With a deep breath, Punc let that sink in. It made his anger flare anew and he nodded. “I can definitely do that for our V.P.”
Razor grinned. “You sound honored.”
“Damn straight. Was thinking none of my brothers got me with this shit, but it seems Blood does.”
Razor threw a hand out toward the doors. “Get inside. You two aren’t late, but youarethe last brothers to show.”
Only brothers wearing Riot MC cuts were inside. The bar reeked of cigarette smoke and alcohol. Tables had been pushed to the sides of the room. Prime was shirtless and tied to a chair that rested on a large blue tarp in the middle of the floor. He had a black eye and busted lip.
“Got started early,” Tundra muttered.
Razor gave him a side-eye glance. “Vamp and I had to convince him to come quietly.”
With raised eyebrows, Yak looked at Punc. “You wanted first punch, man. You’re up.”
Lark, a middle-aged brother from the Memphis chapter, stood directly behind Prime, his eyes on the bindings. Beyond Lark, he saw the hulking frame of Zeus, the Memphis chapter president, and his entire chapter standing behind him, shoulder to shoulder. The menace oozing from them felt like a presence in the room.
Punc caught Lark’s gaze. “You should step back.”
Lark’s lips tipped up. “Fuck that. I’m holding this asshole in place. Give it your all, I don’t give a fuck if you break his neck with your punch.”
Punc fought a grin at that idea, then looked at Yak and Turk. “Blood wants me to take his pound of flesh. I’m doing that now, too.”
“Fuck you,” Prime spat.
Punc reached to his back pocket and pulled out a single pair of brass knuckles. He didn’t carry two because he wore three chunky, heavy, sterling silver rings on his right hand. One was of a skull with small rubies in the eyes, another featured an eagle surrounded by onyx, and the third was set with turquoise. Those three rings did as much damage as his brass ever did.
From his peripheral vision, he saw Prime was focused on the brass knuckles. He liked that because it gave Punc the element of surprise when he landed his right hook in Prime’s temple.
“You wanted to frame me?” Punc demanded.
“You’re the perfect pussy for it,” Prime hissed.
“Ava had to be put in a fuckin’ coma because of your shit,” he said. His mind filled with visions of her healing wounds, and he aimed a left jab at Prime’s nose.
Bright red blood spewed down Prime’s face. It gave Punc a modicum of satisfaction, but not nearly enough. His rage gripped him and he let it take over.
He planted a right hook to Prime’s lips. “My woman’s teenage sister thought she was going to die, motherfucker.”
There was a hum of murmurs through the room, but Punc tuned them out. A Biloxi brother, who sounded like Tiny, muttered, “Less talking, more beating.”
Prime spat toward Punc’s feet. He heard something other than spit hit the floor, and he caught sight of a tooth.
“Your time’s almost up, Punc,” Yak said from nearby.
Punc reached to his hip and pulled out his bowie knife.
“Hey, it’s too soon for that shit,” Lark muttered.
With effort, Punc kept himself from narrowing his eyes at Lark. “He’s damn sure gonna suffer. Don’t worry.”
Prime’s eyes widened with horror as Punc held the blade.
“Now you’re fuckin’ scared, you piece of shit,” Punc said.
Prime reared back in the chair, but there was nowhere to go.
In two quick motions, he drew a slice down Prime’s cheek, and then a slice under his jaw, but he was careful of his carotid artery.
