Page 44 of Conan
David’s irate look swivels my way and I raise my eyebrows at him.
What’s he gonna do? Stare me to death?
I wish him luck because meaner men have tried.
And failed.
Seeing as he’s a pipsqueak in comparison to the ones who came before him, I’m not intimidated by his venom in the least.
“Y’all see that!” I exclaim, whistling. “David’s trying to scare me.”
“He thinks his puny muscles are a match for you?” Marcum cackles. “Maybe we should let him loose and prove to him who the bigger man is.”
“I’m down!” I clamor, my voice full of excitement, carrying through the bomb shelter we use. It's buried beneath the clubhouse and completely hidden from prying eyes.
We save this designated section of the bunker for exclusive occasions and specific events, such as interrogations and torture sessions of this caliber—particularly, when we want to take our time with our morepeculiarguests.
Even though we don’t have any neighbors in the proximity, we don’t want their shouts and pleas to be overheard. There are times the popo do drive by's in front of our property, and it wouldn’t be beneficial for the club for them to stomp into the clubhouse with guns drawn.
But it is a hell of an adrenaline rush when they do.
The first week we established ourselves here, there was a raid. It was glorious because they didn’t find jack shit.
We don’t do drugs, we don’t sell or trade in skin, and we don’t run guns.
Don’t underestimate us though, we aren’t the Cleavers by any stretch of the imagination, we aren’t mass murderers anddealers of any sort, either, but we also aren’t ones who’ll back down from a fight.
We’re men who love a good brawl.
I’m not saying we’ll make it a fair one, we’ll pull out all of our tricks, even if it means we have to burn towns down around us.
But the older we got, the less thrilling the nomadic life became. Faceless fucks, nameless motels, greasy diner food—it eventually lost its luster.
We just want to run our security business and be left alone. I guess we made more of an impact on the local law enforcers than we anticipated we would when we decided to settle here in this humid as fuck state of Texas. Sometimes, I wonder if this Lone Star state is the gateway to hell, it is so motherfucking hot and boggy.
We knew we’d raise a few eyebrows when we rode into this backwoods town and bought some real estate, but we didn’t think we’d get the welcome we did.
Internally, I roll my eyes at myself, because now, I’m bored enough with this wearisome session that I’m contemplating my life—this is a problem because I can’t stand getting stuck in my ‘feels’ unless I’m with my girl so she can distract me or have a pint-sized glass of tequila in hand to drown those memories with.
“Listen,” I drawl, and when my brothers stop and turn my way, I continue, “they aren’t going to talk, and if we’re being real, we don’t need them to. We’re somewhat positive that Demi isn’t their only victim. I say we move on and rid the world of these assholes.”
Kodiak, on the same page as me, nods his head. “They’ve put a stain on society enough as it is, it’s time to stop playing, end them, and burn their corpses.”
The four start wiggling around, trying to get loose of their bindings as they adamantly argue against our plan. We drown them out because no matter what they have to say in defense of what they’ve done, there isn’t an excuse good enough to make us change our minds.
Plus, they fucked up when they hurt one of ours.
That’s what signed their death warrant in the Deviant Knights’ eyes.
I do feel sorry for the women who came either before or after Demi, only they aren’t what matters to me, not that I don’t give a shit about what they went through, but I have had to sit night after night with Demi, rocking her in my arms after she wakes from a nightmare featuring her attack.
She’s the one I have a front row seat for as she struggles to let that night go as she remembers she’s no longer stuck in that night terror. Her psyche was fractured by what they did to her, and to me, that grievous act against her in itself is unforgivable.
“I’m all talked out,” Risk states. “I could use a little downtime.”
I smirk because his meaning of ‘downtime’ is different from the standard viewpoint and definition. There’s something about torturing someone that calms him—like it does for most of us. None of us had a stellar childhood so we take our woes out with our fists.
We’ve been lax in that department since we put down some roots and stopped living off the land. We’ve worked damn hard to become respectable and fit in with the masses.
