Page 12 of Down & Dirty: Rage

They had discussed taking out the Souls one-by-one.

Today was the perfect day to start.

Now that he had the much needed info, he had no use for the Soul on the ground. He also didn’t need the man running back to his club and running his fucking trap, giving them a warning.

It wouldn’t be smart for the Twisted Souls to know that Rage was hunting some of them down.

Some for now. Possibly all later. That would be determined.

“What the fuck you gonna do, shit on me next?” Psycho asked when Rage stood over the bound man once again.

“Nah. Almost forgot something.”

“Yeah. To untie me, motherfucker.”

“That ain’t it.” Rage stomped on his face, putting all his weight behind it.

He continued until the whimpering and gurgling stopped. He then cut the man’s wrists free so he could pull the Soul’s bloody cut off him.

When he got back to the Hyundai, he tossed it into the trunk with plans to burn it. Then, without a backward glance, he pointed the Sonata back toward Shadow Valley.

This particular job might be done, but he had more work to do.

One down, three more to go.

Chapter Three

With a groan,Rage blinked open his eyes and saw nothing but darkness. He removed his arm from over his eyes and blinked again.

Yeah. It was daylight.

He had no fucking clue what time it was but he needed coffee with a shot of...something. A joint and a blowjob would be good about now, too.

Unfortunately, he was alone in his bed and wouldn’t be getting the third item on his wish list.

He groaned as he pushed himself up into a seated position.

Why the fuck did he hurt so damn bad?

A second later, he remembered.

With more effort than he cared to admit, he ignored the dull ache radiating through every inch of his body and moved to the edge of the bed. With his knees wide, he dropped his head and glanced at his right hand.

Yeah, his knuckles were busted and blood had caked around the split skin. He worked his fingers into a fist,then spread them wide a few times, checking to see if any of his bones were broken.

He felt a lot fucking older than his thirty-one years.

Wait.Was it still morning?

He ground his uninjured hand along the back of his neck and glanced at the LED clock on the nightstand.

Fuck.It was already ten.

His eyes roamed the rest of the items on the stand: a ripped open foil wrapper, another ripped open wrapper, and two more unopened wraps.

He really needed one of the girls to clean his fucking apartment.

He glanced at the sheets. He had no idea when they’d been changed last. They were probably a blacklight special.