Page 52 of Bear

Tuck shakes his head. “There has to be something more.”

“Be here for her, because her whole life, she’s looked after all of you. Stay, get some rest, and be here for your sister because she’s going to need you when she wakes and finds me gone.”

As if on cue, growling pipes cut through the stillness of the night. Crow and Mako pull up to the house. I nod goodbye to Jupiter’s brothers and head outside to meet my own.

Crow nods in greeting. “Brother.”

“Thanks for coming.” I glance at him and then at Mako. “I need to ask you a favor.”

“You want me to stay here, don’t you?” He shakes his head. “I knew it. Just when I thought I was finally gonna see some action.”

“I can’t leave them all unprotected.”

He climbs off his bike. “So, I’m on babysitting duty while you two have all the fun?”

“Looks like,” Crow says.

“You realize if you guys do this, you risk losing the chance to patch in?”

Crow nods. “I’m with you, brother.”

I glance at Mako. He says, “Me too. But you’ll owe me. I’m not missing my chance to patch in over a fucking babysitting job.”

“Sounds fair.” I grab my helmet and climb on my bike as Mako flips the kickstand down on his and slides off. He takes the porch stairs two at a time and leans against the railing as Crow and I start our Harleys.

We’re almost out of town when three more bikes slide into place behind us. Ruin rides up alongside me, and I dart my gaze to him and then back at the road. “You’re not talking me out of this.”

“Not trying to,” he shouts back over the roar of our engines.

Sterling approaches on my left side. “Let’s go kill some angry white supremacists.” He revs the throttle and takes off.

We might not have any idea where the Bayou Bastards are hiding, but we know exactly where to find the head of White Nation, and I can be very convincing with the right tools.

***

“I’M GONNA ASK YOU AGAIN,” I whisper to the meth head tied to his dining room chair. The house might have been nice once—plush carpets, gauzy drapes, expensive wallpaper. But it smells like piss and burning plastic, and it’s clear this asshole sold everything he owned just for his next fix. “’Cause I don’t think you’re hearing me. Where the fuck are the Bastards hiding?”

I lean over and slide the point of the blade across his cheek, slowly. A line of blood wells against his pasty skin. He struggles in his bindings and cries like a baby, but we’ve only just begun.

I stand, straddling his lap, and wrench his head to the side. I grab the top of his ear and begin sawing with my blade. By the time I reach the earlobe, he’s done thrashing, his screams have turned to hoarse cries in the back of his throat, and his body slumps against the chair, a bleeding, sweaty mess. Torture will do that to you. I wipe the blood from my knife against his T-shirt and stand back, holding his ear aloft.

“Check it out, I’m Mr. Blond.” I waggle the bloodied ear and bring it close to my mouth, cocking my head and speaking into it the way the iconic mobster does. “‘Hey, what’s going on?’ Can you hear me now, motherfucker?”

“Jesus.” Sterling glances away.

“What the fuck are you doing, brother?” Saint’s arms are folded against his chest as he studies me.

I glance at the kid. “Did you never seeReservoir Dogs?”

Crow chuckles and shifts his weight against the kitchen wall. “Classic.”

“Bear,” Ruin warns. “We need to wrap this up.”

“You’re right.” I circle the Nazi lover and dart out my knife, slashing open his cheek. He screams and I grab his head, thrusting my blade against his throat hard enough that a trickle of blood glances off my fingers. “Tell me where to find the Bayou Bastards or your ear won’t be the only appendage I cut off, and really—do you want to walk through life half a man with a gaping hole where your cock used to be?”

The rapid rise and fall of his chest and the whimper that escapes his mouth suggests he doesn’t love that plan. I pull the knife away from his neck and dance the point of the blade down his torso. “Clock’s ticking.”

“Please, they’ll kill me if I talk.”

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