His silence is my answer, and
it only makes me feel angrier towards her. Not a good fucking place to be. I never take anger out on a woman. Fucking never. But damn if this one isn’t pushing me hard. She’s been nothing but a pain in my ass since she got here. If she keeps going the way she is, I fucking will be sending her home.
Birdie reads the situation and comes close to me. “You should go back inside.”
I can’t drag my eyes from Eloise who’s glaring at me. Ignoring Birdie, I say to Eloise, “You feel powerful taking your shit out on a teenager?”
“Fuck you,” she spits back. “Our relationship has nothing to do with you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve just made it have something to do with me. I’ll be watching you, Eloise.”
“And what?” she challenges. “You’ll dob me in to DoCS? Take a child away from the only parent he’s ever known? Nice. Real fucking nice.”
“Continue down the path you’re on and you’ll find out.” With that, I look at Birdie and say, “I’ll call you later.”
She nods and I turn and stalk back inside.
I’m all fucked up with everything going on. I’m feeling shit I’ve never felt, and it’s fucking with me. I need to sort this club stuff out and get back to normal.
“Winter,” Axe says, interrupting my thoughts. “We’ve found your rat.”
I should have fucking known our rat was Striker. He’s held a grudge against me since the day I hauled his ass out of his girlfriend’s house years ago. All his fuck ups make sense now; he was working against us.
Axe and Hunt discovered he’s the rat when they intercepted a call between him and Leif Jensen. Leif was pissed Striker had called. Apparently talking over the phone is no longer allowed within their organisation. Leif told him never to call again, but rather to use the messaging system as per usual. That fucking messaging system is one of our biggest problems. The security they use has it locked down tightly; hacking into it isn’t an option.
We tracked Striker’s location and I sent Hunt and Memphis to bring him to our warehouse. They arrived five minutes ago with him.
“What information do you want me to get out of him?” Hunt asks after they bring him in.
I look at Striker who is watching me like he wants to go a round with me. “I’m taking this one.”
Without waiting for Hunt’s response, I close the distance between Striker and me. He’s sitting in a chair with his wrists and feet restrained. I grip him by the neck and yank him to a standing position. He gasps for air and his body jerks. I kick the chair out of the way and shove him backwards so he hits the cement floor. The loud crack as his head hits it, along with his cries of pain, bring me some fucking joy, but it’s nowhere near enough. I need a couple of hours with him before it’ll be enough.
Standing over him, I bark, “Why? Tell me why you fucking did it?”
“I’m not fucking telling you a thing.”
“Oh, I think you will. It might take me some time, but you’ll be squealing by the time we’re done here.”
I reef him back up and get Hunt to secure him to the cement column. I then get to work on breaking him down by beating the shit out of him. This isn’t just to break him; this is for me, too.
The demon that lives deep in my soul demands it.
I need to see his pain.
I need to touch his pain.
I need to feel his pain.
Fuck, do I need to feel it.
Striker was a trusted member of my club.
Of my family.
I brought him in.
I gave him everything he needed.