Chapter Thirteen

"You sure this is the right address?" With his arms crossed against his chest and one hand scratching at his thick beard, to say Bear's not buying it would be an understatement. Can't blame the guy. Usually, when we're sent out for some enforcer business, it's the lowest of lowlives hurting the good people of Rockford Beach that get the special Psycho visits.

Prez called while we were arranging the details for Cherry"s mom, and when the Prez calls as riled up as he was, we answer. A friend of the club, Jimmy Collins, came in asking for help. It's what we do, chip in for this community that has accepted us throughout the years. Hell, every year we do charity runs and even did one for Jimmy when his wife's cancer treatment almost ruined them. So, when one of our townspeople shows up with pictures of his daughter lying in a hospital bed because she was kicked and punched to within an inch of her life, we just can't ignore that shit. I mean, regardless of whether or not we know the person, an innocent getting the fuck beat out of them deserves our special brand of intervention.

And here we are, ready to dish it out. Although, I'd rather be breaking my mother-in-law out of the psych ward than retaliating against these pricks.

Yet, here we are, having to deal with entitled rich bastards who like to beat the shit out of women. Fuck, I'm irritated.

I mean, sure, we're used to going in, shaking up and torturing deviant fucks in their homes, but… this? Not your typical humble abode. That being said, not all lowlives are poor. Exhibit A: a fucking mansion in the old money neighborhoods of Stonebridge.

"According to the GPS, we're standing right in front of the address Jimmy gave Prez." As I speak, I double check on my phone screen, just in case. "Preston Beaufort, 1242 Oleander Drive."

"You know these big plantation-style homes have never been good to my kin, right?" Slicing a look to my right, I smirk at my best friend, reading between the lines. Being Black in the south comes with its own moments of generational PTSD.

"Well, I guess Karma's about to ring that fancy fucking bell and wreak some havoc in the name of justice, brother." We fist bump, both sporting demented grins with the anticipation of fucking some shit up. Looking over my shoulder, I call out to the others.

"This guy decided to beat Jimmy's daughter to a bloody pulp and leave her for dead. I don't fucking care how much money this asshole has, we're here to collect. Blood and money. Those hospital bills won't pay themselves."

Behind me, Grinder's hyena laugh has me chuckling as I pull up my face scarf and wink at Sledge. "Let's go fuck with society's crusty hole."

With Bear by my side and Grinder, Sledge, and Boner behind us, we take our time making a beeline for the front door. To anyone else, the double-panel white doors would feel oppressive for how high they are, but what we lack in height, we make up for in strength, and between the five of us, the mass is impossible to ignore.

Comically, I press my index finger to the doorbell and keep it there until the door flies open and a red-faced twenty-something comes at us like a bat out of Hell.

"What the actual fuck is your pro—" It's not every day that five bikers with their neck scarves pulled up over their noses and eyes squinting with unfinished business make an appearance at some fancy-pants house. This guy's sudden change from confident to about-to-piss-his-pants is not surprising. Also, brownie points for shutting his whore mouth.

At least this guy's not a dumb motherfucker.

Yet.

"You Preston Beaufort?" I look him up and down like he's dog shit stuck on my boots.

"Who the fuck are you?" Yeah, not so smart after all.

"You Preston Beaufort?" Fucking hate repeating myself.

"Yeah, what's it to you?"

We don't talk, we don't explain, and we sure as fuck don't ask for permission before Bear pushes both his palms against the door and opens it wide enough for us to barrel in one-by-one. As I take my first step, I raise my arm and curl my fingers around blonde preppy boy's neatly coiffed curls before dragging him deeper into the huge fucking house. His whimpers are already annoying me because I can guarantee that Jimmy's daughter didn't get any leniency from him.

The ceilings are so high, my first thought is… damn, the electric bill must be a bitch. Then I remember I don't actually give a fuck.

"Who else is in the house?" I ask, Preston Beaufort, the poor excuse for human excrement. Even his name makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. "And don't fucking lie to me or I'll just kill you all without losing an ounce of sleep." I wouldn't kill innocents but this fucker doesn't need to know that.

