by Nina Levine
“What information do you want me to get out of him?” Hunt asks after they bring him in.
I look at Striker who is watching me like he wants to go a round with me. “I’m taking this one.”
Without waiting for Hunt’s response, I close the distance between Striker and me. He’s sitting in a chair with his wrists and feet restrained. I grip him by the neck and yank him to a standing position. He gasps for air and his body jerks. I kick the chair out of the way and shove him backwards so he hits the cement floor. The loud crack as his head hits it, along with his cries of pain, bring me some fucking joy, but it’s nowhere near enough. I need a couple of hours with him before it’ll be enough.
Standing over him, I bark, “Why? Tell me why you fucking did it?”
“I’m not fucking telling you a thing.”
“Oh, I think you will. It might take me some time, but you’ll be squealing by the time we’re done here.”
I reef him back up and get Hunt to secure him to the cement column. I then get to work on breaking him down by beating the shit out of him. This isn’t just to break him; this is for me, too.
The demon that lives deep in my soul demands it.
I need to see his pain.
I need to touch his pain.
I need to feel his pain.
Fuck, do I need to feel it.
Striker was a trusted member of my club.
Of my family.
I brought him in.
I gave him everything he needed.
I fucking opened up my world to him.
And he betrayed all of that.
He betrayed every member of our family.
I feel the pain of that all through me and now he needs to feel it, too.
I take my time with him, enjoying every second of my hands delivering a slow death. When he’s almost unconscious, I stop and grip his face. “You ready to talk yet?”
He looks at me through swollen eyes. “Fuck. You.” Blood drips from his mouth as he speaks, and joins the rest of the blood I’ve drawn from him on the ground.
Stepping away before I completely end him, I look at Ransom. “We’re going for a drive.”
Ransom frowns. “Where?”
“To his grave. We’ll finish this there.”
We bundle Striker into the van and make the drive to where we’ll bury him. By the time we get there, he’s wide awake again, which is exactly what I intended.
I lead him to the site and throw a shovel at him. “Dig.”
He drops the shovel. “Dig it your-fucking-self. I’m not your fucking slave anymore.”
“My slave? When the fuck were you ever that?”
His eyes glitter with hatred. “From the fucking minute I joined Storm, you treated me like I was there just to do whatever the fuck suited you.”
Ransom steps forward, as much anger blazing from him as there is hatred coming from Striker. “The fuck?”
Striker looks at Ransom. “You never saw it. No one did. But I was the one Winter always fucking singled out and treated like shit.”
Hunt joins in. “Can you fucking hear yourself, Striker? You sound like a fucking child. Winter didn’t treat you like shit, but you sure as fuck treated him like that. And you fucking pissed all over every one of us by getting into bed with Zenith. No one will ever forget that.”
When Striker opens his mouth to talk, I bark, “Enough. Dig the fucking hole.”
“I’m not fucking digging,” Striker says.
I punch him.
And again.
He lands on his back and I take the shovel and slice it down hard on his wrist. As it cleaves through his skin and bone, he howls in pain.
Crouching next to him, I say, “I figured you don’t need your hand if you’re not going to dig. You wanna start talking yet, or should I find other body parts you don’t need?”
His face is a mess of sweat, and tears, and grime as he stares up at me with pure bitterness. “Just fucking kill me,” he pants through the pain. “I’m not going to tell you a fucking thing.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. We’re not going to kill you until you talk.” I grasp his face and squeeze hard. “And I’m a patient man; I don’t care if this takes us weeks. You’ll fucking talk.”
Striker surprises me; he holds out longer than I thought he would. It turns out I’m not as patient as I told him I am. After three hours of torturing him, I’m way past ready to hear what he has to say, and willing to go to any length to make that happen.
Wiping the sweat off my forehead, I order, “Flip him over. I want Storm removed from his back.” There’s no fucking way I’m sending him to his grave representing the club he betrayed.
Striker jerks as Hunt attempts to turn him over. He musters up enough strength to stop Hunt from doing it, so Ransom and I get in there and make it happen. Hunt then removes Striker’s shirt and pulls his knife out.
I stand over him, my feet either side of his body. “Let me know when you’ve got something to say.” Taking Hunt’s knife, I slice into Striker’s back and begin removing his skin and all markings belonging to Storm. Blood oozes everywhere as I carve his back up.
Striker’s screams fill my ears until he cries out an address and says, “That’s where they work from.”
I stop slicing. “Keep fucking going or else I will.”
“The leader is Bourne. Leif is second in charge.” He pants with the pain coursing through him and tries like fuck to keep his head up, but fails. He face-plants while his body shudders.
“Bourne who?” I demand, grabbing his hair and pulling his face up. That name is fucking familiar.
“I don’t know his first name, only his last.” He takes a few quick breaths. “Just fucking kill me. I’m done.”
“You’re not done until I say you are. Tell us how they work.”
“All I fucking know is someone called Hagarty was financing them for a while, but now they’ve found someone else. I don’t know who. They have two separate locations they work from. One is where the guys running it work, and the other is where everyone else works. But they change that second location all the time so it’s harder to track them.” His pain becomes too much and he stops talking while he works through it.
