Page 13 of Chaos Bound
A sound escaped Tank’s lips—a roar—pain, rage, frustration, anguish, and grief—accompanied by an almost desperate need for revenge. He lunged toward Snake, reaching for his neck.
“Stop.”
He froze at the sound of Jagger’s commanding voice—the only voice that could have stopped his raging need to avenge his brother. Powerful, formidable, and ruthless, the Sinner president put a hand on Tank’s shoulder, dominating the small room with the force of his presence alone.
“We heard him.” He gestured to Gunner, the Sinner sergeant-at-arms, and Dax beside him.
“By the time I’m done with him, he’ll be begging us to take him to Viper, although we won’t be able to understand because he’ll have no tongue.” Tall, slim, and pale but with a shock of dark hair, Dax placed his black “toy” bag on the table beside the wall, deliberately paying no attention to Snake. He loved the drama of the moment, the slow reveal when he turned his black, soulless eyes on his victim for the very first time.
“Took you long enough to get here.” Tank didn’t understand why Jagger and Gunner had come to the interrogation room. Usually Dax worked alone with the assistance of a few junior patch members of the club.
Gunner reached for the door just as the new prospect, Benson, stumbled in. A former Conundrum deputy sheriff, Benson had asked to pledge to the club after his extra-curricular activities on behalf of the Sinners had brought him to the attention of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives (ATF). Instead of facing a grueling internal investigation, he had handed in his badge and begged the Sinners for a chance to prove himself worthy of the club and the protection they could offer.
“Christ. What the fuck is he doing here?” Gunner slammed the door and glared at Dax.
“I need an apprentice, and he’s already shown some promise,” Dax said. “Bruisers like Tank and Gunner are all about brute force and power. I need them for the heavy lifting. Benson understands finesse and the psychology behind what I do. He knows his torture implements. Plus, I’ve planned a nice, long session and we’ll need someone to bring us snacks.” A trained psychiatrist, Dax had become interested in torture and human behavior while writing his PhD thesis in university. His work had brought him to the attention of several covert government organizations, but Dax came from a biker family, and nothing could pull him out of the life. He liked the freedom to experiment, to come and go as he pleased, to have no one to answer to but his brothers and his old lady.
“Fuck you.” Benson, still unused to being on the receiving end of orders received a cuff to the head by an irritated Dax.
“Don’t care what you did before, prospect, or who you were,” Dax snapped. “Learn your place or go face the ATF firing squad.”
“Fuck you.” Benson’s face tightened when Jagger lifted an eyebrow. “Sir.”
“What happened to our friend T-Rex?” Dax tilted his blade saw to catch the light from the naked bulb overhead. He kept his voice low, deceptively soft, forcing Snake to lean forward to hear him. He’d told Tank and T-Rex over beer one night how much he enjoyed the brutal betrayal of that intimacy, saving some of his more vicious techniques for when his victims expected it the least.
Snake barely gave the blade saw a second glance. “Suck my cock.”
“Not while it’s still attached.” Dax waved Benson over. “But that gives me an idea. Prospect, help the man off with his pants.”
“Jesus Christ.” Benson swallowed hard and took a step toward Snake.
“I’ll give you something for free,” Snake said quickly. “But you promise not to touch the family jewels.”
“Son, you’re not gonna be needing those jewels anymore. They were forfeit the minute you stepped on Sinner property.” Dax glanced over at Jagger, and something passed between them, an agreement made with the barest of nods. “Tell us what you know, and I’ll make it clean and quick.”
“Fucking Sinner bastards.” Snake snarled. “I’ll give you something just so I can watch you fucking suffer. He’s dead. Day before yesterday, Viper finally decided he was finished with his play toy. Three fucking months he kept that bastard alive. But then he got himself a new distraction—one with a pussy. Never got to see her ’cause you caught me the day he was going for her, but she must have been one fine piece of ass ’cause he fucking loved beating on your boy and listening to him scream.”
Red sheeted Tank’s vision and he threw himself at Snake, fists thudding into the Black Jack’s body. The chair toppled backward and Tank followed it down, raining blows as if the thunder of his fists could drown out the keening sound in his heart. This was for T-Rex, for every fucking hour of every fucking day he suffered, for every minute he waited for his brothers to come for him, for every second he doubted Tank’s love. For the moment he lost hope.
Arms as thick as tree trunks wrapped around his chest, pulling him against a body as hard as concrete. Gunner. Six foot six of pure muscle. Not even Tank’s rage could loosen Gunner’s hold.
“Fuck.” Jagger’s voice was raw, thick with emotion. “Tank, stand down. Let Dax get as much information from him as he can, and then you can have him. And I promise you, T-Rex will be avenged. You have my word.” He turned to Benson, his face tight with pain and anger. “Find Sparky. He and Gun found the body during our raid on the Black Jack clubhouse. I want to know if it’s possible they made a mistake.”
“Gimme twenty minutes.” Benson headed for the door. “Sparky’s at the shop.”
Sparky, the Sinners’ road chief, responsible for maintaining the club vehicles, ran a garage at the edge of town with Jagger’s old lady, Arianne, a journeyman mechanic.
“You got ten,” Jagger bit out. “Maybe seven if I lose my patience with this Black Jack bastard.”
“He’s not gonna say anything different than we told you before.” Gunner tightened his grip on Tank as if he knew Tank was still not in control. “We found T-Rex’s medallion on the floor beside a body that was the same height and build as T-Rex. His face had been so badly beaten he was unrecognizable, but our sources had confirmed that T-Rex was in that dungeon.”
“Bring him anyway,” Jagger snapped. “I won’t leave a stone unturned.”
Now that he’d had a moment to cool off, and Snake was lying in a bloody heap on the floor, Tank’s tension eased. “I’ll stand down. You have my word.”
Jagger nodded, and Gunner released him right away. A biker’s word was his bond. And Tank had given his word only because of Jagger’s promise to avenge his friend. Not that they hadn’t attacked the Jacks already. After T-Rex was abducted they turned up the heat, going after the Jacks on all fronts, trying to break the Jacks’ stranglehold on the lower-level clubs in the state. And although the executive board that ran the Sinner’s Tribe MC had decreed their actions were for T-Rex, the attacks were politically motivated and strategically executed. Tank wanted something just for T-Rex. Something that would have made his friend smile.
Something personal.
