HARDCORE: Storm MC

by Zoey Parker

  Missy watched as Hunter shook his head slowly, unable to process what he'd just heard. “What's...what the...why the fuck would you do that?”

  “To make, as you say, my 'big fucking point,'” laughed Gaspar. “It's quite easy for gutter trash like you to join your little clubs and pull your little scores, thinking that the worst that can happen to you is injury or death. But when you and your people see that the consequences can be so much worse, you will understand how foolish it is to ever dare to oppose men like me. Do you think anyone will join your ridiculous MC again once word gets out that in defeat, you hand over your own men to be used as fuck-dolls for your enemies? Do you think any of your own people will continue to stand by your side after seeing such a thing happen to one of their number? I think not.”

  “That ain't happenin',” Hunter said. “No. Fuck you. We'll go an' you can have the town, but if you think I'd ever make a choice like that you're outta your goddamn mind.”

  Gaspar shrugged. “Very well. You seem to be confused about our respective positions, so I shall do what I can to help you understand.” He looked over the Eagles for a moment, then pointed to Keith. “Hector. That one. Bring him.”

  Hector stepped forward and grabbed Keith, dragging him in front of Gaspar.

  Before Missy could see any more, she heard a sound around the corner behind her and realized that she should move before she was discovered. She ran to the door of the nearest motel room and hid inside the tub in the bathroom as Death stalked her.

  Death, in the form of Jorge, closing in. Preparing to corner her savagely and pistol-whip her into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 41

  Cain

  Gaspar walked a slow circle around Keith, sizing him up. For his part, Keith merely stared straight ahead, his eyes filled with hatred and defiance. Cain admired him for being so stoic.

  “So, you are...Keith, yes?” Gaspar asked pleasantly, checking Keith's name tag. “I am told you are the one who tormented poor Nostril into confessing that he worked for me. I knew he would do this, of course, just as I knew the fear and confusion this information would cause within your club. Still, you are a torturer of men, are you not? You revel in their agony?”

  “I do what I gotta do, shitheel,” Keith snapped.

  “Oh, certainly,” Gaspar continued, “but surely you cannot deny the part of you that enjoys handcuffing a man to a metal frame and running electricity through him? Or shooting him and then brutalizing the open wound, as I’m told you are fond of? There is a kind of savage poetry to such actions, a beauty that few men get the chance to fully appreciate. Each man's face twists into a unique shape when he is tortured to his breaking point, just as each woman's face is unique in how it reflects her orgasm. The look in their eyes, the sounds torn from their throats...these are special secrets, only to be unlocked by a lucky few.

  “The cartel has afforded me many opportunities to indulge in such things. And now I can share them with you, one professional to another.”

  Gaspar's left hand moved in a blur of speed again as he drew one of his pistols, firing a bullet directly into one of Keith's kneecaps. Keith howled in pain, falling to the ground.

  Several of the other Eagles bristled, but with the guns trained on them, they didn't dare move. Cain's jaw was clenched so tightly that his face hurt.

  “You motherfucker,” Hunter snarled, his voice thick in his throat. Cain glanced over and saw tears of rage glistening in the president's eyes. “You fuckin' piece of shit, you stop this now.”

  “Stop?” Gaspar asked. “But I'm afraid I've only just started.” He placed his boot on Keith's mangled knee and slowly started to apply pressure. Keith issued a high, thin scream that sounded like nothing Cain had ever heard come from a man's mouth.

  “You see,” Gaspar went on, speaking up to be heard over the screams, “most of the time, the pleasure of inflicting torture is marred by the need for a specific outcome. So often, we torture simply to extract information, yes? But to be granted a chance to torture simply for its own sake, for the joy it brings...this is a rare and wonderful thing.”

  Cain heard the shattered bones in Keith's knee grinding together and felt his own stomach become loose and watery. Keith continued to wail, his fingers clawing the dusty ground helplessly.

  “Terrible, isn't it?” Gaspar grinned at Cain, as though reading his mind. “Worse even than the beating you received. But at least your friend has lost nothing that cannot be lived without. He may lose this leg, true, but as you well know, those magnificent machines of yours can be customized to accommodate such injuries. He could ride again. If, of course, your president simply chooses one of you to amuse me.”

  “Fuck him!” Keith spat out, his breath coming in wheezing gasps. “Hunter, don't you choose shit! We ain't givin' him the satisfaction!”

  “Is this true, El Presidente?” Gaspar asked, tilting his head curiously. “Will you indeed deny me my satisfaction?”

  Hunter's mouth worked wordlessly, trying to come up with any combination of words that would make this gruesome scene end. Finally, he said, “We have money. It's yours. Our guns, our bikes, our club house, everything we have, fuck, anything you want...”

  “I've told you what I want,” Gaspar insisted. “You will give it to me, or I will torture this man to death right in front of you. Then another, and another, until every man who ever put his trust in you as a leader has died the most painful death I can imagine for him. Now, will you choose?”

