Zach (Hell's Handlers MC 1)

“Okay,” he said around a smirk. “Maybe you’re a little bit right. I do get some pleasure out of this, but what you seem to forget, Billy-boy, is that I don’t have to be here. I don’t seek you out to get my jollies by beating your ass. You’re the one who keeps crawling back to my club, begging for money so you can feed the slots. Or is roulette your game of choice? Craps?”

The MC had a very lucrative loan sharking business, fueled by idiots like Bill who couldn’t seem to get a handle on their vices. At a fifty-point vig, the money their clients owed added up fast, especially if they missed the fourteen-day payback timeline. In that case, the fifty percent interest was added to the original loan and recalculated. After another two weeks, Zach came by for a little visit. Just a gentle reminder of the contracted agreement.

“I asked you a question, Billy.” Zach stood and swung the bat like he was chasing a home run ball. The wood whizzed through the air at least three feet above Bill’s head, but he still curled tighter with his head cradled in his arms.

Pussy.

Like Zach would actually bash the man’s head in. Men with splattered brains couldn’t pay back their loans. But men with broken kneecaps sure could. And usually did, very fast.

Those results were why a hefty bat was Zach’s motivator of choice. He could show up at a client’s house with a gun, but then he’d have to shoot sometimes, and that was undesirable for a number of reasons. First off, it was messy as hell. Who had time to clean blood anyway?

Then there was the bullet, which if removed and collected for evidence, could be traced back to Zach and the MC. Exactly the opposite of what Copper wanted from him in his job as enforcer for the club. And lastly, there was always the chance he’d miss the mark and kill some poor schmuck that owed them money.

And again. Dead men couldn’t pay.

For the same reasons, he stayed away from knives. His own fists would work just fine, but then he’d be walking around with permanently bruised knuckles.

So, a bat it was. Clean, effective, untraceable.

Good stuff.

“You pussing out on me here, Bill? Come on. Tell me what you blew my club’s ten grand on.”

“P-poker.” A nasty cough followed a wheeze as Bill struggled to a sitting position. Sweat dotted his receding hairline and his skin took on a grayish pallor.

“Deep breaths, buddy. Got your diaphragm good there, didn’t I.” Zach laughed. “Damn, man, I guess I really do enjoy this shit. Hey, Bill, anyone ever tell you that you suck at poker? Now, I shouldn’t be giving you this advice since I’ll be eating a nice steak dinner on you soon, but you might wanna find a new hobby.”

“Th-this is the last time,” he coughed and groaned, clutching his portly stomach. “I s-swear it.”

“Well…” Zach spun the bat like a baton twirler. He’d spent so much time with it over the last few years, he’d mastered some fancy tricks. “Don’t quit on my account. As we’ve just learned, I seem to enjoy coming ’round and busting kneecaps. Which reminds me. This is your last warning. You’re up to twenty-two thousand, five hundred now. I’ll be back in two weeks. You don’t have it, I take this as collateral.” He rapped the bat against the tire of the man’s fancy ride. “I suggest you march right in that big old house you can’t afford and start crying to your wife. Maybe she’ll take pity on your pathetic ass and crack into her trust fund.”

Zach started down the driveway then spun and pointed the bat at Bill who was still on his ass in the driveway. “Oh yeah. Almost forgot. I’ll break a bone too. My choice.”

That announcement drew a sharp gasp from Bill. He’d always cut it close in the past, but this was the first time he’d been late to repay a loan. Zach shook his head. Loan sharking was one of the club’s most lucrative businesses. And Zach’s baby. Well, at least the bone crushing side of it. Jigsaw, the club’s treasurer, ran the financial side of things.

Copper was the brains behind the entire operation. About fourteen years ago, when he was voted in as prez, the club was a fuckin mess. Drugs and weapons trafficking were the main sources of income, and for a time, it looked like the club wasn’t going to survive. Cops were sniffing around. Wars with other MCs and a local gang over turf almost destroyed the entire operation.

Copper hauled the club away from that shit. He opened a few legitimate businesses, a garage, a bar, a strip club, and eventually Zach’s gym. One of the guys even owned a private security gig. Of course, as an outlaw MC, they didn’t do everything on the shiny side of the law. Loan sharking, money laundering, and a fair amount of muscle for hire kept the club lubed with plenty of cash.