Bull (Kings of Mayhem MC 6)

Outside room 17 we paused. From inside, we could hear the distinct grunting and panting of emotionless fucking. Apparently, we had caught Scud Boney in the middle of getting rid of his morning glory.

I looked at Ruger and Cade. They were as ready as I was to make this shit stain pay.

For a brief moment I thought about Scud Boney and what I knew about him. We had never met. Never spoken a word to each other. And until I’d walked through the ashes of Eagle’s Nest, I had never known what he had done.

To them.

Six women in six videos.

The evil was mind-blowing.

When we had ransacked the ruins of Eagle’s Nest, Maverick had found the metal box of flash drives in the burned-out study, tucked away in a small floor safe that had been partially breached by the fire.

They had been hard to watch.

Hard to stomach.

I was the president of a motorcycle club, and I had seen some sick shit over the years. Bad shit. Crazy shit. Shit that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up and your eyes bleed.

But I’d never seen the type of depravity like what I saw in those videos.

What Scud had done to them made my stomach turn. He was a sadist.

And Gimmel was a sadist for purchasing the videos from him.

As I continued to unravel his business interests, I was learning more and more about the sick fuck I knew as Gimmel Martel. He thought he’d covered up his sick, twisted pastime, but he was wrong. He liked to watch pain. Specifically, he liked to watch pain being inflicted during sex. And even though I tried not to imagine it, I knew he’d sat in front of these videos and pulled his grubby little cock out as he got off on them.

Scud had been careful to wear a mask. To disguise his voice. But after months of investigating the videos, we finally had the full picture of who was involved and what the arrangement was…and now we were here to make them pay.

Gimmel had met Scud at a sex club in Jackson, and was delighted to hear about the amateur filmmaker’s lust for homemade pornography. But Scud’s movies weren’t your everyday porn, they were dark porn, the darkest, where the most deviant of minds reigned, and every dark fantasy was possible. It wasn’t long before the two sickos struck up an agreement for Scud to make videos customized to Martel’s vile fantasies. For Scud, it killed two birds with one stone. Martel was giving him the cash he needed to get high, and at the same time, he got to play out his own fantasies in real life, and make bank because of it.

Before I burned down Eagle’s Nest and he fled underground, Martel had received six videos, each containing an unfortunate woman enduring Scud Boney’s disgusting acts.

The first five women were still alive.

But the last woman was dead.

Her name was Annie Stonebrook. She was a prostitute and heroin addict, who plied her trade at the truck stops along the I-55. But she was also a mother. A sister. And a daughter.

One fateful spring evening, she climbed into Scud’s car, and he had driven her to his very own night of horrors.

After abusing her during sex, both physically and psychologically, Scud had given her a hot shot of heroin before filming her dying of her overdose. The visual was horrendous; the audio even worse.

That video earned him ten-thousand dollars of Martel’s money, and sent Scud on a trajectory that needed to be quelled. Because Scud had found a lucrative forte. His gravy train. Snuff films. And it wouldn’t be long before he was going to be paid to make another one.

Ready to kick in the door, I could taste the disgust in my mouth as I recalled Annie’s video.

I had no doubt, once Martel was settled in his hidey hole like the predatory spider he was, he would want to indulge in his fantasies again, and he would make contact with Scud.

I was here for two reasons. To stop Scud from hurting any more women. And to make sure Gimmel never got to enjoy another one of his sick videos again.

With a powerful kick fueled by my lust for revenge, and revulsion for everything that was Scud Boney, I burst into his room, taking him by surprise, mid-climax. He leaped up from the bed, his cock swaying like a sticky little tree branch in the wind.

He went for his gun, but I had mine rammed into his shoulder before he could reach it.

“You don’t want to do that,” I warned him, my voice was deep and dark, a direct reflection of how this guy made me feel. “Now, drop your hand to the side and stand up real slow, you understand me?”