We follow him to his house and wait outside, we give him 20 minutes, and I can see him through the windows. He takes off his shoes and his shirt. When he sits down in the living room with a beer and the tv loud enough that we can hear it from outside, I go to the back door and pick the lock. Ironically enough we are using some of the ASG’s drugs to get him out without a fight. If we were to leave him alive after this there will be no tying what happened to him back to the Ghost Ryders.
I won’t be leaving him alive though.
An hour and a half later and he is chained to a chair at the compound, “He should be coming around any moment. I didn’t give him much.” Finley was quick with the needle; he didn’t even know we were in the house until he felt the prick in his neck. He fought for a minute, but the drug injected like that takes no time at all to go into effect.
“You don’t have to stay for this part. Call one of the guys to come get you and you can go hang out with Zoe.” I know that she has seen her dad do some gruesome shit, but I don’t know how hard I am going to have to work to get this guy to give up the information I am looking for.
“Nope.” She pops the P and walks over to the stainless-steel table against the wall. It's full of all sorts of gadgets and things that could be useful when getting information out of someone, all cleaned and set up exactly how I like them. She pushes the pile of knives to one side and the pliers and clippers to the other side then hops up and sits in the middle of the table. Her legs swing like an excited child, and she looks between me and the guy in the chair.
“You may proceed.” She winks like she is in charge, and I want to bend her over that table and show her who is in charge in this room.
“Alright, but you better not throw up.” I peck her on the forehead and pick up one of the smaller knives that is on the table beside her, flipping it in my hand before turning back to the guy.
Any tension that might have been growing in my body—which wasn’t much because Finley was here—starts to ease. This is my favorite part of my position here in the club.
When the man wakes up, I start small. Using the little knife I make cuts on his face, all the way down his fingers, across his collarbones, and on the backs of his knees. I laugh like a hyena and taunt him when he starts to cry and pisses his pants, why do they always have to piss?
Between the cuts and my slightly crazed state, that’s all it takes to get him to give me his name—Sam—and admit that he works for the ASG. When I started to ask more personal questions about them, he started fighting me more.
I played roulette with his legs; he lost both knees. Then I did it with his shoulders and he gave me the answer I was looking for after the first one.
The people that work for the ASG don’t know who runs it. Each group has a leader, and those people report to someone, who reports to someone, and so on until it gets back to the boss. When I start pulling his toenails, he tells me who his boss is, but I pull them all anyways.
The whole time Finley is just sitting on the table watching me, she pulls her phone out at one point and is texting someone, she giggles once or twice, and I go over to her. She doesn’t shy away from my bloody hands.
“What’s so funny, doll?”
“Scar is trying to convince me to leave you to the bloody work and come see him. He is trying to bribe me with sexual favors.” Of course, he is trying to bribe sex, after she left for college, I went the longest I had gone since I was a teen without sex. There is a lot of time to make up for.
“You can go,” There is no reason for her to sit there and watch me do this when she could be having fun at the clubhouse. I will be finding her later though. I want her to myself, at least for a little while.
“I am staying right here. And when you are done, I am going to fuck you while you still have his blood on you.” Those fucking words coming out of her mouth almost made me jizz in my pants, I was already rocking a chub—because cutting people up does that to me—and now it is rock hard and straining against my pants.
“In that case, I should get back to work.”
***
It’s after 2 am when I am done with the guy. There isn’t a whole lot in this room but there is a clock on the wall behind Finley’s head, every time that I paused to kiss her or just look at her, I would glace at the time. I kept expecting her to dip out and go hang out at the bar, but I could feel her eyes tracking me while I worked. She watched everything that I did to Sam without so much as a gasp. I knew she wasn’t sacred of the things that happened in this room, but I didn’t expect her to enjoy it.
In the end, he told me everything that he knew, including the address to their warehouse in the city. He didn’t know anything about the rapes on campus—and I believe him because he squealed like a pig with everything else—but he confirmed that Travis is buying a lot of products from them. Not that we needed him to, but I didn’t bother telling him that we had been following him for weeks.
When I pick up the gun to finish him, Finley gently places her hand on mine. For a split second, I think that she is silently asking me not to kill the guy, but I quickly shake that off. Even if she didn’t want him dead, killing him at this point is mercy. When I register what it is that she is asking me, I turn my hand over and uncoil my fingers from it. She jumps from the table and steps in front of him pulling the trigger without even taking a breath.
She stands and looks at him with what I can only describe as pity. The man had been begging for death at the end, she is the angel that granted the dying man his last wish and looked hot as hell doing it.
She drops the gun on the table and with one hand, stops me from going to the door. Keeping her eyes on me she slips her hands under her dress and slips her panties off, stuffing them into the pocket of my jeans, before she jumps back up on the table and spreads her legs wide.
When she pulled on the loose dark purple dress this morning I questioned her, I didn’t figure that she would wear dresses at home but now I am damn happy that she is. She pulls it out from under her and puts her bare ass on the cold table, the front of the dress still hiding her sex from me.
She undoes my fly and pulls my dick out, hardly pushing my jeans down far enough to expose me. She had sat on the edge of the table when she jumped up there, so it is easy for her to pull me to her and line my dick up with her opening.
She is already dripping wet; I fist my bloody hand in her hair and crush her mouth to mine so hard that one of us starts to bleed. She hooks her legs around me and digs her heels into my ass, forcing me into her in one quick motion. She bites down on my chest to muffle her scream, she is so fucking tight that I am sure it hurt her, but she only urged me to move. I pound into her without giving her a chance to adjust to my size.
I don’t typically get to fuck after I kill someone. The guys have always been worried that I would hurt anyone that I took after I got worked up, and they might have been right. With anyone but Finley. She begs for me to give her everything, and I do.
After her first orgasm, she falls back on the table and my hands move to her neck. I growl and my whole body grows harder at seeing the smeared blood all over the side of her face and down on her chest. It drives me mad, the table moves until it is hitting the wall, and one of Finley’s hands moves to the wall above her. When I realize that she is trying to keep her head from hitting the wall I grab her by the hips and slam her into me instead of me slamming her into the wall.
Her other hand goes to her clit, and she rubs at it violently. I pull her feet up to my shoulders and run the bloody streaks down to her thighs before I wrap my arms around her thighs and hold her tight while I pound into her as hard as I can. She is screaming and moaning and throwing her head from side to side but any time that I try to ease up she cusses at me for more. When she comes again, I have no choice but to follow her.