Patch (Silver Saints MC)

I left him to catch his breath and stalked down the hallway on my left until I reached the last door. The room was cool as I walked in and lifted my chin at Dash in greeting. It was set up much like a surgical suite—white, sterile, and holding a multitude of machines and tools that were used for dual purposes.

This was one of the places where I patched up Silver Saints with wounds that required more treatment but didn’t need to be handled by an emergency room and hospital. I had the same medical degree as every other doctor. Still, my specialty was the brain, so I sent the complicated wounds that required expertise to the doctors with the knowledge and experience needed to help my brothers.

The other purpose was quite the opposite…

I almost never used it for darker deeds, but this was one of those rare exceptions.

The setup also made it easier to clean up, so it pissed off Dash to no end if we made a mess somewhere else.

Vincent was strapped to an exam table, his limbs restrained and a gag in his mouth. When he spotted me, he began to struggle, and my lips formed a sinister smile.

“Hopin’ I wasn’t coming, asshole? Bet it was because you know that I’m the only one who knows how to use every tool in this room to cause you pain.”

“Patch.”

At the sound of my name, my head turned to glare at the person over my shoulder. However, it was Mac, and I immediately swallowed my irritation as I pivoted to face him. “Prez.”

He nodded, then jerked a thumb to point behind him. “Someone asked to be here for this, and I felt he had the right.”

Willa’s dad—Black Jack—stepped into the room, and a rush of anger swept through me. Mac wasn’t completely wrong, but I wanted Vincent all to myself. The thought of letting someone else take a chunk out of him pissed me the fuck off. And the fact that he’d gone to my prez instead of me made it worse.

“Relax, citizen,” Mac growled in a commanding tone. “He came to me out of respect, asking permission to approach you about this.”

I felt a moment of sheepishness for not having recognized that, but I was still hot under the collar about being forced to share.

Mac narrowed his eyes, and the air around him seemed to fill with authority. “I get where your head's at, but you should know better than to question my judgment.” He stared hard at me, practically daring me to argue. Which I would never do. Not only because he constantly earned our respect and loyalty but also because Mac was the scariest motherfucker in the club. He might be a teddy bear for his old lady and kids and cared deeply for everyone under his protection, but he was also the most cold-blooded and deadly.

“You’re right. I apologize,” I told him sincerely.

Mac’s expression eased before he said, “He promised to be a spectator only. Unless you give him permission to participate.”

The rest of my rage dissipated, and I nodded. I had no problem with Willa’s dad witnessing the slow, painful death of the man who orchestrated an incident that injured his little girl.

Before he left, Mac stared hard at me for another minute, a warning to behave. Once he was gone, I faced Black Jack, and we shook hands.

When I returned my attention to the little shit who hurt my woman, he was looking back and forth between me and the older biker who resembled Willa so much that you’d have to be blind not to know they were father and daughter.

I smirked. “Her dad and her man. Two worst people to fuck with.”

Vincent tried to talk through the gag, and I laughed. “You think I give a fuck what you have to say? Nothin’s gonna get you out of this, motherfucker.” I removed my cut, not wanting to get blood on it, and went to retrieve a tray of neatly laid out tools. I picked up a scalpel and turned it so the blade glinted when it caught the light. “Then again, maybe we’ll ungag you just so I can enjoy listening to you screaming in pain.”

I set the instrument down and picked up another deadly item. “I was disappointed when I thought we had to make your death look like a simple overdose. Meant I couldn’t carve you up like I wanted to.” I twirled the tool in my fingers before setting it down. Next, I picked up heavy-duty tweezers that were perfect for pulling off someone’s fingernails. “Then my fixer pointed out that you’re too fucking stupid to pull off your operation alone. And if you double-crossed your boss—a dealer, I imagine—your injuries would be chalked up to punishment by the big man. Dead men can’t pay debts, so… Oh, and we want your boss’s name.”