Page 21 of Rebel
Men like that, who react so fast to put their hands on a woman, are the kind who do more than act like an asshole. How far does he go when he loses his temper?
It didn’t take long for Blaze to get back to me with details about Mark Lancaster, where he lives, works, and his arrest record. All of it proves me right. This isn’t a guy who just yells at women.
I can’t help but smile thinking about what she would do if she knew where I was going and what I was about to do. Probably try to kick my ass.
All I’m doing is teaching the fucker a lesson, making him see the error of his ways. It’ll help a lot of other women, not just her.
I get where she is coming from, women should and can stand up for themselves. My sister is a fucking hellcat, no one in that bar messes with her. And Nashville’s woman took on Kivisto and chased him off before he could hurt Ellie any more than he already had.
The closer I get to his house, the deeper my guilt at scaring Kinsley churns in my gut. I’m being a hypocritical bastard. Trying to justify it as me protecting the club and him being a straight-up abuser is a stretch. I grabbed her, pulled a gun on her, and have been nothing but an asshole to her since.
None of that stops me parking down the block, covering my lower face with a bandana and walking through the alleyway to the back of his house. The properties here are squeezed together, it’s not the nicest of neighborhoods, an added layer of protection for me. Any scumbag could break in.
This fucker is unlucky it’s me.
It doesn’t take much to break the lock on his back door. I can hear the TV as soon as I come in, it’s loud enough to drown out the sound of me moving through his kitchen. Which is filthy as fuck. Dirty dishes, food spilled all over the counters, green shit growing on a half-eaten spoonful of cereal.
Who the hell lives like this?
He’s sitting on the couch watching porn. I pause when the guy on the TV slaps the woman and pushes her down, pinning her to a bed. It’s only a movie, but its degradation and abuse porn. Makes me even madder and less careful.
He hears me coming at the last second and tries to jump out of his chair, but his pants are down, his hands in his underwear. That confirms everything I already knew about this motherfucker.
I slam my elbow into the side of his face and follow up with a throat punch, incapacitating him. He falls to the ground, gasping and choking as I round the chair and watch him, fighting to breathe.
To help him out, I kick him in the face, giving him something else to focus on. He tries to scream, but nothing comes out. At least he is lying on his front, I only have a quick and unfortunate glance at his hairy assand not his dick. On the screen behind me, a woman is screaming, and the sounds of punching and slapping fill the room.
“You like watching women being beaten? That is a fucking turn on for you?”
He still can’t speak, spluttering and coughing.
“You walked into the wrong bar tonight, and you touched the wrong woman. It’s about time someone gave you the treatment you’ve been giving women for far too long.”
I move to stand over him pressing my foot on his forearm. He tries to fight me off and push himself up. I’m too strong for him.
“You prey on women to make you feel good. You’re going to find out how that feels.”
Taking what I brought with me from my pocket, he sees what is coming for him.
Now he screams, but it’s croaky as fuck and no one can hear it over the noise from the TV.
“You touched what doesn’t belong to you, fucker. Now you won’t be touching anything again, including your own filthy little cock.”
I press my foot down harder to hold him in place and swing the hammer down on his hand. He screams every time I hit one of his fingers, shattering every bone in each one, and for good measure I break his wrist too.
He’s been crying and fighting until that point, now he passes out from the pain. I don’t spare him a glance as I smash his TV, silencing the fucking violence, or break his cellphone until its tiny pieces of broken plastic and glass. He’s beginning to wake when I walk back out the way I came in.
As I ride to the clubhouse, for the first time in weeks I let a genuine smile creep across my lips. Even if he could, he won’t call anyone and tell them the truth. He knows who we are and what it would mean to go against us. Fucker got off lightly tonight.
I’m still feeling pretty chipper when I get back.
“You get laid or something?” Razer asks when I walk by him and grab a drink. He is reading a ratty as shit paperback at the table in the kitchen area.
When I suggested having people stay at the clubhouse to protect it from any attacks, I didn’t think Razer would take on the duty. Beingour road captain, most of what Razer does is analyze and mitigate threats against the club. He’s a worst-case scenario kind of guy, but you wouldn’t know that in day-to-day life.
He doesn’t have much family, getting involved in the club through dating Fury’s sister years ago.
“Or something,” I say, swinging the hammer at the side of my leg.
