Club business waited for me the next day. Ugly, bloody, unfinished business.
I thought about us fucking the whole ride in. Thinking about her hot bod convulsing all over mine sweetened the blow that was about to come.
When I got inside the clubhouse, I met up with Rabid, and every hot, happy thought I had melted. There was nothing sexy about the grisly problem in front of me.
“Go easy on him, big guy. The fuck's already missing a whole hand. If the asshole dies before we've got a firm yes for the Prez, we're shit outta luck.” Rabid walked with me down the long hall, toward the storage room, now guarded by several prospects and a full patch member twenty-four-seven.
The prospects nodded to us and the door squealed open. Gold Teeth was slouched in his chair, his arms and legs bound, everything except the bloody stump where his right hand had been. They'd saved his bum leg and taken his hand.
Blackjack and the boys carved it off two fingers at a time, a little more each day, sending the rotten meat back to Mexico with a three-line note attached.
Leave California, or he dies. No negotiations. You know how to reach us.
Seeing the asshole sick and clammy was a nasty sight. Didn't stop me from wearing the same impassable mask, or remembering this fucked up clown nearly took me away from my wife and kid way too damned soon.
If I could've resurrected Beam and killed him a few more times, I would've. Instead, this asshole was all I had, and the Prez's orders said we couldn't put him under unless the cartel's answer was a hard fuck no.
The don saw me and cracked his eyes, slow and groggy, like he was waking up from a dream. Really, he was coming home to a nightmare.
Those dark eyes got a whole lot wider when he saw me, recognized the man he thought he'd killed. He started sputtering some shit in rapid-fire Spanish.
I didn't understand any of it except the word dios – God.
I leaned down, face to sweaty face, making sure he could see the bulge underneath my cut from the gauze covering my screwed up shoulder. “You ready to talk today, boss man? The boys have done a damned good job carving meat off your sorry ass. 'Course they're only part-timers. I'm this club's Enforcer, and making assholes' tongues move is my full time job.”
“That's right,” Rabid growled in his other ear. “You can start by speaking English, asshole. There's nobody here who'll whisper sweet nothings in your native tongue, let alone bail you the fuck out.”
I gave my brother the evil eye. He got the message and backed away. This was all me.
I walked to the little stand in the corner, where some of the brothers had set up our usual toolbox for persuasion. Wires, clamps, batteries, and about a thousand different knives.
Sometimes I actually missed the Mauler, that torture glove the evil bastards used under Fang, but I didn't miss the fact that too many good brothers ended up shredded under that fucking thing.
I'd make do. Picking up a hunting knife, I brandished it in one hand, testing the very edge. It wasn't great for taking more bone off him, but it'd do the job for peeling skin.
When I turned around, he was fully conscious, bright fear alive in his eyes. “Please. I told your men everything already. Everything about this operation, the raid, the organization...”
I rubbed my chin with my free hand, feeling the sandpaper stubble. Hm, he was weaker than the other assholes we'd captured. Or maybe more willing to squawk because he was the first one ever who actually had a chance of walking away with his life.
Not that it was his choice. It was all up to his buds in the cartel now, and we had to hope golden boy here was as bright and shiny as his teeth.
“Yeah, except you haven't given us anything we can work with. Let's make this easy. What the fuck do I have to ship them in the mail to get an answer?” I walked forward, slow and plodding, circling him like a damned shark. “An ear? An eye? A nut?”
He flinched and looked down. Asshole caught a glimpse of the bloody stump where his hand had been, a reminder he'd already taken serious damage. He blubbered like a baby, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I dunno, Jose. Better think hard. Loosen those lips. Maybe I should put this knife down and pick up the pliers instead, rip out every last one of those pretty fucking teeth in your mouth, and send it to your boys in little envelopes.”
“They'll never give up,” he spat, looking at me more sternly than before. “Whatever you do to me, we'll do a thousand times worse to your man, Blackjack.”
Wrong answer.
I pushed the blade's flat edge against his head, starting near the back, one clean swipe away from taking an ear. The don lost his spunk just as quick as he'd gotten his balls back. Fuck, those rotten nuts were probably crawling up his guts right now, scared shitless I was crazy enough to take his ear right now, or something worse.