"D-does th-the maid c-count?" We all come to a screeching halt at this nutsack's words, his eyes flitting briefly to the upstairs like he can see her from here.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" My fingers tighten in his hair as Grinder spits his question into the dude's profile. Literal spit flying across his cheek. Not gonna lie, I get a bit of a boner when he recoils and makes a face like we just fed him rotten eggs.

"I-I mean, I'm the only one in my family h-here." Tsking at his answer, I pull him a little harder as I drag him to the nearest room where I can sit the kid down and play with him. "If it's money you're looking for, I know the code to the safe." I pause, look at Bear, and grin.

"He knows the code to the safe." We all nod at each other because, yeah, we're gonna need that to help pay Jimmy's medical bills.

Scraping a chair from under the thick, wood, table, I'm none too careful as I push him to a sitting position and let Boner tie his wrists flush against the back of the chair.

"Maybe we'll let him live after all." Bear shrugs as he circles Preston's chair, all tall and intimidating.

"Maybe." My eyes are fixed on this rich kid and although his hands are shaking and his leg is bouncing up and down like he's tripping on something, he's not looking away from me. In fact, this asshole is staring me down. Ain't that scared, is he?

"One of y'all need to find the employee." Without taking my eyes off Preston, I speak over my shoulder.

"On it." Of course Bear would be the one accepting the job.

Knowing my brother, he'll find her, tell her to play along, and promise we're just here to get answers from her employer. It works every time.

Narrowing my eyes at the kid, I try to figure him out. He's playing the part of a scared innocent but something is off. It's in the way his chin is still held high and his gaze doesn't bounce from each of us. Most times, in this scenario, our marks are constantly verifying our positions, like they're keeping tabs of where we are so they can be ready for attack. It's a survival skill that kicks in when terror fills your veins. Preston here… well, he's only looking at me and, for some reason, this makes me really fucking happy.

"Tell me something, Bougie Boy." Placing two fingers under his chin, I make sure he can only see me and the venom in my glare. "You get off on beating the shit out of girls? Does it get your dick hard when your fist crunches against bone?" Pushing the point home, I jab him in the nose, hard enough to hear the pop.

The top half of his body swings to the left with the force of my fist, and he yells out in pain that's music to my ears as he sits back up again. His eyes are wide, scared, red and beginning to swell. I'm digging this look on him.

"What–What are you talking about?" His words are gargled as the blood that's now leaking from his nose seeps into his mouth between cries and unintelligible words.

"Oh no." I look at Grinder, who's standing behind the perp, and scrunch my eyebrows like maybe… just maybe… we got the wrong guy.

We don't.

"Did we fuck up again? I told you to check first." Grinder plays along, what I'm guessing is a cocky grin hidden behind his scarf making his eyes shine bright with amusement. Or maybe that's a touch of madness, because this guy loves to take home souvenirs.

"I mean, all of these houses look alike, you know?" Cocking my head to the side in confusion, I bring a hand to my hair and scratch my scalp.

"I dunno, man. It sure smells like the right house." Grinder's nose sniffs at the air like he's a bloodhound. "Hold up, Imma check." My gaze follows him as he leisurely walks over to a life-sized marble representation of a Greyhound. In the years I've known Grinder, I've learned not to question his oddities. The shit he comes up with seems to make sense to him and who the fuck am I to question it?

Turning back to Preston, I whisper, "Don't worry, he's real good at his job. We wouldn't want to dismember the wrong filth, would we?" The kid doesn't answer, his furrowed brows slanted in confusion, that bouncing leg keeping a strong rhythm.

"What the fuck are you doing, man, do you know how much that thing costs?" With his nose still running a steady stream of red, his words aren't perfectly comprehensible but I get the gist. Dude is livid.

The distinct sound of liquid splashing against a hard surface makes me grin but I keep my eyes on our target. The more Grinder pisses on that statue, the more I wonder if Preston's behavior is all an act. Sure, he's doing all the right things by stuttering and shaking, but the truth is always in the eyes, and his reveal only darkness.