I smack his face. “We’re nearly done. Keep talking and then I’ll stop the pain.”
He blows out a few short breaths and gets himself under control. “That’s everything. All I did for them was send updates through their app. Letting them know what the club was up to.”
Hunt steps in and takes his knife from me. I know he’s been holding himself back when all he wants to do is feed his desire for blood, so I let him loose. As he slices into Striker’s back to remove more of the tattoo, I say to Striker, “Hunt’ll keep going if you haven’t told us everything. Is there any more?”
“Fuck!” Striker’s scream pierces the air as he writhes underneath Hunt. “That’s fucking all! Fucking kill me!”
Hunt keeps going for another few minutes while Striker continues screaming.
I pull out my gun and aim it at Striker.
Our eyes meet as I prepare to pull the trigger.
He sends me one last filthy look before I put a bullet in his head.
“Fuck.”
I look at Ransom and Hunt. They’re feeling what I am. Utter fucking betrayal.
“Yeah, fuck,” Ransom says while Hunt remains silent and continues skinning Striker.
Once we’re finished burying him, I say to Ransom, “That address he gave us is Jackal’s club.”
Ransom’s eyes darken. “Yeah. Fury and I talked to him, and I fucking knew he wasn’t telling us something.”
“Bourne is the name we got from one of the Zenith guys who killed Ice. You think Jackal’s Bourne?” Hunt says.
Fuck, that’s why the name is familiar.
I look at him. “Only one way to find out.”
An hour later, we arrive at the club. It’s early in the night, only just past 9:00 p.m., so it’s quiet here.
We enter and make our way to the stairs that lead up to Jackal’s office. His security allows us through. Too fucking easily. When we step in his office, he’s sitting behind his antique desk, smoking a cigar.
“It took you longer than I thought,” he says.
Every one of my senses is alert, but something’s telling me they don’t need to be. “For what?”
“To figure out this is where Zenith’s headquarters were.”
“Were?” Ransom says.
Jackal laughs. “Yes, you’re too late. They’ve moved on.”
“Bullshit,” I say.
He spreads his arms wide. “Feel free to take a look around. They were working from the room underground”—he chucks me a key—“which you’re welcome to take a look at. See for yourself.”
I throw the key to Hunt. “You two go check it out.”
Hunt nods, and he and Ransom leave.
I move closer to Jackal. “Where did Zenith go?”
He shrugs. “I’ve no clue. One day they were here, the next they were gone. I merely rented the space to them; I didn’t keep tabs on their movements.”
“Maybe you’re Zenith and you’re giving us this elaborate fucking story.” Even as the words are out of my mouth, my gut doesn’t believe them.
His laugh this time is a deep belly laugh. “I assure you, Winter, that I do not have the time nor the inclination to do the stuff Zenith do. What I do have is a grudge against King, so when they told me they wanted him gone and asked if I had space to rent, I allowed them to use it.”
“So you simply rented a room to them and know nothing else?”
A text comes through on my phone.
* * *
Ransom: The room is empty. We’ll check out every inch of this place, though.
* * *
Jackal draws my attention back to him. “I know hell is coming for you.” His voice has turned cold as ice, his eyes, too. “King deserves everything he’s about to get.”
I aim my gun and shoot him.
I’m fucking tired of talking to people who give me nothing useful.
A call comes through.
Memphis.
“Yeah?” I bark.
“This Eloise bitch is busting my fucking balls about going home. Can I let her leave?”
“Yes, take her and Maddox home, and stay there to keep watch.”
“Fuck, Pres. Fucking really?”
“Yes, fucking really. We need to make sure he’s safe. So wherever he goes, you go.”
“So not her, though? I don’t have to watch her?”
“Fuck no. She wants out, she’s on her own. Just make sure the boy is safe at all times.”
“Gotcha.”
I think about Maddox after we end the call. He’s been dealt a shitty fucking hand in life. I’m going to make it my mission to ensure he’s looked after and finds his family if that’s what he wants to do. God knows, if I’d been lucky enough to have a child, I’d fucking hope someone looked out for him if I couldn’t.
Ransom and Hunt come back. Ransom stares at Jackal before looking at me. “He give you anything?”
“Nothing except some shit about King getting everything he deserves.”
“So this place was a bust, and nothing Striker told us is of much use,” Ransom says.
“He told us someone new is financing Zenith, and he confirmed the name Bourne,” I say. “But yeah, it doesn’t feel like we’ve gotten too fucking far.”
I know one other thing after the events of today: we’re leaving for Brisbane in a couple of days. If Zenith has packed up their main place they worked from, they’re not planning on coming back to Melbourne anytime soon.
33
Birdie
* * *
“What do you mean he’s gone?” I ask Hunt when he tells me Maddox isn’t at the clubhouse anymore. I arrived five minutes ago with some books I think Maddox might like to read, but now it appears he’s left. I’m surprised at both the fact he’s not here, as well as how disappointed I feel over that.
“Eloise wanted to go home last night; Winter said yes. So Memphis took them home. That’s all I know.”
“Okay, thanks. Is Winter here?”
