HARDCORE: Storm MC(36)
When I reached the living room again, where most of the tuxes and naked female bodies were gathered in their assorted states of high and loaded, I failed to see Sienna. Ronn was there, and Ship was standing by a wall near him, looking over the room. I caught his eye and raised a brow, asking from afar where my woman had gone. His eyes flashed upward with a head tilt in the same direction, so I understood that my girl was following our plan as well, investigating the rooms upstairs. I sent Ship another query by face, asking if she was okay, and he nodded briefly. I chin-lifted a thanks and scanned the room again, looking to pinpoint Fielding and Ronn, the two scumbags I was most concerned with.
I didn’t see Fielding. This was not great. But I had to trust Sienna; I had promised her I would, and it hadn’t been that long since I’d left the room, maybe only fifteen or twenty minutes. I’d give her a little more time before freaking out.
I decided it was as good a time as any to get Ronn alone again to get more info. I had been too angry before, when we had been in the library, to think of what needed saying and doing with the little ass, so a second go at him was due.
I made my way through bodies vertical and horizontal and everything in between until I was standing at Joey Ronn’s back. I tapped him heavily on the shoulder. When he looked back, then up at me, he scowled.
“Do you need something?” He attempted a contemptuous tone with his high nasal.
“It’s more a matter of what you need,” I replied, not hiding my ire as I eyed his nose and his throat. Damn, but I wanted to do some damage to this motherfucker’s face. I was pretty sure he got the point.
“Are… are you actually threatening me?” Ah! He was catching on.
“Yeah, I’m threatenin’ you. I need some answers, and you are gonna give ’em to me, or I will gladly start my joyful work of rearrangin’ your face until you do.”
His eyes popped wide, and he squeaked out, “Here? Now? What the fuck is this, you fu—”
“Ah ah ah, it’s Mr. Parker to you. Now do you want to do this here, or would you prefer a more private location?”
His eyes darted over to Ship, but my man’s face gave nothing away and he shrugged. And Joey realized he was on his own.
“Your Pres is gonna pay for this. You both want that? I don’t know what your issue is, Mr. Parker, but you’d better take it down a notch. You’re out of your league. Don’t overstep. Now, get out of my way.”
I took him by the bicep—jeez, I could almost wrap my hand around his entire arm—and pulled him slightly in front of me, guiding him back into the gigantic foyer of the McMansion, saying, “Shut it, Ronn. Your options for the night are limited. If you’re a good boy, you’ll tell me what I need to know and you might get out in one piece. Maybe.”
I wasn’t too sure of my ability to hold myself back. This piece of shit deserved a roughing up so badly, and I was still itching to give it to him.
He showed wisdom and kept his mouth shut until we got back to the library and shut the door.
When I released his arm, he turned to me, seething and demanding, “Just who the fuck do you think you are?”
“I know who I am, and I know who you are, too. You have a big problem, and it’s time we address it. It’s about a little snuff film, and knives, and a dead girl, and a dead brother of mine. Does that jog your memory?”
His eyes narrowed to slits, and he smirked. “Ah, it just might. So you want—what? What exactly do you think I can provide you with?”
I wanted a lot of things. I wanted this motherfucker to pay for Manny. I wanted Fielding to pay for Tania. I wanted evidence to incriminate both of them, evidence that could go to the cops and put these two away forever. I wanted to get out of Hardcore for good. I wanted our MC back. I wanted to find Pres’s daughter, Zoe, in one piece and alive. I wanted this whole fucking nightmare to be over.
But I had to start small here. “I want to take Fielding down. What’s his hold over you? Or are those types of pornos your sick preference, too?”
Understanding and superior knowledge lit his eyes. “Ah. No. His tastes… shall we say, he represents a distinctive niche of the market, one that is… ah, so specialized that men such as he are willing to pay top dollar for. Supply and demand, you know. It’s the way the world works.”
He looked proud of himself, like he hadn’t just made the most sick and abhorrent and criminal predilection sound merely offbeat and unique for the wealthy and discerning connoisseur, and he smirked again. I just about growled. There was nothing right about these people. They should have been wiped off the face of the planet long ago.