Page 43 of Everest

No screams get out.

Fender unlocks it, swinging the door open, and the thick, hot air escapes.

Catcher backs the van to the entrance.

"Get ‘em out," Riggs orders, his voice flat.

I yank open the van doors and snatch Rollins, my woman's abductor, by his hair and haul him out while Nova grabs the second motherfucker. The wiry little fucker twists and kicks, catching Nova in the nuts with a knee, trying to free himself. My brother slams the guy's body so hard against the van that it rattles.

"Son of a bitch," Nova grinds out through clenched teeth, the anger palpable in his voice. He slams the prick's head into the side of the van, each impact reverberating through the air. After a couple of brutal blows, he tosses him onto the ground. Nova delivers a sharp kick to the guy's ribs. He turns away and walks off, leaving the asshole gasping for breath.

Catcher bends down, lifts the guy off the ground, and shoves him into the shed. I follow behind with Rollins.

Inside, the air hangs heavy and oppressive, saturated with the stench of blood that clings stubbornly to the concrete floors and walls. Chains dangle from the ceiling. Tools are lined up against the walls—rusted and well-worn—each one a sinister device, not for fixing things, but for inflicting pain, shattering bones, and breaking men.

Wick grabs the heavy chain from the ceiling and lowers the hook. I push my victim forward while Wick slaps a pair of cuffs onto the dealer's wrists, disregarding the zip ties, and loops the cuffs onto the hook. Kiwi cranks the chains until the guy's arms stretch over his head, leaving his feet nearly dangling off the floor. Rollins groans, low and angry, as the weight of his body causes the cuffs to dig into his flesh.

Catcher forcefully pushes the second dealer into a steel chair, slicing through his restraints, then pulls his arms back and zip ties his wrists again before ripping the tape from his mouth.

I stand in front of the motherfucker I plan to inflict pain on, and my brothers form a circle around us. I roughly rip the tape off his mouth and, with it, parts of his facial hair.

"You kill me, he kills you." His gaze drifts around us. "All of you," he sneers. His eyes fixate on me. "If I'd known the bitch was yours, I'd have put a bullet in the whore's head," he spews, spittle flying.

I wipe his spit from my face, then use his body like a punching bag, landing one brutal blow after another to his midsection until he's left gasping for breath.

His body swings, the chains creaking under his weight as Riggs steps forward, arms crossed over his chest. "Seems your boss has a hard-on for the Kings. Give up his name."

The motherfucker just breathes heavily, then starts laughing and grinning through his pain. "Fuck. You."

Riggs doesn't say a word. He steps aside and nods at me.

I stroll around the room slowly, like a wolf circling his prey, my gaze drifting over the tools, trying to decide which one suits my fancy—pliers, hammers, files, blades, propane torch, saw?—

all instruments of persuasion, capable of making a grown man cry and squeal like a stuck pig. The sledgehammer catches my eye. I wrap my hand around the worn handle, its weight comforting. I turn back toward Rollins, who grins like he has a secret. One I hope he thinks is worth dying for.

"You wanna talk?" I ask, my voice low, steady, and controlled.

He barks a laugh, the kind that makes my fists itch. "Go to hell."

"Wrong answer," I mutter, then swing. The sledgehammer connects with a sickening crack against his kneecap, and hisbody jerks while a scream rips from his throat. I don't hesitate to swing again, only harder this time.

"There's a slim chance I can convince him to make your death quick and less painful," Riggs says, then adds, "If you start talkin', that is."

Rollins' agonizing groan turns into a broken, unhinged laugh. "I told you to watch your back," he croaks, his eyes locking on mine.

I don't say a damn word.

What I want to do is break bones, shatter every inch of him until there's nothing left to recognize. My fingers twitch around the sledgehammer's handle.

I raise my arm to drive the steel into his other knee.

But Riggs steps forward and lifts a hand. "Hold up."

I freeze mid-swing.

Riggs eyes the bastard with a sharp gaze. "You started the mill fire."

It's not a question.

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