Kansas (Ruthless Kings MC Atlantic City #2) - K.L. Savage Page 0,27
one can see us.
We are all alone, and there is no hope for this asshole.
Bane grips the man by his hair and drags him across the floor.
“No! No! Let me go. Let me go,” he screams, struggling against the zip-ties binding his wrists. The skin turns white from the pressure, and his hands turn an ugly shade of purple.
When Bane gets to the tarp, he slides Alicia’s abuser across the tarp, crinkling it along the way. In two steps, I strike my hand out like a snake latching on to its prey with its fangs. Wrapping my hand around his throat, I squeeze and lift him off his feet, making sure my grip chokes him.
I don’t know what Alicia saw in this man. He’s short, not well-groomed, a bit of a beer belly but nothing too awful, and he has shaggy, stringy hair that hasn’t been washed in a few days. It’s hard to look at this man and know he is Kimmy’s father. The man has no idea how lucky he was, and he threw it all away when he hit Alicia.
Now, One-Eye and Alicia are just friends, and he is very protective of her, but I’m not blind. The man is head over heels for that woman, and I don’t think she has the slightest idea.
“You can scream.” I lift him higher as my voice deepens. “You can cry,” I add as Bane lowers the hook from the ceiling. It clanks on its way down, since the thick chain is wrapped around a wheel Bane has to crank. “You can beg,” I growl, bringing his face closer to mine. He’s so close I can smell the stench of his morning breath. “You can even pray.”
The hook lowers, and I raise him higher, then press his back against the hook until my eardrums ring from the sound escaping his throat. The flesh tears and blood begins to drip onto the tarp. I keep pushing until the hook punctures through his shoulder and keeps him hanging there like a dead fucking fish.
“But nothing you do will help you. Your prayers won’t be answered. Your screams won’t be heard. Your tears? They won’t be cared for.” Blood rains from his wounds and flows down his chest.
I bend down and pick up a steel pipe. It’s as long as a broomstick and has the same circumference. I throw it in the air and catch it.
Without saying another word, I slam the pipe against his body. His ribs crack on the first swing with a sick, satisfying crunch. He screams just like I knew he would.
“Don’t paralyze him. I got plans,” Decay advises me.
“No problem. I’ll stay above the waist.” I slam the rod against his back, right across his shoulders. I hit the hook too, making it sink deeper into his body.
He lurches, vomiting onto the tarp while flopping around just like a fish would.
“Bane? Warden?” I hold the pipe out to them, and Warden grins, kicks off the crate he is sitting on, and takes the weapon from me.
I watch Warden walk circles around our hanging meat sack. He analyzes him and then stares at his hands that are bound. He smirks, and with a loud grunt, instead of swinging the rod, he takes the end and shoves it through the palms of the man’s hands.
Like fucking butter, Warden glides the pipe through his zip-tied hands. The screams fall on deaf ears at this point, and when Warden yanks the pipe back, there is a perfect circle cut out of the meat of his hands. I can see right through them.
Warden flings the flesh off the pipe and tosses it to Bane. He does the same thing only shoving it through the shoulder that doesn’t have a hook in it.
“It’s impressive you’re staying conscious for this,” I taunt, catching the long, steel pipe in my hand as Bane throws it.
Decay comes up next, and he lights a blow torch with his lighter. He sits on the tarp under our victim and makes a gesture for Bane to lift him higher. Decay pulls out a packet of cigarettes and slides one out, offering one to our victim. “Want one?” he asks.
The man’s teeth chatter, and he doesn’t answer.
“No? Okay,” Decay shrugs, lighting the smoke with his blow torch. He takes a big puff and blows it out right as Bane cranks the lever again and slowly the limp body lifts.
He doesn’t remain limp for long. The pain from the hook and the