Addictive (Houston Defiance MC #2) - K.E. Osborn Page 0,78

main room, therefore its expanse is huge. The walls are made of toughened double concrete. It’s fucking freezing down here, especially because it’s underground. To my left against the wall there’s a giant sink system in place. We all know what’s that’s for—cleaning is fucking important. Either side on the walls are two giant cupboards made of steel. They’re starting to rust a little from all the moisture in the air, but it gives them an industrial feel. In the very center of the room is the infamous Defiance silver chair. Everyone knows if you’re destined for the Defiance silver chair, you’re in for a world of pain. We don’t use this room as often as we should, but when we do, we make it damn well count.

Behind the silver chair is the thing making Houston’s Chamber differ from other Chambers across America. Other chapters have to dispose of their bodies once they’re done with them. They have to take them out of the Chamber, but we don’t have a need to do that. It’s all done inside this one room, and it’s why it smells so bad.

Behind the silver chair is the oil pit, some might say it looks like a car inspection pit, but ours has a thin layer of oil lining the bottom. It’s big—twelve feet long, three feet across and six feet deep. But it’s certainly not for inspecting the undercarriage of vehicles.

Behind the oil pit are two large metal crosses. Good for inflicting copious amounts of pain when you want to really draw out the inevitable, and it’s also used when there are multiple fuckers you need to question at the same time. Then at the very end, the wall divides into another room which leads into our armory. That room is much smaller than this one, but it’s big enough to hold our arsenal. Being in Texas, we have a vast array of weaponry, especially since Ax is ex-Navy. He knows all the good shit to purchase and what will serve us the best.

But that’s all beside the point.

What’s got me really excited right now is the fucker sitting in the silver chair in front of me—arms tied behind his back, gag in his mouth while Ax and Kevlar stand waiting for me.

I stride over inhaling sharply. “Has he said anything?” I ask.

“Nothing. Says he’ll only talk to you.”

I wave my hand, and Ax pulls off the asshole’s mouth gag. “You want me, well here I am. Start talking.”

He turns up his lip. “You tink you have all the answers,” his Serbian twang comes through, and instantly I tense.

Fuck.

“You work for Damir?”

“You tink it dat simple? Dat Damir don’t have a boss?”

Cracking my knuckles together, I huff. “You’re talking pretty damn easily. Why do they want me to know who did this so fucking quickly?”

He rolls his shoulders. “You aware of who, but you don’t know vhere. You von’t find your precious little princess. Not before it too late.”

My stomach rolls as I stare at him abhorrently. “Too late for what?”

“And dat, my friend, is vhat we von’t tell you.”

I let out a mocking laugh, nodding my head matter-of-factly. “Mm-hmm. So, you work for Damir, who works for someone else, and you’ve taken Prinie for something, but you won’t tell me what? Have I got that right?”

The corner of his lips turns up. “You smarter den you look.”

“Well, then, I think it’s time to play, don’t you, boys?” I ask, glancing up at Ax. He grins, then turns heading for the cupboard to the left. “What’s your name?” I ask the Slav.

“We have da levels in da Triglav Clan. The Godfather, The Underboss, Lieutenant, den dere’s me. You can call me Gangster.”

All three of us chuckle. “You think I’m calling you Gangster, Coolio? No. Hell, fucking, no. You won’t give me a name, then I’ll make one up for you.” I deliberate for a moment. “Rekcuf sounds about right.”

Kevlar snickers, understanding I pronounced the nickname backward. The Gangster rolls his eyes. “Stupid name if you ask me.”

“‘Stupid is as stupid does,’” Ax quotes from Forrest Gump, then walks over handing me a crowbar.

I widen my eyes. “This’ll do nicely. Thanks, brother.”

Rekcuf narrows his eyes on me, finally starting to show some concern. “You gonna hit me to get me to talk?”

I shrug. “Maybe at some point. But first—”

Leaning over, I grab the straight end of the crowbar, slamming it down into the bullet wound on his leg. He screams out in agony, but I