In no time, fingers on both had gone from mild tingling, to seriously annoying pins and needles, to agonizing burn. Now they were numb. Dead. Fuck, he didn’t know what the hell he’d do if they had to amputate.
Half his security business was run from his computer. The keyboard was his livelihood, and the hands that typed on it kept him useful and valuable to his club.
Shit to worry about another time. He had to make it out alive first.
“Funny thing to ask comin’ from a skinny man bleeding and tied to a chair.” Skippy was built, a mountain of lumpy muscle with a grizzly beard and a bit of a southern twang. Mav had actually met him before at a bar. Back before he’d lowered himself and joined up with Shark, he’d worked on a shrimping boat out of Louisiana or some shit like that.
Mav shrugged the half inch that his shoulders could move as he licked his tongue over a freshly bleeding lip. “Just, you know, it’s easy to wail on a dude tied to a chair.”
“You run your mouth too fucking much,” Skippy said. He had a bulge in his lower lip at all times. The man never seemed to be without a hefty gob of tobacco stuffed in there. “Keep it shut, and I won’t hit you.”
Mav grunted. Not happening. His smart-ass mouth was the only weapon he had at the moment. “We could make it interesting.”
One of Skippy’s blond eyebrows rose. “Interesting?”
“Sure. You could untie me and see how far I get.”
Skippy laughed and pushed off the wall. “You’re fuckin’ hilarious. I got at least sixty pounds on you, man. You’re damn scrawny.”
That was sort of true. Maverick certainly wasn’t bulky. He was tall and slender, but he wasn’t soft. He might not have the heft that Skippy boasted, but he was still fit and strong as fuck. And scrappy as all hell. Being on the skinnier side his whole life, he’d grown real tired real fast of getting his ass handed to him in his foster home, and he learned to fight dirty. Nothing better than a good gutter fight.
“Well then, you shouldn’t give a shit about letting me out to stretch my legs.” In his weakened state, he’d never overpower Skippy, but he wasn’t a dumb fuck like the skipper was, so he stood a good chance of outsmarting him and getting away. Or at least he had until that last beating. That one was the killer that had taken a few ribs out of his commission. It’d been harder than he’d imagined to keep his face neutral and throw sass at his captors. But he’d done it. Last thing his club needed while they searched for him was to know just how bad off Maverick was.
He’d been snatched off the street by a horde of Shark’s guys—they all ran together—a few days ago. A way for Shark to fuck with his MC. Shark had been trying to move in on the Hell’s Handlers’ turf but been blocked at every turn. So they’d kidnapped Mav. And they’d been sending pics and videos of him daily just to taunt with Mav’s brothers who had to be going out of their minds trying to find him. Hell, he had no fucking clue where he was so he couldn’t even give them some kind of clue.
Skippy spit a wad of brown phlegm on the ground. “Nice try, asshole. You ain’t stretchin’ no legs.”
There was a commotion outside the door that had Skippy turning toward it seconds before it flew open and Shark strode in. He was followed by King, the biggest piece of shit Maverick ever had the displeasure of meeting. That guy was a grade-A douche no matter how he looked at it. His bald head was so inflated he practically fell over as he walked.
The guy probably had a tiny toothpick dick. Guys with the smallest dicks seemed to be the biggest bastards. Overcompensation and all that.
King was dragging something—someone rather—under the armpits.
Please don’t let it be one of my brothers.
When the Gray Dragons snatched him, he’d been with one of the prospects who’d taken a beating so severe Maverick had to wonder if he was still alive. If he wasn’t, not a single one of these gang pieces of shit would be left breathing when the club found him.
And they would find him, of that he had no doubt. He just had to stay breathing long enough for them to have something to find.
When King dragged his struggling captive into the room, Maverick worked to keep any signs of curiosity off his face. If Shark caught wind of the fact he was dying to know who the prisoner was, the sadistic gang leader would find a way to fuck with Maverick over it, probably harming the hostage even more in the process.