"Nope, no mistake here, boys." Grinder makes a show of shaking off the last drop before he tucks his dick back inside his leathers and buttons the whole thing up. "The trick is to piss on white, if it turns yellow then we're right. See? Even the carpet changed colors." I have to fight the urge to either roll my eyes at the absurdity of Grinder's show or bust a nut laughing. Possibly both.

"That's fucking ridiculous, you fucking psychopath!" Preston's words are directed at Grinder, which is a little insulting, to be honest.

Grabbing the kid by the hair again, I bring his attention right back to me. "I'm the Psycho here, asshole. Don't fucking forget it." My humor from seconds ago is completely gone. In its place, putrid hatred for men like this one settles deep in my bones as I bitch-slap him hard across the cheek. It's demeaning and condescending and exactly the message I want to send. "Now, explain to me why you would beat the shit out of a young woman and leave her to die on the dirty street."

Right in front of me, his boyish features morph from frightened, confused, and timid to cold and calculating with zero life inside. He's not even trying to hide it anymore. It's easy enough to recognize cold-blooded monsters since I spent my entire childhood surrounded by them. Evil chameleons who know exactly which persona to play in any given situation are a rare breed, thank fuck. On the outside, they adapt, but inside? There's nothing good left there.

"Bitch wouldn't do what I told her to." I grin at his words because, since the minute we stepped into the house, this is the first time he's been his true self.

"Huh. Boys, did you hear that? Bitch wouldn't listen so she got the beat down." Nodding as if we're on the same page, I look over to Bear as he leads a bound and blindfolded woman from the other room. She's not dressed like a maid, but maybe I've watched too much porn. Leading her to the couch and gently pushing her to sit, he whispers in her ear as she nods, sitting with her knees pressed together and her spine like a steel rod. She definitely got the speech and is playing along with little to no fear showing through the fa?ade.

"You want the honors, brother?" At my question, my best friend snarls like he's some kind of fantastical creature about to transform into its animalistic being and wreak havoc on Earth. "Nah, just washed my hands. Don't wanna get this motherfucker's slime on them."

On any other day, I'd play with our food, but we need some fucking answers here. Nobody beats women like he did for shits and giggles. It was personal. From what her father told Prez, her wounds were intimate and he wants retribution since she's been curled up in her bed refusing to talk.

My attention returns to Preston, all pretense gone.

"So what's the deal? She wouldn't spread her legs? She told you to go jack yourself off? She wasn't interested?" Small dick energy is usually the culprit.

"Fuck off. She wanted me, alright? Wasn't complaining when I had her mouth around my cock." I roll my eyes then look to Boner with a nod of my chin.

Boner grabs the chair and tilts it so it's balancing on the two back legs.

In this position, Grinder is able to get real close and personal with his blade.

"Do you know what happens when a sharp blade enters your eye?"

Aww fuck, here we go.

"Hey, we ain't got time for a story, G," Bear calls out from his vigil at the couch.

"When done right…" Grinder ignores Bear's protest and our low-grade moans, but then again, this is his happy place and we don't really want to take it away from him. "The blade can slide in and avoid all major life-threatening areas. It's all about the angle, ya know? Kinda like when you fuck. Size don't matter, bitch, it's all about the angle." Grinder turns to us and winks. "Right, boys?"

Fucking Christ, can we just get on with this? I've got my girl to go home to.

"You won't even feel any pain, man. You'll be conscious, your eyeball will be intact and you'll be sitting here, no worse for wear." Preston furrows his brow and is about to say something—snarky, no doubt—but Grinder cuts him right off. "I know what you're thinking. How fucking boring is that?" Tapping the blade to his palm, Grinder stands to his full height and nods like a professor considering a student's theory on molecular science. "And you'd be right. If I wanted boring, I'd've joined the fucking circus."

I look to Bear, who just shrugs. We don't question Grinder's monologues.

As quick as a viper, Grinder rears back his hand and makes like he's about to stab Preston exactly there, in the eye. He stops himself about half an inch before the tip of the blade touches the cornea, and I can see the rapid blinking of Preston's lashes swinging against the metal that's so fucking close to him.

