Mean Machine (The Untouchables MC 2)

I was tempted to go for number five.

“I was about to get you up. Pate should be here in about a half an hour.”

She paled.

“Oh God. What am I going to tell her?”

I squeezed her.

“Tell her you are switching bedrooms.”

“Just that?”

She looked worried. Maybe she thought I just wanted sex. And I did want sex. A lot of it. But I wanted more.

I wanted the whole package.

“Tell her I’m your man.”

She looked startled and pleased at the same time. Damn, but the woman lit me up! I felt like a kid on Christmas morning. Well, minus the stiff prick. It’s too bad there wasn’t time for a quickie.

“You are?”

“Michelle… don’t you know how I feel about you?”

She shook her head ‘no’ so I kissed her long and deep. My hips started pressing into hers with a familiar rhythm.

“That’s okay, I’ll show you how I feel…” I groaned as my cock started making demands. “Damn, do you think we have time?”

“I should shower.”

“Okay.” I grinned. “There’s room for two in there.”

She blushed again but nodded shyly.

“What about your French toast?”

I squeezed her bottom.

“It’ll be fine.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Everything will be fine.”

And at that moment, I really believed that was true.

Chapter Thirty

Killer

It was daylight. Hundreds of people were inside the big box store I was parked behind. Maybe thousands. But back here? It was dead quiet.

Perfect.

The idea that people were so close… close enough to help… if only they knew.

Well, that only sweetened the murder. And for me, murder was already pretty sweet.

“For you, Dante.” I muttered, talking to myself.

I exhaled and popped the trunk. The meat was inside, still wiggling. But there was no way he could scream through his thick gag. No way he could break the zip ties I’d used to tie his wrists and ankles.

He was helpless. Just like a little pig in a slaughterhouse. There was only one way this was ending. He was getting cooked.

I rolled him onto the pavement. It looked like it hurt. I kicked him just for good measure.

“I’m gonna torch your bike. Maybe even torch your old lady.”

He grunted vehemently through the gag. I was tempted to cut out his tongue, but he might have a chance to scream.

“Snitches get stitches.” I murmured to myself.

Ronnie wasn’t a snitch. But his brother was. And he’d been nosing around since I offed his piece of shit brother a few weeks ago. The fucker was on to me, and I didn’t know how.

I was a ghost.

My best friend Dante had been the Raisers’ Prez until that crazy motherfucker Shane took him out. I wanted to destroy Shane. But I couldn’t find even one weak spot.

Not yet.

So I was cutting all ties instead. Anyone who even got close was gonna pay. Just like they had been since Dante took power. Ever since that fucking kid all those years ago.

Investigative journalist, my ass.

He’d come sniffing around the wrong MC. There were plenty of poser clubs out there. Guys who had seen too much TV and wanted the lifestyle without the actual commitment. Without getting their hands dirty.

There were so many places he could have gone. Plenty of clubs that used to be legit but had toned the criminal stuff way down. Less drugs and violence. More investments in legit businesses and shit.

Not the Raisers though. We were still old school and hard core. And that little prick had found out just how hard core we were.

We’d sent that rich little fucker home in a body bag.

Minus his baby blues. Dante himself had torn them out while the kid was still kicking. I knew, because I’d held the kid down and handed Dante the knife.

Dante had kept those blue eyes in a jar of formaldehyde for years. Now I had them. I talked to them sometimes.

William had been the kid’s name. And he’d used his whole fucking name. What kind of motherfucker didn’t go by Bill?

So yeah, I talked to William sometimes. I talked to Dante too. His eyes were in a jar right next to them. I’d dug his ass up to get them.

If that made me batshit crazy, I didn’t much care.

“Should I take your eyes first? Or have a little barbecue?”

I pulled out my pocket knife and turned it over in my hand.

“Well, maybe just one eye. Then into the dumpster you go.” I pulled out a jug full of gasoline. “With a little seasoning of course. Can’t have a good barbecue without some marinade.”

He started struggling in earnest then. But I was a big fucking guy. Bigger than most. I knelt on his chest and dug out his left eye. He was screaming through the gag now, with blood pouring down his face.

I tossed his eye on the ground and let him watch as I stepped on it. That thing popped like a grape. Even I thought it was a little gross.