Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“It would be,” Mason said in his gravelly voice. Even Connor nodded.
“Yeah, it would.”
Smith laughed, his head hanging forward. The fucker had the fucking gall to laugh. Shane gripped his hair and lifted his face so he had to look at him.
“You killed my brother, you piece of shit.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I don’t fucking remember him.”
“You sure? He was just a kid. A journalist right out of college. Blue eyes.”
“Blue eyes!” Smith grinned like an idiot. “He’s a good friend of mine. I talk to those eyes every night.”
Shane stepped backward in shock. Smith spat on the floor.
“I keep them in a jar by my bed.”
“Fuck . . .” I hissed. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to stop Shane from killing him now. What a sick fuck.
“I remember blue eyes. Most of them cry for their mommies. But not him.” He smiled in a way that was so chilling, I nearly missed the words that he was saying. “He cried for you while Dante carved him up. He cried for his big brother.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Mason roared at him. He was trying to shield Shane, protect him from the pain. But there was no way of protecting him from this.
Shane just stared at Smith, his body rigid. Then he took a metal bar lying on the floor and weighed it in his hand.
“I was coming here to kill you. You deserve to die a thousand times. But then I thought about it. I thought about that beautiful woman waiting for me. I thought about what I did to Dante and how it changed me.”
Now it was Smith’s turn to turn white. He hissed.
“It was you. I fucking knew it was you.”
“Yeah.” Shane nodded. “It was me. I took his life for what he did to Billy. I did it real slow too. He cried like a baby. He cried like a little girl.”
“So you cut out his eyes and ears?”
Shane shook his head.
“No. I just hurt him. I didn’t want trophies from that sick fuck.”
“I took them. I found him. I wanted to keep him safe. Safe with blue eyes,” Smith crowed. I felt ill at the thought of this twisted little man carving away pieces of his hero.
Shane lifted the bar and stared at Smith. He looked like he was about to take a swing on the golf course and considering the best angle.
“What are we doing here, exactly, Shane?” I asked. It was our last chance to be smart about this. I knew that whatever was going to happen was going to happen now.
He glanced at me. I was relieved to see that he looked okay. Hurting emotionally, but who wouldn’t be? There was sanity in his eyes.
“I need to hurt him. But not all the way.”
I exhaled in relief.
“We were thinking that prison would be hard if he was banged up in a significant way.”
“Significant,” Shane mused. “I like that.”
He lifted the metal pipe and brought it down, blowing out Smith’s kneecap from the side. Smith roared in agony. The cap was shattered for sure. I had a feeling some of the bones underneath were broken too. Smith wouldn’t walk for a long time, and when he did, he was going to be limping. Severely.
“What if he talks?”
“And says what? That I beat him up when I found him?”
Shane grinned.
“I’m happy to finish him off, but I think Connor deserves the next swing.” Connor nodded and caught the bar in midair as Shane tossed it to him. “I was planning on cutting him up, but that’s too personal. I don’t want to get anywhere near this piece of shit,” Shane continued.
Conn didn’t hesitate.
“This is for John,” he said as he crushed Smith’s shoulder in a brutal swing. Then he tossed the bar to me. I caught it and stared at the quivering, drooling wreck in front of me. I took out his ankle, feeling something shatter.
“I think he had an accident on his bike.” I clucked my tongue. “It’s too bad. He’s going to have a hard time defending himself in prison with that leg of his.”
I tossed the bar to Mason, who took it and considered his options.
“Are you right-handed, Smith?”
An incoherent moan was his only response. A second later, his right hand was crushed where it rested on the chair. He tossed the bar to Preacher, who took out his other hand.
“He won’t be playing with any knives anytime soon.”
“Or wiping his ass,” Connor added. I looked at him.
“This going to be a problem for you?”
He shook his head.
“Looks like club justice to me. If he talks, it’s going to sound crazy. An FBI agent tearing him a new ass with a bunch of bikers?”
I grinned at him and nodded.
“Good thing they don’t know how often we all get together to barbecue.”