun is hot, but less stifling than the shed we’ve just been in, and I eagerly breathe in the fresh air. My whole focus is on getting to Stevie, and luckily no one seems to want to waste time.
Could I have gotten the information quicker and saved precious moments? Unlikely. In the state I’m in I’d have had more of a bull in a china shop approach. Wraith was right. A man can’t talk around a broken jaw and can be hard to understand when he’s missing his teeth. I’ve learned a thing today about mental torture being a useful tool. Maybe I’ll suggest it to Mace when I get back to base.
Devil's Due: Satan's Devils MC Colorado Chapter #3 Page 31
