Hell Bent (Royal Bastards MC, Montreal, Canada #1)

Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

The choice to leave the clubhouse alone was solely on his shoulders. Whatever happened from that point on was his own doing, and he’d take the punishment if he survived the night.

He’d gotten word that a few of Dawson’s flunkies were having a little party at a local dive and headed over to talk to them.

Vicious was done waiting around. Done playing ‘guess who’ with motherfuckers who didn’t know shit. He’d done what Teller told him, and now, he was doing things his way. He needed to get information and fast if he was gonna find Sway before it was too late.

Walking up to the front of Dog Pound Tavern, he punched the bouncer in the face when he tried to stop him. Vicious didn’t wait to see if the guy got back up, he just kept on walking. He found who he was looking for at the back of the bar, sitting in the last booth and holding court like some fucking kingpin. But Jacob Mallow wasn’t any kind of king. He was a fighter for Dawson Franks, but he was at the bottom of the lineup. Still, he’d know something about Dawson’s movements. They all would. Word on the street told him if Franks made a move, his fighters knew just in case he needed backup.

“What do you want, asshole?”

Vicious pulled one of his nines and shoved it in the guy’s mouth, shutting him up. “Get up,” he told the others sitting in the booth.

“I have questions, Jacob, and you’re gonna answer them. If you don’t, I’m gonna shoot you in the hand. One at a time. Do you understand?” He watched the guy nod slowly. Taking the gun out of his mouth, Vicious asked the only question he needed an answer to. “Where’s Dawson tonight?”

“Fuck you.”

The crowd was too heavy to shoot the asshole. It would draw too much attention. Yanking the knife from his hip, Vicious stabbed it through the guy’s right hand and twisted it. “Wrong fucking answer.” Jacob screamed but didn’t reach for the knife. “Where is Franks?”

“I don’t fucking know. Try the chop shop in the back of Chester’s.”

“If you’re lying to me, I’ll come back and shoot out your kneecaps.”

“I’m not fucking lying.”

Vicious could tell he wasn’t lying due to the tears running down his face. Fucking pussy. “Get that hand looked at before it gets infected. ”

He saw the guy’s reaction to his statement and knew he had been there when Sway was attacked. Lunging over the table, he grabbed Jacob by the hair and slammed his head onto the tabletop repeatedly until the guy slumped in the booth.

Moving from the booth, he walked through the bar, hoping someone would try him. No one did. Nothing but dickless assholes.

Tearing through the city, he kept his eyes peeled for anyone or anything out of the ordinary. Someone had to have called ahead to warn Franks. Nothing jumped out at him. The area was a ghost town this time of night.

Passing in front of Chester’s, Vicious noticed three cars parked out front. Making the block, he parked the truck behind an abandoned building and moved up the alley. Running behind a few warehouses that lined the street, he stopped short at the sound of a metal trashcan crash to the ground. Backing up against the building, he stayed still, waiting and watching. The sound of two cats fighting in the distance had him relaxing. Such a cliché , he thought.

If he was going to get in before being detected, he needed to get his ass moving. All he wanted was information on the whereabouts of Dawson Franks and Jerome Michel, and he needed it yesterday.

Using his foot, Vicious kicked a broken section of chain link fence with his boot until it folded back from the pole it was fastened to. Pushing it farther back, he climbed through the opening.

Running across the open parking lot, he flattened himself against the metal building as the door came open and two guys stepped outside. At first, he thought he’d have to silence them, but then they climbed into an older model sedan and left.

Easing down the building, he checked the doorknob. Finding the door unlocked, he turned the knob and slipped inside the warehouse. Sticking to the shadows, he made his way through chopped cars and rolling toolboxes until he spotted two men in an office counting cash.

Standing in the shadows, he listened as they mentioned cutting Dawson out of the take from the extortion money they’d been collecting from all the businesses. That answered the question of who was behind that endeavour.

“Gentlemen,” Vicious greeted them as he moved into view.

Both men looked up as Vicious stepped into view, pointing guns at them both. One way to have someone come after you was to fuck with their money, and he wanted Franks to come looking for him. “Put the money in the bag and slide it over to the end of the table.”

When neither one moved, Vicious pulled the trigger, hitting the guy closest to him in the shoulder. He wouldn’t die from the wound, but he’d be fucked-up for a little while. “Money in the bag.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

Vicious wanted to tell them, but he didn’t want to involve the club. “Robin Hood, motherfucker.” Who the fuck am I? “Where would I find Franks or Michel?”

“Jerome Michel?” the wounded guy groaned.

“Yeah. He has something of mine, and I want it back. ”

“That little weasel is probably wherever Dawson is,” the second guy spit out as he tossed the bag of money to the end of the table.