  Hunter hesitated.

  Gaspar shrugged, then fired a bullet into Keith's other kneecap. Keith shrieked again as blood and chips of bone spattered across the ground.

  “Do you think this is bad?” Gaspar asked, placing his boot on the freshly-destroyed knee and pressing down again. “This is merely the overture to the symphony. Have you ever seen a man with the flesh of his own torso pulled up over his head and tied shut, so that he suffocates in his own skin as his guts fall out? I have. Numerous times, in fact. I find the sight exhilarating, though I doubt you will feel the same.”

  “Take me, then!” Hunter cried out. “You want me to choose? Okay, I choose myself. Do whatever you want to me. Just don't hurt none of my men no more.”

  Gaspar smiled. “Your willingness to sacrifice your own dignity for that of your men is commendable. I will admit, the thought of watching you violated is tempting. But to choose yourself is simply to volunteer, and those were not my terms. I know it will ultimately hurt you more to choose and to watch than to be a participant.”

  “I won't do it, goddamn it! I won't make that fuckin' choice. I can't!”

  “Suit yourself,” Gaspar said, turning to address Hector. “Sit him up and hold him steady.”

  As Hector propped up Keith, Gaspar shoved his gun back into its holster and produced a switchblade, flicking it open. He crouched down and pulled Keith's shirt up, exposing his pale belly.

  When Gaspar slid the knife into Keith's stomach smoothly, Keith hissed in pain, turning his head away. Gaspar held Keith's face, forcing him to look down. “No, don't look away, my friend. There is nothing quite like watching one's own flesh as it's torn away from one's body. The shade of red, the sound it makes...I urge you not to deny yourself such a unique experience.”

  “Gaspar!” a voice called out from the motel.

  Gaspar turned in the direction of the voice, and Cain followed his gaze. When he saw Jorge carrying Missy's limp body, his heart felt like someone was wrapping barbed wire around it and squeezing it tightly.

  “Ah, there she is!” Gaspar announced, rubbing his hands together. “Perhaps now we won't have to waste much more time with threats and indecision.” He turned back to Keith, smiling. “You, however, have served your purpose.”

  Gaspar slashed Keith's throat suddenly. Keith writhed on the ground, choking on his own blood as a horrid whistling noise emanated from his cut windpipe.

  “Keith! No!” Cain yelled.

  Keith flopped over onto his stomach, let out a long gur
gle, and stopped moving. Gaspar nudged the body with his boot to make sure Keith was dead, then produced a handkerchief, wiping off the blade.

  “Let Missy go!” Hunter screamed. “She ain't part of this!”

  Gaspar raised his eyebrows. “No? Then this isn't the woman who stood beside you, firing guns at my men? No, El Presidente, she is very much a part of this because you allowed her to join the battle. That was a bad choice, and now, to save her life, you must make another. Choose one of your men for me, or I will start cutting holes in this woman and fucking them until she dies of blood loss. I can assure you, it will take quite some time.”

  Hunter sagged to the ground, and Cain could see that the tears were flowing freely now. Cain's face felt hot and swollen, and he could hear his own pulse pounding in his ears. In that moment, he knew that he'd do anything to save her, even if it meant volunteering to take her place, even if they killed him. He felt like he'd rather be tortured to death than see any harm come to Missy.

  But he knew that speaking up would be useless, since Gaspar had said he wouldn't accept volunteers. The sick fuck insisted on playing this game to its conclusion. So Cain stared at Hunter, silently begging the club president to choose him.

  For his part, all Hunter could do was crawl on his knees in front of Gaspar, sobbing. He hugged Gaspar's boots, kissing them pitifully as his tears and snot dripped onto them. “Please...not her...I'm begging you, okay? You wanted me broken, you've done it. Torture me, kill me, fuck me, do whatever you want, just please, please, Gaspar...please, just let her go...”

  Gaspar shook his head sadly, pulling his boots away from Hunter. He inspected the mess he'd left on them disdainfully, wiping them off on the patch adorning Hunter's cut.

  “You still do not understand,” Gaspar sighed. “All of these words, all of these chances to finish this, and still you believe you can dictate how this ends. It seems that regrettably, another demonstration is called for.” He turned to Hector. “Put her down here, next to me.”

  Hector lowered Missy's unconscious form to the ground. Gaspar kneeled next to it, gently pressing the tip of his knife against her thigh, then her abdomen.

  “So where shall I make my first romantic incision, then, do you think? Here? Or here?”

  Chapter 42

  Missy

  As Missy slowly regained consciousness, she felt like someone was trying to pry her skull open with a crowbar. This made sense, since the last thing she could remember was being pistol-whipped in the motel bath tub.

  Before she could fully react to the agonizing pressure in her head, though, she felt something else—strong arms under her back and knees, carrying her.

  Don't move, she thought immediately. Don't open your eyes. If he's left you alive and he's carrying you somewhere, there must be a reason for that. Maybe even something you can exploit if you're clever enough and quick enough. If you can fool him into thinking you're still conked out, you can use his surprise to your advantage before you make your move.

