Page 59 of Ravage

“I was about to head back. I just wanted to check on these two first.”

“Yeah, I get it.” He turned to Knox as he said, “Looks like you got the worst of it.”

“What the hell you talking about?” Knox asked, sounding offended. “I’m not the one who’s getting fucking stitches.”

“That’s because you already got yours,” Coop scoffed.

“It’s just six.”

“I only got three.”

“Well, fuck you,” Knox grumbled.

Reaper shook his head and said, “I’d say they’re gonna be just fine.”

“Agreed.” I started for the door as I asked, “What’d I miss?”

“Vicious just called for Prez and Ace.”

“You think he’s got something?”

“Only one way to find out.”

I nodded, then followed him out the door and down the hall. We were headed to the dungeon. That’s what we called the room where Vicious did his dirty work. He was the club’s enforcer. His job was to keep the brothers safe, and that often meant using extreme measures to extract information from our adversaries. And he used them. By any means necessary, including things that would give a regular man a lifetime of nightmares.

None of us cared much for spending time there unless we had to. We made our way out to the garage and down the short, dark corridor. We stepped up to the window and found Vicious standing in the corner, talking with Prez and Ace.

Our guest was in his late twenties, with long, greasy hair, and he was currently bound to a chair in the center of the room. His Viper cut was gone, along with his shirt, leaving him bare-chested. His face was bruised, and his eyes were almost swollen shut.

He looked scared, and he had every reason to be.

There would be no walking away from this.

He’d attacked a Fury brother. There was no coming back from that. Not for him, and not for anyone tied to him. We’d make sure of that.

10

EMERY

“You’re missing one?”

“Oh?” I leaned forward, checking the tray. “Which one?”

“Purple.”

I reached over, picked up the purple pencil, and announced, “Here it is.”

“No.” She frowned and rolled her eyes like I was being irritatingly stupid. “That’s violet.”

“Ummm.” I looked at the pencil, and then at her. “I’m pretty sure that’s purple.”

Poppy had been coming to see me for just over a year, and from day one, she had been one of the most opinionated children I’d ever met. And I loved her for it. I also loved that she was only six years old, but most days she acted like more of an adult than most adults I knew.

Her almost black hair was always pulled into two perfectly even pigtails, and somehow, not a single strand ever seemed to be out of place. Her clothes were equally neat, her shoes were always tied, and if she got paint on herself, she would stop what she was doing and start cleaning it. And sometimes, she would actually let me help.

She was currently taking a break from her latest masterpiece to organize all the colored pencils. Her nose crinkled as she shook her head and said, “Violet is darker, and that’s darker.”

“According to who?”