Vicious didn’t have time for this shit. “Give him a message for me.” Vicious stared at the guy and decided to send his own fucking message. The sound of the gun going off a second time sent the already-wounded guy scrambling for the exit. He didn’t make it far. Vicious shot him in the leg, sending him to the floor moaning. “Your friend’s dead. If you don’t wanna end up the same way, you’ll tell me what I wanna know.”

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“Have it your way.” Vicious picked up a gas can and poured the fuel around the guy, then he doused furniture and barrels of old, dirty rags. Taking out his lighter, he flipped it open and lit a piece of discarded newspaper. “Last chance.”

“I swear.”

“Wrong answer.”

“The Dog Pound Tavern. Franks and Michel hang out there. They do business in the back booth.”

“I’ve already left a message there.” Tossing the paper, the fuel ignited around the guy. Vicious turned and walked out, leaving the building to burn with the asshole trying to find a way out. He didn’t wait to see if he made it out. Vicious assumed he would, and that he’d tell Franks what had happened. If that didn’t get his attention, the next stop might.

Sway’s head hung forward. Her hands were bound above her head by leather straps, her feet barely touching the floor. Everything in the room was fuzzy, and her head was spinning. Struggling to lift her head, her eyes tried to focus on what was in front of her. Everything hurt. Places that shouldn’t hurt, did. Sway’s mind started to clear as the sound of music blasted in her ears.

Where was she? “Look who’s decided to join us,” a familiar voice said. A rough hand grabbed her hair and twisted her head around.

“Dawson.” Her voice was rough, and her throat felt raw.

“It’s me.”

“What’s happening?”

“Oh, you’ve been entertaining us.” Dawson let go of Sway’s head so she could see the other men in the room. “See over there? Clay’s not happy I let our friends have their turn with you.”

Sway couldn’t help the tears as she realized what had been done to her. “Oh, don’t cry. I’m about to make sure the party can keep going,” Dawson said, grabbing her by the hair, making her look at him.

Vicious rolled into the parking lot of Dawson Franks’s gym. Backing the bike into a parking spot, he looked around and only saw a handful of cars. Cracking his neck, he got off the bike. Hanging his helmet over the speedo, he pulled out a length of chain from his saddle bag and a pair of weighted gloves. Someone was gonna tell him where his ol’ lady was .

He pushed the door open, and everything went to hell as soon as he stepped inside. Vicious looked at the three men sitting by the counter watching Sports Network on a TV across the room. He saw when they realized he was standing there, and he knew one hundred percent that they knew who he was by the way they stared at him. It wasn’t because of his colours, as he hadn’t worn them for this little outing.

“What do you want, fucker?”

Vicious worked out his plan of attack quickly. “You the one in charge?” he asked, wrapping the chain around one gloved hand. He didn’t get an answer before movement across the room had his head snapping around, watching as two men he hadn’t seen charged him.

Before he could think, Vicious was on the defensive.

The two men came at him fast. Grabbing the first attacker, he slammed his head into his knee. He dodged the second guy who was swinging at him wildly. Moving to the side, he managed to hit the second attacker with the chain, sending him slamming into a wall. The guy bounced back, coming at him wildly, trying to connect a fist with his head. It only got him slammed into the counter. “I asked who’s in charge of this shitshow.”

“Larry. Him right there.” The guy pointed to a man standing far from the counter, flanked by two other guys.

Dropping the guy, Vicious kicked him in the knee, breaking it. The guy wailed as he rolled on the floor. Then, Vicious faced off with Larry. If he didn’t give him the answers he wanted, Larry would get the bad end of a beating. “Come here. ”

“No. I’m good where I’m at,” Larry told Vicious, wide-eyed.

Vicious lunged across the flimsy counter, taking Larry and one of his friends to the ground.

Hitting Larry in the head, Vicious blocked an attack from the other two men. Throwing them off him, Vicious swung the chain, hitting one guy across the face. When Larry tried to crawl away, Vicious kicked him back against the wall.

Vicious hit the third guy square in the temple, knocking him out. He watched the guy’s knees buckle underneath him. Vicious grabbed Larry by the leg and dragged him toward the weight equipment. “Larry, I want answers, and you’re gonna give them to me. And if you don’t, I’m gonna beat you to death.”

“I don’t know shit, asshole.”

“How do you know, bitch? I haven’t asked you my question yet. Where’s Dawson Franks?”

“I don’t know.”

Vicious punched him in the gut causing him to double over. “That’s not the answer I want, Larry. Try again.”

The guy sucked air in and out. “I don’t know where he’s at.”

“And if you did?”

“I wouldn’t fucking tell you.”

“That’s what I thought.” Vicious worked the guy over, putting him down hard .

The fight ended before it really began. Vicious stood with his knuckles bleeding, looking down at Larry the asshole, and he spit blood onto the floor. He’d given the guy a fighting chance. Hell, he’d given him a chance to tell him what he knew. In the end, Larry was unconscious and bleeding on the deadlift machine. What a bunch of pussies.