Page 725 of The Tempted
Chapter Nineteen
Gritting my teeth, I walk into the Dog Pound and take in the mess. Tables have been flipped, chairs broken and the mug shots that hung proudly on the walls have been thrown across the floor. Mack was busy sweeping up shards of broken glass while Linc and Deuce worked on turning the couch back to its rightful place. The rest of the guys had parked their asses at the bar as Bosco grabs a bottle of whiskey and the few glasses that Brantley and his crew hadn’t fucking broken. He fills their glasses, offering me one, but I brush him off, ignoring all of them as they stare at me, not ready to delve into this shit storm just yet.
Not without the help of a bottle of scotch.
I pour that shit straight down my throat.
The fiery liquid harshly warms my belly, but it’s not enough. I throw my head back and swallow more, waiting for the liquor to take the edge off. Placing the bottle down on top of the bar, I zero in on the man sitting in the center of my brothers, tied to a bar stool with a gag in his mouth and Riggs’ gun pointed to his temple. He stares back at me, his eyes wide with fear, just the way I like them.
“Someone going to tell me why this fuck is here?”
“Says he’s got information we want,” Blackie offers as he walks up behind Ronan and grabs his shoulders. “Isn’t that right?”
Riggs slams his shot glass down on the bar as Ronan starts to mumble. He grabs a fistful of his hair and smashes his face into the bar.
“Motherfucker just nod your fucking head,” Riggs growls.
My eyes sweep around the room at my disgruntled club and the decision becomes clear. I need to grab the reigns on this shit.
“Church, now and bring him,” I say tipping my chin toward Ronan as I grab my scotch and head into the chapel. Their stools scrape against the floor behind me as they rise and follow suit.
“Where is Cobra?” Blackie asks, taking a head count of everyone.
“He had some personal shit come up,” Deuce announces. “He’ll be back by sunrise.”
That didn’t work for me. He wasn’t a nomad anymore and his place was at this fucking table. I point a finger at Riggs and motion to Ronan.
“Remove the gag,” I order.
Leaning close, Blackie whispers so only I can hear his words.
“Got real spooked when he saw Charlie outside the precinct,” he informs me.
“Ouch!” Ronan cries.
“Oh, you’re such a pussy,” Riggs hisses, balling up the gag and throwing it into the center of the table.
“You got our attention Ronan, time for you to talk and before you even ask I’ll clue you in on some shit. I don’t give a fuck if you’re broke, if you and your family are living off white rice. Don’t give me some shit that your son’s medical bills are hammering you; this is the face of a man who doesn’t give a fuck. I don’t want your sob story I want your motherfucking truth and if you think you will walk out of here without giving it to me, then you’re more fucked than I thought because my man Riggs is itching to pull the trigger on your ass.”
“Just waiting for the nod of your head boss,” Riggs adds, pulling his gun from his leathers and placing it in front of him on the table. “Bang! Bang! Motherfucker.”
“Kill me because I’m as good as dead anyway,” Ronan cries. “And not because I owe Charlie sixty grand but because he saw me with you guys.”
“Ronan, start at the beginning,” Blackie demands.
“I’m not saying shit until I have your word you will protect me,” he replies crossing his arms against his chest.
Riggs lifts his gun and aims it at him, pulling back the safety.
“Shit,” Ronan whimpers. “Fine, Charlie’s been building a new club with whatever Bastards are left, you know the ones you didn’t kill?”
“Smartass,” Blackie mutters.
“Keep talking!” I shout.
Ronan swallows hard as he stares back at me. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for—remorse? I’ve got none. Was he trying to size me up and call my bluff? That shit wouldn’t happen. I mastered the art of staring a person down and if this motherfucker was waiting for me to blink he’d be waiting a long time. A person’s whole world can change in the blink of an eye and with the number of enemies I have chomping at the bit I know better than to close these fucking eyes—not even for a half a second.
“About a month ago Charlie showed up at my house, he had copies of Brandon’s medical bills and swore he’d help me get rid of them. He told me that the Corrupt Bastards were very much alive and under his thumb, he was rebuilding the club with the help of some guys in pretty high places. He gave me a business card and on the back was a website to a brand new gambling site he created. He offered me a credit of fifty grand,” he explains.
