All my MMA training went out the window in favor of the power tool in my hand.
I shoved the drill bit up under his jaw and put him flat on the ground, a knee in his sternum, holding him there with the full force of my body weight and just the right amount of don’t-fuck-with-me pressure on the metal bit pressed to his skin.
“Don’t. Fucking. Move.”
He was panting, but he didn’t try to move.
I was panting almost as hard as he was as I held him down, my free hand grabbing a fistful of shirt collar. At least he’d taken off the creepy cloak. “Jesus Christ… Did you just try to shoot us?”
“I try to shoot you,” he grit out, “you’d be shot.”
True enough.
Maddox had scooped up the gun, and checked it. “Loaded,” he said casually, and tucked it in the waistband of his jeans.
“Check the back,” I told him.
Maddox went to check the washroom in back and the closet.
I yanked Sanchuk up a bit, by his shirt, and slammed his head down on the floor, as a warning not to try to pull that shit again. Lucky for him, there was carpet, so it didn’t do much damage, just hurt like a bitch. He groaned and swore.
I only realized then that he was bleeding. Maddox had slashed his gun arm with the knife.
I took a quick inventory of the scene as adrenaline kept punching through me. Standard dirtbag motel room. A half-unpacked duffel bag on the floor, the bed unmade.
No one pounding at the door. No sirens.
I didn’t expect any. We hadn’t made all that much noise coming in, considering.
“It’s clear,” Maddox said, emerging from the bathroom. Then he went about searching the room for anything of interest.
I held Sanchuk down with the drill, studying his rat eyes. Anticipating those pre-attack indicators; if he was about to try to attack me, I’d know it before he did.
A small, primal part of me hoped he would, so I could go ahead and kill him.
The rest of me hoped he wouldn’t, so I wouldn’t have to waste my energy holding him down more forcefully.
I needed my energy for other things. Like holding myself back from exterminating his ass, like the cockroach he was, right here and now. I had him on his back on the floor, and I had the power drill, my weight, strength, and training over him, not to mention Maddox, a gun, a knife, and as many of my guys as I wanted to call in for backup.
But I could do a whole lot of damage with my one hand and a power drill. I was getting all kinds of creative ideas right now, and he fucking knew it.
He was watching me like I was watching him. And he was definitely thinking about fighting back… weighing his odds of doing any damage before Maddox pulled out that gun and shot him.
I pushed the sharp tip of the drill bit into his throat and gave the trigger a tap. The drill bit spun, destroying skin, and he grit out a growl through clenched teeth. But only for a couple of seconds.
“You move, next time I don’t stop.”
He didn’t move.
“Tell me why you’re after her.”
“I’m not after her.” His eyes darted to Maddox as he moved around the room. “You told me to leave her alone, so I left her alone.”
He thought I was a King, then, maybe.
I didn’t dispute it.
“I’m asking you the questions,” I said, “not him.”
Sanchuk refocused on me. “I wasn’t gonna hurt her.”
“Did someone send you after her? Tell you to target her?”
“No,” he grunted, as I pressed my knee harder into his chest.
“You’ve been trying to set up business here for the Bastards. Giving drugs to Summer’s friends at her shows. You got anything to say about that?”
“We were just partying. There’s no law against partying.”
Christ, this guy was dumb as fuck.
I could see his pulse beating fiercely in his throat, belying the icy calm in his eyes. I pushed the drill bit into his flesh, making him bleed…
Crossing more boundaries.
Breaking more rules.
Because I couldn’t fucking stand this asshole trying to hurt her in any way.
“Found a phone.” Maddox held up a battered iPhone with a cracked screen. “Just need that print…” He grabbed Sanchuk’s right hand, forced his thumb to the Home button with the fingerprint scanner in it. “Gotta fucking love technology,” he muttered, and started scrolling through the phone.
I kept drilling Sanchuk, so to speak.
“Where did you first see her?”
“Just at a party.”
“What party?”
“I don’t know. A show she played.”
“In Vancouver?”
“Yeah.”
“So you just randomly showed up at her show one day? You expect me to believe that?” I jabbed the drill bit into his ruined skin, forcing his head back.
“I was invited.” His eyes kept darting to that goddamn phone in Maddox’s hand. He was sweating, and I wasn’t even sure which was scaring him more, the flesh-rending power tool at his throat or that phone in Maddox’s hand.
“Who invited you? Your Bastard friend? Boasty?”
Sanchuk’s rat eyes met mine again. “You know I can’t tell you that, man. I tell you that, I die. You might as well just drill that shit into my brain right now.”
“You know,” Maddox said, sounding bored as he scrolled through the phone, “he’s got a point.”
I supposed he did. If he gave up information about anyone working for the Bloody Bastards up here, to the Kings, he was dead already.
“Yup,” I agreed. “Your chances of surviving this night are looking pretty slim to me any way you look at it.”
“Ronan. You’ve gotta see this.” Maddox held out the phone to me.
I looked at the screen. It was a photo of Summer.
Wearing her fucking Halloween costume.
It was taken at the club show. Tonight.
Goosebumps ripped across my skin as I went cold.
Maddox thumbed through, showing me more photos… and more fucking photos…
