Page 25 of Royal's Reign
“No one you wanna fuck with,” he sniggers. “If you’ve any sense, you’d leave well alone.”
“No can do, I’m afraid.” I stand up to my full height, toss the hammer back over to the table, the weight of it hitting the top, making all the others on the surface bounce and clang. “You see, it’s not somuch about the fact that your boss has not only disrespected this club by acting the way he has, without getting permission from us first. Or even that he’s caused disruption in our, yes, our city when it had been ticking along nicely with very little trouble.” I take the pair of pliers that Grinder holds out to me. It’s like he can read my mind. I grip the end of the spike using the jagged teeth, squeeze the handles tight. Using the implement is my best option, because the spike is now too slippery to grip with my fingers due to the amount of blood coating it. Slowly I start to pull it back out of the bone, wiggling it from side to side when it gets defiant. He screams, and I mean screams. The pain must be excruciating. When it finally comes free, the pain is too much, and has him drifting from consciousness. I slap him around the face because I’m far from finished. I need to know more.
Another hard slap across his face and his eyes spring open. Slowly they glide my way.
“You see, it’s the threats, the stalking, the way he’s targeted a member of our family, an innocent member of the club, a fucking woman, that really fucking disgusts me. All because he didn’t do due diligence when taking care of a problem. He should have taken it off the streets, so he wouldn’t have had to cover his tracks for fear of him being given up to the law.”
“You think he wants the Moore girl dead?” The asshole has the nerve to laugh, albeit strangled with pain. “He doesn’t want to end her. Quite the opposite.”
“So, what does he want with her?”
“He wants to own her,” he sniggers. “In every dirty, sick way imaginable.”
My head flashes in quick succession, different scenarios that almost stop me from breathing. Scenes that my heart and mind can’t take.
“Over my fucking dead body,” I snarl, teeth bared like a raging animal.
Without a second thought, I snap my gun from where I’d left it on the side, push the barrel to his forehead, and squeeze the trigger.
The sound echoes within the stone walls, making it sound louder than it should. Blood and brain matter splatter over my VP’s chest and face.
“For fuck’s sake,” Grinder curses, swiping his hand down his face then flicking anything he’s gathered off his hand onto the floor, to join the rest of the body matter. “What the hell’s got into you. We weren’t done yet. We still needed to find out where it is these fuckers are hanging.”
“We got a name, which is enough. Call Hacksaw and Nytro in here to do clean up, while I get the cunts name to Forger so he can get us an address. Then go get a shower, you look a fucking mess.” I sneer at him. He looks down, pulls at the fabric of his t-shirt so he can get a better look at the damage.
“You’re an asshole, Royal,” he sniggers. “Look at the state of my shirt.” It’s an old Iron Maiden, Number of the Beast, black t-shirt that he’s treasured forever.
“Then you should have zipped up then, shouldn’t yah. That’s the whole purpose of wearingthem so you don’t have to burn every piece of clothing that you fucking own.” I walk towards the door, stripping out of the coverall I’ve been wearing before snapping off the latex gloves. “Furnace.” I warn him, giving him the glare.
“Ah shit, it’s my fucking favorite. I’ll put it through the washer twice?” he offers.
“Tide fucking 3-in-1 ain’t gonna cut it. Burn it.” I snarl at him making sure he’s clear on the importance of minimizing any evidence, in case anyone comes looking for this dead fucker. The local law enforcement are firmly in our pocket and other chapters have their areas covered too, but there’s no guarantee that a case won’t escalate to state cops or even the fucking FBI, so covering our tracks is vital.
I step out of the room and take the stairs two at a time, the adrenaline from the kill still pumping through my veins. I desperately wanted to get back to Gio, but the importance of getting this Caal fuckers name to Forger so he can start tracking him down, takes precedence, but only by a fraction.
I find him in front of the fifty-inch flat screen tv in the common room with Quarter playing Grand Theft Auto. I stop by the bar, grab a note pad and pen from behind the counter and scribble Dan Caal on the top sheet, then rip it off before calling Forger over. He immediately presses pause on the controller and gets to his feet.
“Prez?” he takes the steps needed to get to me. “What can I do for yah?”
“I’ve got a name for you,” I pass him the piece of paper.
“Dan Caal,” he nods his head. “Yeah, Daniel. Pretty sure I went to the same school as him.”
“You know him?”
“Not much. Not like I hung out with him or anything, and he didn’t move up from elementary. If I remember rightly, he came halfway through junior high.”
“So what else do you remember?” I lean in, eager for more information.
“Well, I think he was about twelve when he moved to Tampa, not sure where from, but he was a cocky bastard, thought himself untouchable.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“If he wanted something, he would do anything to get it. Some of the shit he pulled should have earned him a one-way ticket to juvie, yet God knows how, but he always managed to get away with it.” He lets out a huge sigh. “I’ll be honest with you Royal, I was so focused on getting into the military and didn’t want anything to jeopardize that, so I kept well clear of the fucker.”
“That’s fair. See what else you can find out about him. Better still, find out where these assholes hang out. We need to end this.”
“Sure, thing Prez.” I acknowledge his willingness to get to the bottom of this with a tap on the shoulder before I turn to walk away. “Hey, ask Giorgia, she wasat the same school as me, you know girl gossip and all that. She might know something.”
