King's Wrath (Sydney Storm MC 5)

“Yeah, brother.” He looked around at everyone before focusing his gaze on Tate. “So he’s our rat?”

I nodded. “He is.”

Nitro grunted as he stalked to where Tate lay sprawled on the ground. Pulling his knife from its sheath, he cut the ropes securing Tate to the chair, gripped his shirt, and yanked him to a standing position. Then, faster than I’d ever seen him move, he walked Tate backwards and slammed him against the brick wall. “Motherfucking cunt!” he roared. Pummelling him, he bloodied Tate up until his face was almost unrecognisable.

I gave him a little time to get that shit out of his system. Fuck knew, if I’d been locked up, I’d wanna beat the shit out of the guy who may have had something to do with keeping me there. Plus, I derived great satisfaction watching the pain Tate experienced at Nitro’s hands.

“Stop,” I ordered, joining them. “We need him conscious for most of this.”

Nitro punched him a couple more times before letting him fall to the ground. Raking his hand through his hair and jabbing a finger at me, he demanded, “When we take Ryland down, he’s mine.”

I nodded. “You get first shot at him, brother, but we share in that one, too. I’m saving some special shit for that cunt.” Looking down at Tate, I said, “Now, this one… he and I are gonna have some fun.”

Reefing him up, I moved him back to the chair and forced him down on to it. He grunted in pain as I settled him there. I gripped his face hard and bent to look into his eyes. “Do you know what one of my favourite sounds in the world is?” I squeezed his cheeks harder, zeroing in on the agony that caused. “That right there. Those little whimpers of pain. They light some dark shit up in my head.” I released his face, shoving it away from me before I sat on the chair across from him again. “However, I really would prefer to hear you detail everything you’ve given Romano and the feds, and you should know that if you don’t, I’m going to fuck you up in ways that will paint my mind the blackest of black. I will draw that shit out for days, weeks maybe. I’ll string you up here and drop by every night to remind you why you wished you’d just given me the information.” I leant forward, my face hardening. “I don’t fucking appreciate club members who turn their back on their brothers. I will make you bleed, and then the club will get their shot at you. By the time we’re finished, you won’t know your ass from your mouth, up from down, white from fucking black.” I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest. “On the other hand, you give me what I need, and we’ll take it easy on you.”

His eyes darted around the warehouse, between everyone here. I saw the fear in them, but I wondered how much more I’d have to push him to trigger that completely. I trained my men well—they didn’t give in to their fear easily. And Tate used to be one of my men, so fuck knew how many hours this would take.

He met my gaze again and spat some blood. “Do your worst, King. I’m not giving you what you want.”

I nodded. “Okay, if that’s the way you wanna play this, I can go along with that.” I stood and looked at Nitro. “Strip him and hang him upside down. I’m going to get everyone some food. When I get back, we’ll play.”

It took me eight hours to break him. And a lot of fucking torture. But I finally got the information I wanted, and I now knew what we were up against with the feds. He’d given them more than he gave Romano, and what he’d given them would fucking crucify us.

After I’d dragged every last piece of information from him, I stood silently watching him, contemplating what would convince a club member to turn on their brothers. It was something so foreign to me that I couldn’t even begin to wrap my head around it.

He lay on the ground at my feet, his body riddled with bruises, swelling, deep gashes, and blood. Every one of us had their turn at him, but now he was all mine, and while I was mentally exhausted from the day, my body was raring to go.

It tasted blood.

Knew what was coming.

Wouldn’t fucking stop until Tate’s last breath had been taken from him.

I crouched next to him. “Why did you do it?”

His breaths were laboured, and I knew he would struggle to answer me, but Goddammit, I wanted a fucking answer.

I forced one of his eyes open and demanded, “Why the fuck did you do it?”

He wheezed and attempted to open his mouth. It took him a bit, but he managed to get out, “Cash.”

Cash?

He fucking betrayed his club for some fucking cash?

I hadn’t expected that answer. Hell, I didn’t know what I expected, because I just couldn’t fucking understand any motivation to do what he did. But cash felt like an even bigger fuck you than any other reason.

I pushed up out of my crouch, angry. Angry as fucking shit. It was the kind of anger I would struggle to get out of my system.

“Fuck!” I roared, slamming my boot down onto him.

I kicked him over and over, trying desperately to rid my body of this fury.

Time slowed, or maybe it raced.

I had no concept of it while my depravity consumed me.

I kicked and beat and