"Aww fuck. Did you piss yourself?" I look down at Grinder's whining, and sure enough. Dude might act like a sociopath but really, it's all fucking show if that wet stain growing by the second down Preston's leg is anything to go on.

"That's your only joker, Preston. I suggest you start fucking talking and don't leave out the details."

With his stare fixed on the blade that Grinder hasn't removed, he sings like a fucking bird.

"We were at a party. She was looking to score something to have a little fun but didn't have enough money. I told her to suck me off and we'd be even." The blood from his broken nose is now dried up but still restricting his airway, giving him a nasally voice that's starting to irritate me. Fuck, I just want to go home. "When she started blowing me, she gagged then pulled away and threw up." Without moving, he slices his gaze to me like I'm going to understand his state of mind.

"She fucking puked on my dick, man. So, yeah, I taught her a lesson." I blink then shake my head because it's not adding up.

Grinder must be thinking the same thing because he just leans in as I push the back of the guy's head closer to the tip. "I think you're holding out on us, asshole. And let me tell you. Whether you live or die, it's no fucking skin off our backs."

"My dad will fucking destroy you." His confidence is almost touching.

"We'll kill him too." I say this so matter of factly that the truth of it seeps into his pores, making his skin turn an unhealthy shade of white.

"What else aren't you telling us, Pressss-ton?" Grinder drags out the letter S like he's a snake about to strike.

"Fuck, okay, okay. I slapped her around a little then took her to the nearest room and made her clean me up." He pauses, and we all know he's not done but when his lips curl up at the corners and his dead eyes meet mine, I know this guy needs to be put in the ground. "I hope she took a long hot shower and washed her dirty cunt out. Pretty sure vomit shouldn't be up in there."

Did he just admit to rape, too?

I don't think. I don't hesitate.

Pushing Grinder's arm away, I start punching down over and over and over again until Preston's just a gurgling mess of red liquid. Boner is having a hard time holding the chair from the force of my punches but I don't give a shit.

The cracking of bone and cartilage are like music to my ears and I don't even feel what I'm sure are deep cuts on my knuckles, but I do see a tooth or three pop out of his mouth.

Bear pulls me off of him but I'm fighting it with everything I've got.

This motherfucker thought it was okay to beat and rape a young girl with zero remorse or empathy. Well, guess what, asshole! Fucking same when it comes to you.

We leave him there, bloodied and limp, barely holding onto life as we guide his housekeeper outside. No fucking way she should see the mess we left.

"You okay?" Bear loosens her roped wrists and removes the blindfold. "Wait until we're gone then call the cops, okay?" The last thing we want is to implicate her in our crimes. Not that she would be. No way that tiny girl could do that much damage.

"Look, if you're worried about your boss, he's not dead." Unwrapping a sucker, I stick it in my mouth and give her my most charming grin. "He's a piece of shit and he hurt a young girl." I shrug, hoping my boyish good looks will make her wide eyes go back to normal.

"He's not my boss." With everything going on, that's what she chooses to tell us? I mean, sure, technically the kid's father would be her boss but I'm not getting hung up on semantics here.

"All right, sure. You wouldn't know where the safe is, would you? That young girl has some major medical bills to pay and he owes her at least that much." My chin tilts up like my entire body wants to argue in favor of Jimmy's girl.

"Um, yeah. I… yeah. Follow me." At her words, Bear glances at me and I nod. The five of us don't have to be up there, he can get what we need and ride the fuck out of here.

As I climb on my bike, I wipe my bloody hands on my leathers and shake the rage out of my system. Motherfucker made me lose control, but that's a good thing; this whole episode just reminded me that I've got a list full of names to be crossed out. With Goblin and Jake dead, now I just need their Prez, Isaac, and his little bitch, Brick. The others, that I added for lesser offenses, can wait.

Those two motherfuckers touched my woman when they were supposed to be protecting her.

Two motherfuckers that I can't wait to punish.

With a duffle bag secured to his back, Bear comes strolling on out with the maid standing at the door, watching us.

"Let's go tell Jimmy the good news, brothers. Justice has been served."