Page 232 of Fury

“I’m making all these F’s into B’s. Double B’s for Broken Blades. So when they find his rotten corpse, they’ll know it was you who double crossed a Smoking Gun. ‘Cause you got balls, Notch, am I right?”

“Hey, that’s a B word too, huh?” said Drac. “Balls.”

“It sure is,” I sliced at Scrib’s dick, and his body writhed and shook on the table. “You remember raping Rena, don’t you? You remember that? Open those eyes and look at me, motherfucker!”

Drac pulled on Scrib’s head and Scrib’s shocked, disturbed eyes sprang open, snagging on mine.

“Have you enjoyed having all your fingers all these years, Scrib? Did you appreciate them? Did you ever once think of mine all this time?” Scrib’s arms and legs trembled, his eyes blinking open and closed. “But you know, it was your laugh that stayed with me all these years.”

I turned to the Blades and my men in the room. “Any of you all noticed Scrib’s really loud, snorting laugh, because it’s fucking grating, especially when you’re bleeding out, tied down, helpless like a fucking hog being chopped at.” I turned back to my bleeding prisoner. “I remember everything about that day, Scrib. I remember your eyes burning as you cut me. I remember you practically coming as your Prez cut off my two fingers with those nippers.”

“Oh man, oh man, come on now...” Notch twisted his head away, his fingers flexing, hands straining under his bindings.

“I don’t feel like working hard for it today, though. I prefer convenience when appropriate.” I glanced up at Drac, wiping at my face. He handed me the small axe.

“Holy fuck, holy mother of fuck!” Notch’s voice was throttled by panic.

Scrib shuddered on the table, there were no moans and groans. Only a pathetic keening rising from his chest like helium escaping a balloon.

“This axe is sharp, so it’ll be quicker, less painful. Lucky for you. But to make things fair—‘cause I’m all about the justice of the thing, the balance—since you all only cut off two of my fingers, I’m going to have to take all your fingers with this axe. I’ll leave the thumbs, though. Thumbs are useful. I’ve really appreciated mine. You’ll see.”

“No!” howled Notch. Grunts and shuffling rose up behind me.

I hacked at Scrib’s hand, and his blood splattered on my colors, my face. I hacked. And hacked. The sweep of my axe, the slicing cleanly through flesh and hitting bone, the dig of the thick sharp blade in the table, my jerking it back—all of it a roar of victory screaming through me.

I’d never tasted champagne before, never celebrated anything with a drink of that pricey golden froth. But now, a cool, searing energy fizzed inside me. My mind raced on a sugar high, a crispness lashed over my tongue, sweet warmth flooding through me.

Yeah, champagne had to be like this.

“Bring me Pick.”

“Cuffed or free bird?” asked Drac.

“No cuffs.”

Drac returned with a tall bearded man about my age. He planted his booted feet firmly in the ground in front of me. His name was clearly patched on his colors and the letters for his club tattooed on each of his fingers.

“I hear you have a brain. And a heart.”

His face stony, Pick didn’t say a word.

“Butler, the VP of the One-Eyed Jacks, told me to keep an eye out for you.”

He raised his shoulders, his head tilting at me.

“You want to prove to me why I should?” I asked him.

“You just came in and lay waste to my club. Correct me if I’m wrong?” he said, his voice deep and rumbly.

I took a step towards him, leaning in close. “I respect your loyalty to your club, I wouldn’t be talking to you if you weren’t that loyal brother. You have an opportunity here to not only stay alive, but build something new for your remaining men. I’m offering you membership to the Flames of Hell with all the resources and honor that signifies.

“I’m not interested in keeping slaves, Pick. I’m interested in leadership, responsible leadership. You know the lay of the land here. You have the trust of your brothers. This is an opportunity for you to create something new, something better.”

Pick only eyed me, his thick arms taut at his sides, big hands curled into tight fists.

“Your national doesn’t exist anymore, Pick. You have two other charters flailing on their own in two separate states. You got a kid and an ex-wife to support and a handful of men who look up to you.” I rolled the bloody axe in my hand. “What’s it going to be?”

We got word to theSmoking Guns that their bro Scrib was being held by the Broken Blades. A crew of them arrived guns blazing to find Scrib dead on the table and an untied Notch with an axe in the Blades meeting room. Catch and Drac had overseen having the remaining Blades tied up and down on their knees in a row in the yard. Their bikes were splayed on the ground like fallen toy soldiers.

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