Page 113 of Paladin's Hell

Chapter 36

Hellfire

I give Demon a nod as he walks into the clubroom. Much as I hate doing this, it’s time. Nothing further has come to light, we’ve no more information as to who could be fucking with us. In the absence of anything else, all fingers seem to point to Runt. He hasn’t done himself many favours, playing on his injury as if it had been near fatal. He’s even got the club girls waiting on him hand and foot. When I insisted he take up bar duties again, he’d made such a song and dance I almost relented. But he can pick up a bottle with one hand. He’s right handed after all; he was shot in his left. Rusty assured me it’s nothing more than a scratch.

Had I been able to claim Moira, she would never have been raped. Because of my past, I’d allowed the prospects more latitude than they’d have in any of our other chapters. If they want a girl, they can have her. That doesn’t extend to trying to poach the woman of a patched member though. I’d lost even more respect for him when he’d gone head-to-head with Paladin.

Christ. What a fiasco that had been. Moira’s still working through that shit that happened with Blackie, guess I’d hoped that as thirty-six years of water had passed under the bridge, she would be able to put it behind her. It was a slap in my face to find some wounds remain as fresh as the day they were inflicted. After all this time, it still influences her thoughts and actions.

That Runt hadn’t helped, had orchestrated the situation to inflame her, only added to the dislike I was beginning to harbour for him. I was loath to accuse a man of something he might not have done, but if he was inclined to cause mischief in the clubhouse, it had made me wonder, what else might he have done?

Two days I’d given him. Time had run out. With no other suspects on the horizon, Demon’s bringing him down to the basement now.

I raise my chin toward Mace who immediately leans over the bar, speaking to Dan. The prospect nods, and the music is turned up, AC/DC thumping out through the speakers.

Thunder gets to his feet, and follows Mace down the stairs, Demon and Runt only just ahead of them. I wait, but nobody seems to have noticed.

Runt is used to being given shit jobs. He knows what we do in the room beneath the clubhouse, he’s been responsible for laying out plastic sheeting and doing clean up before. Catching up with them as Demon unlocks the door, not unexpectedly I hear him complaining.

“My arm’s killing me, VP. I’m on light duties.”

“Don’t worry,” Demon replies. “You’re not going to have to lift a finger.”

Runt glances around him, noticing for the first time the enforcer and sergeant-at-arms have followed him and the VP down. When his eyes fall on me, they widen. He starts to back up. “Hey, what is this?”

It’s clear the penny is dropping.

“We just want to have a chat with you, Prospect,” Demon assures him. He points to a chair sitting on top of a clean section of plastic sheet. “Sit down.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong.” Runt eyes the chair nervously. “Look, I was just fucking around with Paladin’s woman. I was bored, okay? Was just a joke, didn’t mean anything. How was I to fuckin’ know it would start World War Three?”

“Not here about that,” Demon tells him. “We want answers to a few questions.”

Mace steps up. He pulls Runt’s arms behind him, expertly zip-tying his wrists together. I nod. Over the last few months Mace has grown into his role. His face is impassive, and I know he’ll do everything necessary.

“What the fuck, Mace?” Runt struggles against him, then asks, hopefully, “This part of the initiation for prospects?”

“Just sit down.” Thunder growls.

“Prez, what’s going on? I ain’t done anything.”

He could be right about that. Lazy bastard that he is. But that’s just one more thing to suggest he’s not giving his all to the club.

“Sit,” Demon instructs, his loud voice booming. When Runt doesn’t obey, he says louder, “For fuck’s sake, do what you’re told. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be. Either you sit, or Mace and Thunder will put you in the fuckin’ chair.”

As the sergeant-at-arms flexes his not inconsiderable muscles, Runt, lacking in that department, has a look of defeat in his eyes. He takes the couple of steps necessary, his feet tapping against the plastic, and, at last, sits, perching on the edge of the chair looking decidedly uncomfortable.

I lean against a workbench. It’s covered in tools, all used for one purpose. To get information. I’m only hoping we won’t be using them on an innocent man. Folding my arms across my chest, I let Demon take the lead.

He doesn’t waste time in asking his first question. “Why did you leave a dead body behind Tits Up?”

Runt startles. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. I examine his face, watching for any sign of guilt.

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about, VP? I didn’t.”

“Where did you find him? Did you go lookin’, or was it just opportune?” Thunder asks questions of his own.

I’d like to know if it was premeditated too.

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