Falcon chuckled. “Other than you? Fuck, no.”
“Psycho?” I asked him again.
He nodded, his gaze flickered off to the side, a sure fucking sign he was lying or at the very least, holding back shit. “Yeah, except he spells it S-Y-K-O.”
I stood in front of him, arms folded. “And he just said, ‘hey dudes here’s ten fucking grand and by the way, my name is Syko?’ Is that how it went?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Pretty much.”
My gaze went to Dagger who nodded. “There’s a lot of fucking room between exactly and pretty much. Now, you want to give me what you’re holding back, or you want me to yank it out of you.”
The kid tilted his chin up. “I ain’t scared of no fight.”
I grinned. “Oh, this ain’t a fight kid.”
The room went silent. Like everyone knew how it was gonna end up. Apart from him.
Fear flashed for just a second, but the kid had balls and shoved it down. “You’re an enforcer, right?”
“You might know biker culture,” I assured him with a slow smile. “But you don’t know me and you don’t know biker life.” I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t have to. Men who needed to shout to get their point across didn’t usually last long in our world.
“Ow, fuck!” he shouted when Dagger grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled out his knife. With wide, panicked eyes he spoke through clenched teeth. “What the shit, man?”
I shrugged. “It’s called extracting answers. Who the fuck is Syko?”
He shrugged, matching my posture as much as he could. Asshole thought he was a big man. I knew it wouldn’t take much to scare the kid into talking.
“Suit yourself.” It was my turn to enforce some shit, and I picked up the tattoo gun Dagger handed me. I turned to the kid and said, “I’ll give you a choice, you can have ‘pedo’, ‘pussy’, or ‘snitch’ tattooed across your fucking forehead.” .
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me,” I said as I put my foot on the pedal and the tattoo gun buzzed to life. The idea of being publicly branded might be enough to make him talk. But if not, I had other methods I could use.
In a big, dramatic display his legs shook, and he shrieked like a little fucking girl. “Asshole! Stop. Is that a dirty fucking needle?”
It wasn’t. Dagger had put in a clean set, but I smiled. “Don’t know. Is it?” I flicked the switch again.
“Stop it!” he shouted, voice loud, shrill and filled with panic.
“Tell me about Syko and maybe I will.”
When that got no response, I put down the tattoo gun. I eyed his body carefully as if I was contemplating what to do next, but I already knew. “I don’t hear you talking,” I told him in a low, calm voice. It was the voice Vandal called myserial killer tone. Pain wasn’t the goal. Fear was. But pain was just the tool that got us there faster.
“Look man, I don’t know.”
“That’s not fucking good enough,” I told him, stepping closer and grabbing his face with one hand.
His breathing was shallow and his eyes were wide with the anticipation of pain. “He’s really fucking crazy.”
I frowned. “Does that mean you’re more scared of him than me?” I asked. “Because that would be a really bad fucking mistake.”
He looked away.
“Suit yourself, kid.” Dagger and Rebel held his shoulders as if they could read my mind.
“Come on man,” he said barely above a whisper.
“Talk.”
