Page 33 of Knot Without My Permission
Lyker’s MC tattoo has been not only cut off his body, but also burned. The skin is curled and still visible next to my foot, and it’s pretty disgusting. Devon sinks his knife into Lyker’s bare chest, and tilts his head as he thinks.
“Why didn’t you reach out to me or Wilder even after?” he asks. “Was your club really that far up shit’s creek?”
“Yes,” Lyker says simply. “Chester was in the wrong, but my silence killed the rest of my club. The orphans and widows left behind are my fault. I’m the president.”
“Were,” I grunt. “You don’t even deserve to be called a man.”
“Should we rectify that?” Devon asks with a cruel grin, yanking his knife back out of Lyker’s body.
This is Lore’s smile, and it fucking guts me as I’m hit with the full force of it. Dammit. It’s like a kick in the stomach. I know Marie thinks they’re very different people, but Lore and Devon grew up together, despite the almost eight year age difference between them.
“What do you have in mind?” I ask, hoping my voice sounds normal, instead of thick with emotion.
“Ransom?” Devon asks, watching dispassionately as the alpha unbuttons Lyker’s pants and yanks them down. There’s only so far they can go because there are nails driven through the tops of Lyker's feet.
If the soon to be dead alpha is trying to find religion this late in life, this might do it.
Lyker’s limp dick isn’t very impressive as it flops out, and Devon makes a face before yanking a pair of black leather gloves from his back pocket.
“I hope you’re laughing your ass off about this, big brother,” he mutters under his breath.
“Let me go intact! Devon…No…Stop!”
Whatever else Lyker may want to say is muffled as Martyr begins to cut Lyker’s tongue out. Instead, gurgled screams are all he can manage as Devon cuts the alpha’s cock and knot off.
“You didn’t have anything else of substance to say anyway, did you?” I say conversationally as I stand. “I think he needs to meet his maker with some special treatment, don’t you, Devon?”
He glances at me from where he’s currently got a palmful of severed knot and cock with a raised brow.
“Will whatever this is mean that I won’t be holding wrinkly cock any more?” he snorts.
“Not unless you’ve found a new kink,” I say, shrugging.
Lyker is in his fifties, and does indeed have deep wrinkles in his now castrated private parts.
“Wilder,” Devon groans.
“Make him choke on it,” I say, putting Devon out of his misery. “Sew his lips up and then light the fucker on fire. Let him see how much his silence actually hurt people.”
Silence meets my words before murmurs of agreement follow.
“I’ll be back with my sewing kit,” Ransom says, maneuvering his way out of the room.
It’s normal for us to keep supplies like that on our bikes, so no one bats an eye when he returns with it. I’m standing now, watching as Martyr steps on Lyker’s hand to push the nail into it so he doesn’t pass out. That would be too kind for what we’re planning to do.
My lack of shoes makes my doing it much less effective. Shitkickers are the best way to inflict pain and punishment.
Devon moves around to pinch Lyker’s nostrils shut so he’ll open his mouth, and he shoves the wrinkled tissue into Lyker’s mouth. I make myself useful by shoving his mouth closed, while Ransom moves in to sew Lyker’s lips shut. I have to give it to the newest member of my pack: he’s a sadistic bastard.
Ransom’s stitches are even and perfect, and he moves with slow, measured movements to draw out the pain. I have the feeling he’d come in clutch to sew up wounds.
“You took my goddamned medic,” Devon grumbles under his breath as I chuckle. Yep, well, that definitely tracks.
“I was just thinking about how pretty his stitches are,” I tease him. “You said you were over it. Don’t be such a baby about it, Devon.”
Now that we’re torturing Lyker together as we joke around, our men aren’t as twitchy or looking to shoot first while we taunteach other. It’s amazing what a little group revenge can do as an ice breaker.
“Want me to look for some gasoline, Prez?” Burner asks me.
