Chapter Two
The feel of bones crunching beneath his fist filled Ugly Beast with satisfaction. This piece of shit, John, had been trying to steal from the club. He’d been hanging around their necks, pretending to be a prospect, and now was the time to end him.
From the moment he entered the clubhouse Ugly Beast hadn’t liked him. There had been something about him that completely irritated and annoyed the fuck out of him.
He’d seen right through him.
The only thing this bastard wanted was money. From the track marks on his arms, he also wanted dope as well. The club had plenty of the shit, but for prospects, that stuff had to be earned.
Screams filled the basement, but no one came running. In fact, Smokey was sitting on the stairs, watching, waiting.
It was Ugly Beast’s wedding day.
Nothing like a bit of torture before having his balls twisted in a vise.
“You got anything to say, fucker?” Smokey asked.
“Please, I didn’t do anything.”
“We’ve got you on camera and the evidence stashed away in your room.”
“I still didn’t do it.” The guy started to sob. “I want to be part of your club. Please, I’ll make it up to you. Please. I’ll do anything. Anything.”
Raising his brow, Ugly Beast turned to his president. The kid denied it and then accepted it. He wasn’t confused.
John was clearly a junkie, and they’d been so consumed with this Garofalo bullshit, they’d not caught it.
This was something Ugly Beast often saw. It was part of his job to weed out the fakers from the genuine men who wanted to join the club. Being a Hell’s Bastard wasn’t easy. They underwent years of hell as a prospect. It was the right of each man to earn the patch on their jacket.
Smokey sighed. “This what you want?” He held up a syringe.
The love in John’s eyes disgusted Ugly Beast. In all of his years, he’d never caved to the drugs on offer. Most of the guys didn’t. The drugs were the dope they sold and distributed.
He moved toward the sink and began to wash his hands. His pristine white shirt was covered in blood.
Staring at the marks, he thought about changing for his wedding. He didn’t have another shirt, and he wasn’t going to be late today. Something about Gable Vigo rubbed him up the wrong way.
He wanted to hurt the son of a bitch, and laugh in his face as he did. He also didn’t like the fear Abriana tried to hide. She shouldn’t be afraid of her father, and yet it was right there, lying beneath the surface. He’d seen the way she tensed whenever he was near.
Being a man that doled out punishments, he knew what it all meant, and he didn’t like it.
Abriana was used to getting hit.
That would change.
She looked like she needed taking care of, not being hit.
The white sink was tainted with the blood on his hands for a few seconds before running clear.
He grabbed the towel, washing them. He’d split his inked knuckles, and the cuts were irritating. The pain would help him to focus. It was what he needed today.
Being around Garofalo and his men, it always set him on edge and made him want to reach for his trusty little blade.
“Please, Smokey, I’ll do anything. I’ll suck your cock, or you can fuck my ass. I don’t care.”
Smokey burst out laughing. “Why the fuck would I want to do that?”
“I’m good. I will fuck every single member of the club.”
“Can you believe this fucker?”
“His addiction has taken over.” He shrugged. “You done here?”
“He’s no fun to toy with.”
In Smokey’s other hand was a syringe. He lifted it up, and in the next second, he plunged it into the man’s neck.
The overdose of pure heroin took him over, and Ugly Beast waited for the man to die.
“We need to be more careful. He was nearly pulled over, and this dope is ours.”
“Next time, we need to not put whatever Garofalo wants first. That was our first mistake.” Ugly Beast stared at his president, seeing the anger in Smokey. “You going to tell me what today was all about?”
“You don’t think for a single second the mafia are happy about needing an MC on their back, do you?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
Smokey laughed. “Garofalo has been trying to get rid of us for years. It still pisses them off that they had to come to us for help. You’ve seen how we look. We stick out with them. They like their pristine suits and fucked-up bitches. I’m not someone’s dog to be called upon with my pack because they couldn’t handle it. They think they can pass us off with a couple of hundred grand, that’s fine. Insulting us, however, that won’t play in my book.”
“You’re toying with them.”
“I’m seeing how far they’re willing to go. Giving us one of their girls, it makes me curious.”