Page 114 of Paladin's Hell

“I didn’t find him. I didn’t go lookin’. Why the fuck are you asking me these questions?”

Demon looms over him. “Who are you workin’ with?”

If I hadn’t had such strong suspicions, I’d have believed his half-sobbed response. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about. I’m workin’ my ass off for this club to get my patch. I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

The prospect’s eyes are flicking wildly between us. It’s debatable how much damage he’s doing to his ass with the amount of work he does, but he’s still trying to get us to believe all he wants is that patch he’s chasing.

“Fuckin’ funny way to try to get your patch, Prospect,” Thunder approaches him. “Causin’ trouble for the club.”

“I’m not causin’ trouble for the club.” Runt’s voice rises. “The dead body had nothing to do with me.”

“Who did you sell those parts to?”

“What fuckin’ parts?” Runt cries out.

“The parts stolen from the auto-shop. You knew they’d been delivered. You were the fuckin’ one to unload them.”

Runt looks distressed. “I did what I normally do. I helped Pyro when he added them to the stock. Then I didn’t touch them again.”

Demon leaves him and crosses to me. “Without an admission, we’ve got nothing concrete on him.”

I wipe my hands over my face, drawing my cheeks down with my fingers. This isn’t something I’m going to enjoy. “Won’t get anything from him without persuasion, VP.” I spare a glance for the man in the chair. “He’s not stupid. If he admits it was him doing that shit, he’ll end up hurtin’, or dead.” We don’t take betrayal lightly. We can’t. It would make us look weak to simply banish him from the club. “We’re on lockdown because of what he’s done. Need to clear this up so people can start living their lives again.”

“It might not be him,” Demon reminds me.

“It might not. At the moment, I don’t believe him.”

My son, brother, stares at me, then after a moment, he raises his chin. “I’ve not heard enough to make up my mind one way or the other. Thing is, it all points to him, doesn’t it?” He lets out a sigh. “Let’s fuckin’ hope we’ve got this right.” Without turning, his eyes still on me, he calls out. “String him up, Brothers.”

“What? No!” Runt starts protesting loudly. “I’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve got to believe me. I’d never hurt the club. No, please.” The last is almost a scream as Mace and Thunder, none too gently, loop a rope through his already bound hands, and winch his arms up behind him.

As Thunder kicks the chair away, Runt’s leaning forward. In that position it won’t be long before his shoulders are screaming.

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” he shouts. “Nothing.”

“Need the fuckin’ truth.” Demon’s now moved over and is facing him. “Might not have anything to link you to the body, but you were one of the few people to know those custom parts were delivered, and you were the only person who was out front when you got shot.”

“I was shot,” Runt repeats in a screech. “You can’t be suggestin’ I put myself in the line of fire? The way those bullets were flyin’ I could have been killed.”

“Could have shot yourself.” Thunder shakes his head. Yeah, Demon and I had shared our suspicions. “Fuckin’ lucky the drive-by happened when everyone else was out back.”

Demon nods at Mace, who yanks the winch.

Runt screams in pain. “My shoulders. You’re fuckin’ dislocatin’ them. Oh, man. Let me down. It fuckin’ hurts.”

“One way to get us to stop, Prospect. Give us something to make us believe you.”

“I can’t,” Runt sobs, then cries out, “I don’t know anything. I didn’t do anything. Oh, fuck, no. Please stop.” Tears, either of pain, or in realisation of the seriousness of his situation, start to leak from his eyes and roll down his face.

Mace steps over to the workbench. The look he gives me is full of distaste for what he’s about to do. Christ, torturing our enemies is bad enough, but one of our own? Someone we thought we could trust? I acknowledge the expression he’s wearing, then step to the side to give him room to choose which implement he’s going to use.

“No!” Runt screams as my movement has brought his attention to the tools I’d previously been hiding. “No, please God, no!”

The VP holds out his hand, motioning Mace to stay where he is. “Runt. A dead body on our premises, a theft of a few hundred dollars of shit. A shootin’ where only you got hurt. Apart from the resultin’ lockdown that’s been inconvenient, you haven’t brought serious damage to the club yet.” He pauses, to let that sink in. “Admit it was you. Give us the reason. Tell us who you are workin’ with. You won’t make a patched member, but you’ll leave here alive. I promise you that.” Another brief period of silence. “Tell us the truth and this stops right now.”

Runt’s shaking his head. Demon indicates Mace to come forward. Suddenly Runt’s shouting again. “I can’t fuckin’ tell you what isn’t true. I can’t make up the reason I did what you accuse me of as I didn’t fuckin’ do it. I’m not workin’ with anyone so I can’t tell you their fuckin’ name. You’re going to kill me for no reason. However much you hurt me, I can’t say anything you want to hear.

“I’ve not been the best prospect, I know that. But I fuckin’ love this club. I’ll do anything to become a member. This is the life I want. I’d never do anything to jeopardise that.” He pauses, looks between us, pleading eyes resting on us one by one. “Don’t do this. There’s nothing I can tell you unless I make shit up. You don’t want me as a prospect? Will fuckin’ kill me, but I’ll leave today. You just got to believe me, I’d do nothing to hurt this club.”

I don’t believe him. That’s the problem. Demon looks at me, sadly I shake my head. Then Mace is moving forward again. Seeing what he’s holding, Thunder nods, moves behind Runt and takes a firm hold of his hand.

The enforcer’s carrying pliers. “One last chance, Runt. Or say goodbye to your fingernails. Hurts like shit, or so I’m told.”

Runt’s sobbing loudly, aware there’s nothing he can say to convince us. Reluctantly I’m impressed as his resolve to stay quiet.

“Wait,” says Demon. Mace pauses. “Anyone got a hold over you, boy? Someone you’re afraid of more than us? You working for someone with a grudge against the club?”

As Runt’s mouth opens and closes, for a second I wonder if Demon’s on the right track. But when he shakes his head, I can’t tell if there is someone who he’s not naming, or if he’s innocent of everything we’re accusing him of. It’s that doubt that turns my stomach. But there’s only one way to find out.

“Get on with it, Mace,” I instruct.

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