“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Link, but I—”
The mother-fucker was going to make me spell it out for him. “We pulled video, Brass. With my own eyes, I saw you pocketing money from the till before you closed up. On multiple nights you stole from not only me, but also from my dad, your brothers, and all the causes we support.”
Brass didn’t say shit.
“You were homeless when we took you in, remember?”
Not a goddamn peep.
My blood was beginning to boil. “You may have forgotten, but I remember. Your nightmares were so bad you scared your girl shitless. She kicked you out on your ass. You called and asked us to take a chance on you. Any of this shit jogging your memory?”
His gaze was hard. Unrepentant. As if my reminding him where he came from was some sort of affront to his person. If he thought I was letting up, he had another think coming.
“You were a recruit for eight and half months, and then you took the pledge. I mistook you for a man of your word and patched you myself.”
And I should have known better. Goddamn pussy brass-fucking-knuckles. Still not a damn word to say for himself.
“We gave you a place to live, a job, opportunity for personal and financial growth, and this is how you repay us?”
His chin rose an inch. I wanted nothing more than to lower it back down. Preferably into the beer-stained wooden floor.
“Care to explain your reason for being such a greedy, selfish bastard?” I asked.
Finally, his mask of indifference slid off, leaving behind a twisted scowl. “You self-righteous, holier-than-thou, son-of-a-bitch, Link. Thinkin’ you’re better than everyone else just because your dad started a motorcycle club. I don’t have to explain shit to you.”
He was right, he didn’t. And it wouldn’t change anything, anyway.
I lunged, throwing a right uppercut. Brass tried to dodge, but he’d seen it too late. My knuckles dug into his jaw, tossing his head backward. Before he could recover, I threw a left punch to his gut. As he fell forward to block, I grabbed his head with both hands and shoved it into my knee. When he pulled his head back, blood ran freely from his now crooked nose. He took a wild swing at me, grazing my side, but leaving himself wide open in the process. I landed another punch to his face. This one, square in the jaw, took him down. He crashed into the chair before sliding to the floor.
He started to get up, and I waved him forward. “Please. Make my fuckin’ day.”
Instead, he kicked at me. I jumped back, but not before he tapped my knee.
Pain sliced through my leg, pissing me off even more. I fell on him, pounding his stomach for all I was worth. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Just like punching a bag. He tried to block the first couple of blows, but he couldn’t keep up. Finally, he fell limp, and I withdrew, ripping his cut off him before I stood.
“You don’t deserve this,” I said, shaking it in the air. “Flint, get me a knife.”
Flint grabbed a switchblade from his back pocket and handed it over.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Brass asked, watching as I opened the blade.
“You know the rules. Flint, help me get him on his stomach.”
Flint and I rolled Brass over and I lifted up his shirt, revealing the Dead Presidents logo on his back. Starting at the top corner of the logo, I broke his skin with the blade and he screamed like a little girl.
“Shove something in his mouth,” I said.
Flint removed the stained rag from the top of his apron and stuffed it into Brass’s mouth, muffling his screams. I went back to work, marking a giant X through the tattoo. It would scar like a mother-fucker, and anyone who saw it would know he’d been forcefully removed from the club.
Once I was finished, I cleaned the knife off on Brass’s pants before handing it back to Flint. Security had appeared while I was finishing up. I waved them in.
“Get him the fuck out of here,” I said.
They rushed in to drag Brass out, but I thought better of it. Stopping them, I grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and relieved him of the four hundred and twenty-two dollars he had before tossing it on his chest. I handed the cash to Flint.
“Put it in the till. It won’t make up for what he stole, but it’s better than nothing.” Turning to Brass, I said, “You owe us nine hundred and seventy-eight dollars. It started accruing interest yesterday, so I suggest you find a way to pay it back as soon as possible. You call me when you have the money and I’ll arrange for a pick up. Don’t call me, and I swear I will find you, asshole. There’s not a hole deep enough for you to hide from me.”
Brass glared at me as they dragged him out. I silently berated myself for ever letting him in. I had to be smarter and more careful in the future. My instincts were good, and I couldn’t afford to ignore them again.
