Defiance (The Protectors 9)

A man after my own heart.

“Lead the way,” I said with a smirk. I cast Ronan a nod over my shoulder as I followed Gage.

Time to do what I did best.

All my cylinders were firing when I walked into the small room that Ronan’s men had stashed the guy in. He was tied to a chair by both his hands and feet. A small amount of dried blood was caked on his forehead, probably from where he’d hit the steering wheel when his car had crashed into the ditch. A considerably larger swath of blood had stained his shirt on the right side of his body, just beneath his armpit. Since they’d caught the guy hours ago, I had to assume the injury wasn’t life-threatening.

But it sure would work in my favor.

Gage followed me into the room and went to stand against the far wall. We’d agreed on the ride over that it was my show, though Gage had made it clear he wanted a piece of the man.

Vengeance for Reese, probably. I had no clue what his relationship with Reese consisted of, but I suspected it didn’t go beyond friendship considering the way he’d looked at Everett. It was a development I just didn’t have the time to deal with at the moment.

“What’s your name?” I asked as I took my time taking off my watch and sticking it in my pocket.

“It’s fuck you, what’s yours?”

I guessed the man to be in his early twenties at the most. There was a thin gash on his left cheek, presumably from when Nathan had cut him with the broken glass the night of the attack. He was wearing camouflage clothing, and I’d had a chance to look at his weaponry before I’d entered the room. He’d definitely come prepared to do some damage, because he’d had enough firepower in his car to take out a small platoon…or a rural police department. It had left me wondering if his intent had been to hunt down Brody’s men once he’d taken care of Brody. It wouldn’t have been unreasonable for him to have watched Brody for a while to learn all he could about his movements. And what better way to inflict as much emotional damage on Nathan as he could by taking out his brother and a slew of innocent people as well?

I stepped forward and studied the young man for a moment before slamming my fist into his jaw. His head whipped to the side and blood went flying as I knocked at least one tooth loose.

“Now, let’s try that again. What’s your name?”

“Fuck-”

Another punch cut off the response and two more to his gut had him gasping for breath. I didn’t wait for him to catch his breath before I grabbed him by the hair and wrenched his head back. “Name,” was all I said. I took my gun out and pointed it at his groin to let him know I wasn’t playing.

He remained silent, but when I pulled the trigger, unloading a bullet into the wood between his legs, he let out a bark of fear and yelled, “Clint!”

“Clint,” I said in satisfaction as I stepped back. “Clint what?”

He began shaking his head. Before he’d even finished the motion, I shot him in the knee. He screamed in agony as his body jerked in the chair. “Yates!” he shouted when I aimed for his other knee.

I glanced at Gage, who nodded and left the room. He was pulling his cell phone out as he walked through the door. I knew Ronan had a lot of resources at his disposal, so we’d likely have the basics on Clint in a matter of minutes.

But I wanted more than just the basics.

“He’s going to kill you,” Clint growled between pants as he tried to control the pain.

“Oh yeah?” I asked casually. “Who is?”

Clint remained stubbornly silent, so I shot him in the foot. He bellowed in pain and let off a string of curses. I strode forward and snagged him by the hair. “Did you think this was a game?” I asked coldly. “Did you think we’d dance around with this? That I’d try to be your friend or that I’d toss you some empty threats to try to get you to talk?”

Clint wisely didn’t answer. Sweat was pouring off his brow and he was struggling to catch his breath. I took my gun and jammed it against the bullet wound Reese had inflicted earlier. Clint cried out in pain and tried to twist away from me.

“Why were you after Nathan Wilder?”

Only when Clint looked like he was going to pass out did I relieve the pressure on the injury. When he didn’t answer me, I aimed for his other knee.

“My pocket!” he screamed. “Check my back pocket!”

I hesitated and then stepped around him to check his pockets. There was nothing in the first, but when my fingers grazed a piece of paper in the second, I carefully worked it free and stepped around to Clint’s front again.