Devil's Vengeance (Sydney Storm MC 3)

I’d always been honest with him and wouldn’t stop that now. Even if it earned me his displeasure. “What I’m trying to figure out is why you’re going to such extremes, King? All this for a woman who screwed you over years ago?”

His crazy eyes stared into mine for what felt like minutes. Being under this intense scrutiny from him, though, was the norm, so I was used to it. If there was one thing King drilled into all club members, it was to be able to withstand an interrogation. He did it often enough for us to quickly work out how to hold up under those circumstances. King trusted no one and was all about being prepared for the potential threats that surrounded us. If the cops dragged a member in for questioning, he wanted them to be ready for it, and he’d done a good job prepping us. Each time someone had been interrogated, they’d withstood the cops’ questions and kept the club safe.

Finally, he said, “I respect the fuck out of you, Devil, but you don’t know mine and Jen’s story. No one does. She may have screwed me over, but she had her reasons. Reasons I gave her. She wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for the shit I did to her.”

If there was one thing I knew in this world, it was people making judgements without knowing the full story. Growing up the black sheep of a good catholic family in a country town, I knew all about being judged. Fuck, I’d been tried and convicted in too many people’s minds all my damn life. Always without evidence.

I nodded. “Whatever you need, you’ve got.”

He lifted his chin towards the back of the house. “Go.”

I left him, and when I rounded the corner of the house into the backyard, I dry retched at what I found out there. The filthy fuck who lived there, had left a dog chained up in the heat, and it’s rotting body lay next to an empty bowl that I assumed once held water or food. Flies and maggots swarmed over the dog and the stench filled my nostrils.

Fucking assholes who did that kind of shit should be fucking shot as far as I was concerned.

I made my way to the back door, and when I found it locked, I lifted my boot and kicked hard, forcing it open. I entered the house through a dirty laundry jammed with putrid clothes and the kind of smell I was convinced could bring death to those who inhaled it.

Memories of my time living on the streets and in abandoned houses with filthy fuckers flooded my mind. A part of my life I’d rather forget. But even after twelve years, those memories were clear as day.

“Devil!” King roared from another room. “Need your help, brother.”

I quickly found him in one of the bedrooms. King had a guy by the throat with his gun pointed to his head. A woman lay on the floor, her face full of bruises. Eyeing me, he said, “Devil, tell him what I like to do to men who beat their women up.”

The guy’s terrified eyes met mine. He’d be right to fear King. “He’s been known to cut a guy’s hands off for that.”

King tightened his grip around the asshole’s neck. When the guy grunted, the woman he’d been beating up whimpered on the floor next to the bed. I couldn’t tell if she was scared for herself or for the guy. “I’m looking for Shannon Mercier. You know where he is?”

The guy shook his head. “No, and even if I did, I wouldn’t fucking tell you.”

“Fuck,” I muttered. “Are you trying to get yourself hurt?”

His gaze met mine again. “Fucking cut my hands off. I’m not tel

ling you where he is.”

King let go of his throat. “Really? You’d give up your hands for him?”

The guy spat in King’s face and opened his mouth to speak, but King punched him before he could utter a word.

As the asshole stumbled backwards, the woman cried out, “Marty!” She had enough sense to stay where she was, though, and leave King to his mission.

I shook my head at her. “Really? You’re upset that the guy who beats you up is getting hurt?” Fuck, I’d never understand some women.

King ignored us, his attention solely on Marty. His entire body was taut with murderous energy as he bellowed, “You fucking spit in my face again and you’ll lose your right hand. Now tell me, does Shannon mean that fucking much to you that you’d sacrifice body parts?”

“He’s my fucking brother. I’m not giving him up.”

“Figures,” King said. “You both like to hit women. Your daddy teach you that shit?”

Marty bared his teeth. “Fuck you.” Lunging at King, he attempted to wrap his arms around King’s waist. However, he underestimated King, who always remained on high alert and anticipated what was to come.

“No, fuck you!” King roared as he raised his knee and jammed it up into Marty’s chin. The force of his thrust knocked Marty onto his ass.

King moved swiftly behind him so he could grip his collar and drag him backwards. He slammed him against the wall, hard enough for his head to hit it and then bounce forward. He stared up at King through dazed eyes but didn’t say a word. Blood streamed out of his mouth, coating his chin.

Crouching in front of him, King said, “Are we getting anywhere, Marty? Or do you need some more encouragement.”

“Just tell him, Marty!” the woman screamed out. She’d scrambled her way up onto the bed, probably in an effort to escape King. At least one of them had some brains.