Page 23 of One Night with the Biker

“Just get it done, Sinclair,” Roman ordered.

It made sense that he knew my name. We were enemies. It was best to know everything about them.

“Your sister’s name is Valois, huh?” Louisiana asked from behind me. “Why the different names?”

Roman turned his head. He didn’t intend to answer any more questions, especially about Ainsley. I could demand answers, but it would do no good. He was as good as dead anyway. Why give up information about his little sister?

He finally gave into the darkness calling to him and his eyes slipped closed, his chin tipping to his chest. He was even more helpless than before. Killing him would be a breeze.

Except…

I sighed.

“I take it you’ve had a change of heart,” Louisiana guessed.

Roman was an enforcer in the club. Icing him would be a huge blow to their morale.

“What if he was the one who killed my brother, Reese?”

Louisiana was right. I couldn’t let a piece of ass sway me. I had a job to do. Top of that list was killing any and all Bloody Scorpions I ran across.

I unholstered the gun at my side and pressed it to Roman’s head. Ainsley’s screams rose in my head. I put my finger on the trigger, and…couldn’t do it. Just like when I’d thought about shooting Ainsley. Then, I hadn’t been able to extinguish her life when she’d looked so innocent and gorgeous. Now, I couldn’t take away her only family. Maybe that made me a traitor to my brothers. I didn’t know.

One less Scorpion meant one less threat to us. Yet, even with that, I returned my gun to the holster.

“You fucking asshole.”

I refrained from pointing out that it washisfucking games that put me in Ainsley’s path. “If you don’t want to help me, then leave. Either way, shut the fuck up.”

“How the fuck do you plan on getting this motherfucker out? Any of our brothers will do the job you don’t have the balls to do.”

Thinking fast, I removed my serrated tactical knife from my boot and lifted one of Roman’s hands. I’m sure the motherfucker would prefer to lose his hands if it meant returning to Ainsley. Putting him out of commission wouldn’t only make him useless but could save his miserable life. Turning him into an invalid was a fate worse than death. As far as the Bloody Scorpions were concerned, being disabled made you a fucking burden to your club. Burdens were dealt with via bullets, so chances were, he wouldn’t be on this Earth much longer, regardless of if he survived his impromptu amputation.

It was a win/win for me. My enemy would be dead, and Ainsley couldn’t blame me for killing her beloved brother. On the off chance, he made it, my guess—hope—was that he’d retire and live the rest of his life protecting Ainsley.

Some would argue—likely the entire membership—that killing him was the only answer. Assuming Roman survived, he could always get prosthetics and learn to shoot a gun, but I’d cross that bridge when I got to it.

The chances of him living that long were slim.

When I finally got his chains out of the way, I brought the blade down. It took two hard swings to chop off his left hand, the knife slicing through muscle, tendon, and bone with ease.The squirting blood indicated his heart continued to pump.

For how much longer, I couldn’t say, and I didn’t particularly care.

I took a moment to relish the feeling of his blood on my skin, imagining what it would feel like for his brain to be splattered everywhere. If Ainsley wasn’t in the picture, I’d likely be disgusted at having his DNA tainting my skin but feel unmatched satisfaction. I’d celebrate his death by drinking and fucking, once Roman’s body was chopped into tiny pieces.

Alas, Ainsley had ruined me for Roman’s retribution, and doing something so vicious to her brother would make me feel guilty. Having a conscience could be so bothersome, especially when it made me feel bad for my enemy’s sister. So much so, that I decided to spare the fucker.

Pussy made a man do stupid things.

“Wrap his hands.” I wiped off my blade, then returned the knife to my boot. “I’ll be back.”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

I dangled Roman’s severed hands. “Saving Ainsley’s brother.”

The trek from the pit seemed longer than normal. Razor had talked about installing cameras and microphones in the torture chamber so we could watch our prey as they wrestled with the last hours of their lives. I’d had motherfuckers beg me to spare them. Offers to pay me. Offers to suck my cock. My toes. My fingers. A man lost all fucking dignity when he fell into his enemy’s hands.

Warrior spotted me first and whooped, which started everyone else’s cheers. Congrats were thrown my way. Roman Mac was fucking notorious. He took no prisoners and showed no mercy.

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