Lost hasn’t done any of the questioning, leaving it to Salem and me. Now he steps forward with an unreadable expression on his face. He tilts his head to the side as he examines Owen for a moment.
“The shoots for book covers…Why does Devon bother with that?”
Owen’s chin drops down to his chest. “He has a legitimate business.”
In other words, it’s his own cover, and the shit in the internal pages wouldn’t make for happy reading, or not for someone not twisted.
Lost takes over again. His normally affable face now a mask of anger. “What do you feel when you’re fuckin’ an unresponsive woman? What did you feel when you took Alicia knowing full well she hadn’t given consent to be filmed? How does it make you feel, Owen?”
Owen’s eyes crack open a fraction more as he stares at the prez. “It’s a job, man. Where else could I earn money like that?”
“What do you think it’s like, Owen? To wake knowing you’ve been violated but no idea by whom?”
“I don’t know,” Owen wails. “They can’t remember so what’s the harm in it?”
Lost’s attention is on me now, his voice when he speaks is low. “Is there anything else you want to know? Is there a reason for keeping this piece of shit around any longer?”
He can’t help with more information. I think we’ve already wrung out of him everything he has to give. He can’t help us find Devon, and about the more deviant side of the business, he doesn’t seem to know. Not sure I completely trust him. Would he have owned up if he’d abused little kids? On balance, I’m sick of the man and want him out of Alicia’s life, permanently. I don’t want to risk freeing him and have her come across him walking around without a care in the world. One thing he hasn’t expressed has been guilt.
After these thoughts go through my head, I give Lost his answer, “No.”
Prez raises and dips his chin, signals to Salem to stay back, then draws nearer to the strung-up man.
“I gave you a chance to show remorse, but it’s clear you have none. Your disrespect for women isn’t going to be fixed. You’ll just go on and on before you are stopped. So I’m going to stop you now. But I’m feeling generous, so you can choose which way to go. I can send you to Satan minus your dick and you’ll take your chances as to how long it will take before you bleed out, or, I’ll end you with a bullet to your head.”
“You can’t. You can’t do that.” Owen screams and a burst of urine comes out of his recently threatened cock. “I won’t touch another woman. I beg you. Let me go!” The level of his screams rise and start a headache behind my temples.
Lost may not look like your typical MC prez—more like a jovial grandfather at times—but he should never be underestimated. His old lady’s been good for him, given him the confidence to believe in himself, and right now, I read there’s no doubt in his head as to how this should end. And that’s with Owen dead, one way or another. I know he’s serious, Owen does not.
“Just let me go, man. I won’t say anything about the Satan’s Devils. I’ll say I was jumped and beaten. Just let me go. I can’t tell you anymore.”
“I’m quite aware you can’t tell me anymore, Owen, which is why I’m giving you the choice. Little head or big one?”
Lost’s delivery is so dry, it makes me smile and a couple of brothers laugh.
Owen’s eyes flick around the room as though seeking someone who’ll have sympathy for him, but of course, nobody has.
Salem sighs heavily and starts pulling on a pair of latex gloves. “Guess I’ll make the decision for him.” He takes out his knife and steps forward, reaching for Owen’s dick. Right now it’s shrunk so much there’s little to get hold of. It certainly doesn’t look worthy of a porn star’s appendage.
Owen can tell he’s serious as he screams out one word, “Head.”
In what looks like a choreographed movement, Salem steps back and Lost waves me forward. I slide my gun out of my cut and press the barrel against Owen’s forehead. For a brief second, I see him hope I’m still just using threats and that my weapon isn’t loaded, then he gets a good look at the expression in my eyes.
“Oh fuck no, fuck no, no no no.”
I pull the trigger with the same amount of remorse Owen had shown for his victims. Zero.
As the echo of the gunshot fades, Lost points to Curtis. “Get started on clean-up, I’ll get someone to—”
“I’ll help,” Keeper offers.
“Me too,” Niran chimes in almost simultaneously.
The pair look at each other and shrug. Well, prospecting’s not so far in their rearview that they’ve forgotten about this shit.
Brothers start making their way to the door, more than one pausing to spit on the corpse. Before any can actually exit, Lost’s phone rings. Eyeing the caller ID, he holds up his hand causing all forward movement to cease.
“Snatcher?... Uh-huh… Yeah… What? No. We don’t need fuckin’ help… We’re perfectly… Oh. Yeah. That makes sense… You want what?... Yeah… Shit. Yeah, I understand. I’ll clear it this end, brother… See them tomorrow.”
All eyes are on him. Lost sighs and shakes his head. “Snatcher’s got news he doesn’t want to discuss over the phone, not even on a secure line, and fuck knows, between us and him, we can sew that up tight.” Prez’s jaw looks tense. “Bolt and Swift are coming tomorrow. Need all of you in church first thing. Oh, and we’re to keep an eye out for Devon, but