  So she went along, staying motionless as the man moved her. But remaining still and quiet in the face of so much pain was almost impossible. Her eyes felt like someone was digging his thumbs into them, and an anguishing throb drilled into the base of her skull. All she wanted to do was squeeze her eyelids tight, curl up into a ball, and groan.

  Missy knew that in many cases, when a sharp blow to the head resulted in a loss of consciousness, it could lead to the brain swelling and damaging itself against the inside of the skull. She'd even heard of people whose swollen brains had started to leak from their ears and nostrils in severe cases.

  Please let that be an urban legend, she silently begged. Or if it's not, please let my head injury not be that bad. Or if it is that bad, then please, God, just give me a little more time first, just enough to try to get us out of this...

  She heard the man carrying her call out, “Gaspar!”

  Inwardly, she celebrated the possibility of being brought close enough to Gaspar that she might be able to take him down.

  Just a few more seconds, she told herself. Just hang on that long.

  Missy heard Gaspar's voice. “Ah, there she is! Perhaps now we won't have to waste much more time with threats and indecision. You, however, have served your purpose.”

  A split-second later, Missy heard a strange wet sound, followed by a splash and a male voice retching. She heard a frightened murmur from the Eagles, and Cain screaming, “Keith! No!”

  God fucking damn it, Missy thought as she listened to the writhing and gurgling that followed. The motherfucker cut Keith's throat.

  Stay focused, another voice in her head insisted. It was an odd combination of her parents' voices—her father's toughness and her mother's quiet pragmatism. That voice told her there was nothing she could do about Keith, but there was still plenty she could do about Gaspar as long as she didn't lose her nerve.

  You've got to let him get close, the voice continued. Too close. So close it scares you, so close he might even have a chance to hurt you before you can hurt him. You need to risk that, because you've seen how fast he is with those pistols. You know that if he's even an inch too far away for you to do what you have to do, then that's it, game over. He’ll pull them and smoke you before you can blink. He's faster than God. So if you do one thing in your life right, Missy, you damn well make sure it's this.

  Gaspar was making more threats. “...Choose one of your men for me, or I will start cutting holes in this woman and fucking them until she dies of blood loss. I can assure you, it will take quite some time.”

  Missy's brain started to panic as it imagined how that might feel, and it took every ounce of willpower she had to banish those thoughts.

  Don't do it, Hunter, she thought. Don't do it, Cain. Don't give in to this psycho, no matter how much you love me, no matter how much he scares you. Hold firm for just another minute. Make him come over to me and fuck with me to frighten you, like I know he will, and I promise you'll be glad you did. Don't try to be some macho hero, sacrificing yourself for me.

  She continued to repeat this silent prayer even as she heard her brother grovel on the ground in front of Gaspar, snuffling all over his boots and begging him for mercy. Hearing it made her feel like she might throw up. She'd never heard Hunter sound like that before. He sounded like someone had shredded his mind and soul, and she wondered if he'd ever be able to recover from all this, even if they somehow made it out alive.

  No time to think about that now. Focus, goddamn it. Your chance is coming. Wait for it.

  Missy heard Gaspar sigh dramatically. “You still do not understand. All of these words, all of these chances to finish this, and still you believe you can dictate how this ends. It seems that regrettably, another demonstration is called for. Put her down here, next to me.”

  Missy felt herself lowered to the ground, the grit and gravel digging into her scalp. It only increased the pain in her head, but she still commanded her body to remain limp. She heard Gaspar kneel next to her, and felt the warmth of his breath on her face.

  Almost, she thought. Almost.

  She felt the cold point of a knife press against her thigh and braced herself for its sting.

  “So where shall I make my first romantic incision, then, do you think? Here?”

  The blade lifted, and a few seconds later she felt it again, pricking her abdomen. As Gaspar moved, Missy could hear the soft creak of his leather holsters.

  Almost...

  “Or here?”

  Now.

  Missy's eyes flew open and she jerked upright, snatching the pistols from Gaspar's belt. Her fingers fumbled them for a split-second, but Gaspar's surprise bought her the extra sliver of time she needed to find her grip and hook her fingers into the trigger guards.

  As Gaspar skidded backward on the ground and Missy raised the guns, she heard Cain yell, “Now!” There was a flurry of activity as the Eagles realized this was their chance—some tried to grab the guns from the men who were guarding them, whil
e others just tackled the cartel enforcers.

  Missy badly wanted to aim her first shots at Gaspar, but since she had his pistols, she knew he was the least of their threats. Instead, she leveled the gun-sights at the cartel men and blasted as many as possible, giving the Eagles the edge they needed to gain the upper hand.

  One enforcer fell with a bullet hole between his eyes, followed by another, and another.

  Chapter 43

  Cain

  As Cain and the other Eagles grappled furiously with the cartel members, he saw several of the enforcers get shot in the head and realized that Missy was picking them off.