Size Matters (Chaos and Carnage MC 1)

“I don’t want to talk about blame.”

“But you do blame yourself,” Pat said.

Bull pointed at the screen. “Just play the tapes.” He didn’t need his men attempting to pity him. He was a big boy and knew what he’d done wrong.

Pat shook his head but leaned forward and clicked on the keyboard. Bull had never been into computers. He’d always been a hands-on kind of guy. The computer generation weirded him out. People spent way too much time attached to their phones, and just by thinking that, he knew he was getting way too old.

The screen lit up, and it showed Maddie.

She looked … troubled.

Pat clicked the keyboard, and the screen froze. “Do you want me to fast forward this part?”

“No. Let it play. I need to see this.”

“Prez?”

“I said press fucking play.” He was going to see how he failed his woman. Maddie stood looking in a cage. The men approached from behind, and she didn’t even see it coming. Each blow she took sickened Bull, but it was what he needed to see. When he caught the men responsible, they were all going to suffer. Especially the one who kicked her once she was out cold and bleeding out.

“Any sound?” Bull asked.

“None.”

“Fucking cheap-ass motherfucker.” He wasn’t happy.

Bull watched as the men opened ten kennels. Some of the dogs they were taking weren’t even the ones that had been found at the dogfighting site. Just the sight of the men hitting the dogs and dragging them across the ground toward the back of the shelter pissed him off.

“I’ve seen enough. I want you to get to Dylan. Ask him about the security cameras leading onto the street. They’re not going to walk those dogs through any woods or take them where they can be seen. There must have been a car or something.”

“Where are you going?”

“To see the guy who will have answers about our newfound friends.” Bull took off. He didn’t stop when Hellen called out to him either. He left the shelter and climbed back on his bike, not taking the time to admire his beast in action. Riding out, he went straight to the clubhouse.

He had one focus on mind, and that was to find the men responsible for hurting his woman, and now, George had to pray for a miracle.

Most of the club sluts were outside, sitting on the walls and smoking a cigarette. When he arrived, many of them stood and tried to wriggle their tits, as if that would call to him. He wasn’t interested in any of them.

He parked his bike and took off into the clubhouse.

Several of his men were seated, and once he arrived, they immediately got their feet, but again, he wasn’t interested.

Heading down toward the basement, he saw Grant, playing on his cell phone. His brother closed his cell and stood.

“Bull,” he said.

“Go upstairs and give me and George some private time.”

“Do you want any help?” Grant asked.

“No. This is something I’ve got to do alone.”

There was a high chance George wasn’t making it home to dinner tonight. The rage inside Bull was something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since he realized the full extent of his father’s near destruction of the club.

Hands clenched into fists, he looked at George secured to a single chair within the basement. There was no sign of him pissing himself, so he’d been granted the luxury of bathroom breaks. They weren’t a fucking spa.

Bull moved toward the metal chair, grabbed it, and dragged it all the way across the stone floor. When he was a kid, the ground used to be covered with cement. He spent a lot of time down here playing cops and robbers with a few imaginary friends. His dad had always told him not to be down here, and one day, he discovered why.

He must have been six or seven. Not too old to be playing with imaginary friends, but not young enough to not remember. He’d been playing, hiding between the boxes and some of the stacks. The basement was where they kept everything from broken chairs, to old radios, to other trinkets that held no value to a kid just playing. He’d been the cop. Much to his dad’s annoyance, in his games, he’d always played the good guy. It was only as he got older that he realized he was going to be the bad guy in every single situation. He’d been down there for easily three hours, if not more, when the door opened. Now, his dad had told him to stop coming to the basement. Had even gone so far as to say it was haunted by bad men who liked to chase little boys to stop them playing.

Bull hadn’t believed him. He’d explored every single inch of that basement. There were no ghosts or evil spirits lurking. Just lots of spider webs and a few rats Bull hadn’t wanted to kill.