Hero (The VII Knights MC)

Pegs pats me on the back. “Let’s go find this fuck so we can get back home. This place brings up too many memories.”

“Like what?” We both start toward the large building surrounded by neon palm trees, giving it a Miami Vice feel.

“What happens here, stays here. Then again, I did manage to bring back some shit a doctor had to help me clean up,” he so calmy informs.

My head snaps toward him, and I laugh. I know him and my dad used to sleep around, but catching STDs isn’t something I’ve heard of until now.

“Jesus Christ.” I shake my head, and he shrugs, opening the door for me. Inside, a bouncer looks at us, his eyes dropping to my vest. He gives a curt nod and looks away.

The place is lit with strobe lights and other flashing shit that makes me squint. The smell of perfume and sweet cocktails fills the air. It’s definitely a bar in Vegas.

“You think he’s working?” I ask Pegs, looking at one of the bars. I know the guy isn’t security or a bouncer by the look of his profile picture. Maybe he’s a bartender or DJ. He’s slinky and tall with a plain face. A fucking skeleton of a man.

“I ain’t seeing him,” my VP replies. My hands roll into fists. I’ll wait all day for his ass to show up if I have to. Turning back around, I eye the bouncer. Maybe he can tell us where this dick is.

Striding across the black floor, he turns around and faces me, his arms clasping in front of him.

“I’m looking for a Richard. Seen him?” Tilting my head to the side, I wait for him to answer.

Raising his hand, he points off into the distance. I follow his hand to the restrooms on the other side of the building. Walking away, I tap Pegs on the shoulder, going down a few steps and passing a bar before coming to the men’s restroom. Opening the door, I head in, jerking the lapels of my cut to smooth them out, my boots clapping against the black tile. I find Richard whistling and wiping down the counter.

He’s a janitor? A malicious smile pulls at my face. At least he’s not living some lavish life while Monet is paying of his dept one moral at a time.

Coming up behind him, my hands still on the lapels of my cut, Pegs steps up right beside me. Richard notices us in the reflection of the mirror and stops whistling, eyes widening.

“Can I help you guys?” He turns around, his face pale. My heart begins to beat a little harder, his fear fueling my carnage desire.

“Yeah, you can.” Pegs shoves him until he’s leaning back on the counter, a stupid look on his face.

Tilting my head to the side, hair in my eyes, I glare at him. He’s nobody. A fucking shit stain. How the hell did he make Monet, such a strong woman, fall so far?

“Yeah, you can pay us the money you owe Monet,” I answer, and his eyes widen.

“I thought she took care of that,” he says, his voice shaky.

“You mean how she went to save your life and you left her with the debt? Yeah, she’s taking care of it.” I lean into his space. “I don’t think that’s very fair, do you?”

He looks to Pegs, then back to me.

“I don’t have any money.”

I laugh and look at my VP. “Hear that, Pegs? He’s broke.”

“Wrong answer.” He smiles.

Closing the space, I stand beside Richard, placing my hand on his shoulder.

“That’s okay. I know what you can do.” He looks at me, his bottom lip trembling.

“Yeah? Sure. Anything.”

Using my left foot, I kick him behind the legs, and he falls to his knees. He grunts as his hands smash into the tile. Grabbing him by the hair, I drag him over to a urinal, slamming his face inside it. Pegs flushes it, and I press the motherfucker’s head into the piss cake.

His legs kick and he screams, and I laugh.

“Help! Someone help!” he spits and sputters around water flooding his face. I pull his head up for him to get a taste of air only to smash his face down on the side of the urinal, the noise of bone and porcelain making a cracking sound. He falls to the ground, blood mixing with the water dripping off him. He rolls back and forth, his hands on his face as he moans in pain.

Hunching down next to him, I lean into his face and scrunch my nose. “You smell like piss.”

He cries, removing his hands, displaying my handiwork. A chipped tooth, busted lip, split eyebrow.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” he cries like a little bitch. How the fuck did he get away without owing the Titans money, leaving it all on Monet? He’s a fucking wimp. “Tell Monet I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to her!”