Wolf.e: A Dark MC Romance
Wolf.e: Chapter 18

When Mason and Kai arrive an hour after us, we get them to bring the truck down the dirt path to the maintenance cabin on the resort property. It’s empty and hidden back behind the tree line of the woods, quite a ways from the main buildings where the wedding will be held—just like Ax said—and we have it ready. No one knows we’re here, so if we have to put these two in the ground in the woods, it will be the last place anyone ever looks. But, we’re bringing them in with their faces covered just in case we let the prospect live.

It’s a large space with two rooms, a kitchen, dining area and a bedroom. Hasn’t been used since the seventies and is almost decrepit now that the resort has live out staff. It’s devoid of furniture except for an old wooden kitchen table. We’ve already got the eight fingered prospect from last night gagged and handcuffed to the radiator in the bedroom. If he’s smart and tells us what we need to know, we’ll let him live to deliver a message to his pathetic club.

Gator is out cold right now, sedated thanks to Rick, but he should be waking up somewhere in the middle of the reception which serves us just right.

Mason is foaming at the mouth to start peeling back his fingernails and after riding up here with Brinley at my back, I’m in the mood to get a little aggression out too. I felt every single one of my men’s stares this afternoon when Ax suggested Chantel and the girls could pick up Brinley and I said no.

I know it’s out of character for me to pick her up—or any girl, for that matter—myself but I don’t give a fuck what they think. I can’t give them a reason as to why she seems to have this hold on me, nor do I owe them one. There’s no logical reason I should be thinking about her every waking second. The shared energy that tethers us in a way is unexplainable and the way her pupils dilate when she focuses on me tells me her truth and I’m becoming desperate to uncover it.

We bind Gator’s feet where he sits in the center of the kitchen. He’s gagged and his arms, like the prospect’s, are also zip-tied behind his back.

Gator has pissed himself somewhere along the way and is sleeping off his sedative with his mouth hanging open. Mason grits his jaw, and I just know he’s thinking about the way his sister looked when she learned those videos went out club wide through the Disciples of Sin.

“Fuck this,” Mason seethes, pulling his Bowie knife from the sheath at his hip. He looks up at me with the need for revenge burning in his eyes.

“I know he’s out, I know he won’t feel it, but I will. And he’ll feel it when he wakes up,” he pleads to me. “I want the fingers from his right hand, the first two,” he says, then grits his teeth.

I know why he needs this.

I nod only once and his eyes light up with the anticipation of blood. Sometimes, I think Mason is even more unhinged than I am.

He makes his way over to Gator and kneels onto his arm, spreads his fingers wide and hacks them clean off. Gator’s hand instantly begins to bleed profusely on the tarp covered floor. Mason uses one heavy boot to stomp the severed fingers, the sound is a sickening crunch, then he tosses them into Gator’s lap and makes his way over to me.

“It’s a start,” he deadpans.

I put my arm around him. “Feel better?” I ask with a chuckle.

“I’ll feel better when he’s the dead man who fucked my baby sister instead of the living one.”

I look back at Gator, his mangled hand bleeding all over the place, and instruct Rick to just leave him. He’s a dead man anyway, and that thought gives me peace. I don’t take a life lightly, but there are some things that just can’t be avoided. Even if it were one of my men that went after underage pussy, I would personally hand them this same fate without remorse. The difference is, most of my guys are soldiers and stand-up men. They might get around and a little outta control but none of them are creeps that prey on children. DOS has been known for patching in all sorts of characters lately, and they’re never really able to keep a good handle on their so called ‘disciples.’ That’s probably because the club Pres snorts his weight in coke and is always out of fucking control, just like the rest of them.

Monkey see, monkey do.

One day, we’ll either take them down or patch them over, and the area of Atlanta they peddle their dope in will fall to one of our sister clubs.

Until then, I’m okay to pick them off one at a time, especially if it means no young girl will ever fall victim to pieces of shit like Gator Freeland again.

“Got that out of the way. Think I can get married without a catastrophe before you fuckers carve this turkey?” Ax asks as he breezes between us, gripping both our shoulders.

“Can’t promise anything,” I tell him honestly.

“We’ll at least try to get you through the ceremony, Loverboy,” Flipp calls from behind us.

Fucking boys. Never a dull moment.