“No, he and Ransom have been out for hours. Not sure when they’ll be back.”
I leave him and walk out to my car while pulling Memphis’s number up on my phone.
“Birdie,” he says and I hear the smile in his voice.
“Hey, Memphis. I’ve got a quick question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“What address did you take Maddox to?”
“Fuck, woman, Winter’ll have my balls if I tell you that.”
Shit, he probably will. Not something I want to do to Memphis. “Sorry, yes, you’re right. Forget I asked.”
“Why do you wanna know?”
“Maddox told me he likes to read, so I got him some books. I thought he was cooped up at the clubhouse and it’d give him something to do.”
“You’re a good woman, Birdie. Maybe ask Winter to drop them to him.”
“Yeah, I might. Thanks.”
We end the call and I consider calling Winter to do what Memphis suggested. However, I want to give these to Maddox myself. Goodness knows why, but I want to see him again. I want to see for myself that he’s all right.
Screw it; I’m going to take a chance on my husband understanding what I want to do.
I call him.
“Birdie. You good?” Bugger. He only answers abruptly like this when he’s busy with club stuff.
“Yeah, I’m good, baby. I just wanted to ask you something. Have you got a minute?”
“That’s about all I’ve got. What’s up?”
I take a deep breath. “So I got Maddox some books after he told me likes to read, but Hunt just told me he’s gone home. I wanted to ask you for his address so I can take these books over.”
“Fuck, angel, that’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because there’s shit going on with Maddox and Eloise that I don’t want you anywhere near.”
“What kind of shit? Club stuff?”
“Yeah, club stuff.”
“Well, what about if you took me over?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “This is important to you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I honestly don’t know. All I know is I have this need to see Maddox and make sure he’s okay.”
“He’s okay. I’ve got Memphis keeping an eye on him.”
“It’s not the same, Winter,” I say softly. “I want to see him for myself.”
He thinks about that before saying, “Okay. I’ll be back at the clubhouse in about ten minutes. Wait for me there and I’ll take you over.”
“Thank you. I love you.”
I head inside and potter around the kitchen while waiting for him to return. God knows how, but these men make a mess. I think I need to pop in every day again and help keep the place clean like I used to.
“Birdie.” Winter’s deep voice cuts through my thoughts.
I turn to find him in the doorway watching me. “Hey, you. I’ll just grab my bag.”
Five minutes later, we’re on our way.
I look at Winter. “Are you okay? You look tense.”
He glances at me, his face lined with the burden he’s carrying. “We’ve got stuff going on in Brisbane. I’m going to have to take a trip up there. I’m worried about leaving you alone here.”
My tummy knots with anxiety. Not for myself, but for Winter. After eight years of this, though, I’ve learned to keep the worry under control. Well, enough so it doesn’t impact my day-to-day living. Now it just keeps me on edge whenever I know he’s in danger, which lately happens to be all the time.
“You’ve got someone watching me, and I always take precautions. I’ll be okay. I’m more worried for you.”
He takes hold of my hand, his touch whispering his love. I squeeze his hand as he says, “Don’t worry
about me. Just promise me you’ll stay alert at all times.”
“I promise.” Fuck, now he’s really worrying me. If things are bad enough for him to be this concerned for me, I’m convinced he’s in more danger than I thought.
Lady balls, Birdie.
Strap in for the ride.
Deep fucking breaths.
He turns silent, and because I need to take my mind off what we were talking about, I say, “Mum called me today about Christmas.” My mother is a Christmas freak and starts making plans for next Christmas on Boxing Day. “She wants to know our plans.”
“I’m not sure if I’ll get much time off this year, angel.” His voice is filled with regret; Winter knows how much Christmas means to Mum and me. Christmas is hard for him, because he lost some men at Christmas years ago due to a club war, but he always does his best to make sure we enjoy the season. This year, though, will be our first one without Max, so that’s going to be hard for him, too.
“Maybe we should stay home, just the two of us this year.” I want to wrap him in love this year and help ease the pain I know he’s going to feel.
“Fuck no. We’re going to your mum’s. It just may be for a short time.”
I squeeze his hand again. “Okay, baby. We’ll finalise it closer to the time. I’ll let Mum know.” I pause, trying to figure out how to say what I want to say. “This’ll be our first year without Max. How are you feeling about that?”
He lets go of my hand and I see him shut down on me. We talked about Max a lot right after his death, but since then, and especially since my miscarriage, we don’t talk about Max much at all. Winter doesn’t seem to want to. “I haven’t had time to think about it.” His voice is gruff; his words final. It’s his way of letting me know this conversation is finished.
This is one of the reasons why we’ve drifted apart. I try to talk to him about stuff, and he shuts the conversation down. We’ve had screaming fights the few times I’ve tried to push him to talk, so I don’t push him anymore. I can’t take another fight with him. It’s easier to let it go and pretend everything is okay. But soon I’m going to have to chance another fight, because we can’t go on like this. I don’t want a surface relationship with my husband; one where everything seems good on the surface, but deeper it’s a hot fucking mess. I want, need, more. I just hope he has it in him to give more.