Colson (The Henchmen MC 20)

They always strung me back up too soon, leaving me swinging across the room, gritting my teeth to keep from yelling out as my shoulders screamed, as my ribs sent shooting pain through my system.

Once they had me up again, whichever was the braver of the group would make their way toward me with a plastic water bottle with a long straw, squirting water into my mouth for a moment before they all left me once again.

They didn't want to kill me.

That was the message I was getting.

Holding onto me was the plan.

Otherwise they wouldn't have given me water.

So the only question was, to what end?

Was I being held for ransom?

They would know my family and my club could afford it.

But why then was it taking so long to get the cash? Summer knew where a third of it was. Cash knew where another third was. And Wolf the final. There was more than enough to pay any ransom.

And even if it wasn't, I knew Lo would put the rest up.

And if that still wasn't enough, Chris would have her counterfeiter man Finch print up enough fake cash to make the difference.

So the fact that days had clearly past without that happening was what was troubling me.

What the fuck was the end goal?

And why weren't they fearing retribution for beating the shit out of me, if they planned to let me go one day?

No one had questioned me.

They didn't seem to want information of any sort.

None of this shit made any goddamn sense.

I kept hearing my men's bikes though.

Coming and going and coming and going.

Clearly, they were no closer to figuring this shit out than I was.

And if they weren't, that meant that each hour that passed without them finding me was making it less and less likely that they ever would. That anyone was coming to save me.

Shit.

Something had to give.

The man with the bat was eventually going to do some damage that wasn't just going to hurt now and cause an ache down the road whenever it rained or I turned the wrong way.

He was going to crack a rib and puncture a lung.

He was going to hit me into the face and drive my nose up into my skull.

There were countless ways he could accidentally kill me when he was in a rage.

If my men weren't coming, I had to find a way to get myself out.

The best bet would be when the kids were letting me down. But I didn't like my chances against three or four of them when I was as busted-up as I had been.

After hanging for so long, I wasn't sure my shoulders would even let me swing.

Maybe a direct engagement wasn't what was needed. I could practically hear Chris whispering in my ear, telling me that a bikers' instinct to bare-knuckle fight when a more strategic plan would produce better results was the reason MCs weren't taken as seriously as other organizations in the criminal world.

She was a trip, that kid. She was going to do a great job with Hailstorm when Lo stepped fully down.

And maybe she was right in this case.

Maybe the plan couldn't be to go toe-to-toe with a bunch of kids half my age while I was seriously injured, but to find a way to use their presence to my advantage, find a way to rig the system, get myself free when no one was around to try to stop me.

Yeah, that seemed like a better plan, I decided as I took a deep breath that made a stabbing sensation assault my ribs.

It wasn't long after that when I heard the familiar car, doors, the footsteps.

Two sets.

I was getting good at figuring shit like that out.

Old dogs could, apparently, still learn some new tricks.

"Not looking so good, big man," my torturer's voice taunted as he came around me, a bat rested across his shoulders, his arms resting on it. "See?" he said to someone behind me. "It's not so bad. You get used to it," he added. "Come over here and get a look at him."

This wasn't one of the other guys I had seen before.

He was younger.

Yeah, sure, the others were young too. But all, from the looks of things, legal.

This one?

No.

He had to be just barely a teen.

My boys had looked just like him at that age, all arms and legs. And not a fucking lick of sense.

This kid wasn't as hardened as the others, either. The others didn't flinch when they saw me, didn't show me any sympathy.

But this one flinched.

His eyes looked wide, full of pity, shocked, and maybe even a little queasy.

"He thinks he's a badass," the older guy went on, making my gaze shift to him for a second. "But I have been showing him just how much of a pussy he is. Like this," he went on as I tried not to brace, knowing it would hurt more, might cause more damage, if my muscles were tense.