“Rebel,” Wallen looks over at me in some misguided attempt at pleading for this to stop. “You’ve gotta listen, you’ve gotta understand.”
I don’t know the guy that well, but the men in the MC have a reputation, and Wallen has been locked in a room with two of the worst.
“I don’t know where Storm is, I swear to God. He doesn’t tell me where he is. I swear on my mom’s grave.”
“You hated your mother,” Fury drawls, crossing his ankles and looking as if he’s having the time of his life, all relaxed and shit.
“Step-mother. I loved my real mom,” he frowns. “I’m not lying. I wouldn’t lie to you. I’m not stupid.”
Stryker hits him again, and Wallen shrieks. Fury and I exchange a look, his eyes twinkle with amusement.
Stryker is using thirty percent of what he is capable of, and Wallen is crying like a baby about it. This is the guy I knew before he went to prison, not the one thinking he was a bigshot in that hotel room yesterday.
“You stepped into the wrong pile of shit, Kirk.”
“I just needed somewhere to go,” he looks up at me. “I couldn’t make it on my own when I got out.”
“Another in a long line of poor decisions.”
“I know, and I regret it, I do.”
“You walk out of prison and straight into Storm’s crew.”
I hold my hand at my side, indicating to Stryker to stop. I’m not sure how much Wallen can withstand even with our reaper not working at full strength.
“Do you see how that wouldn’t sit well with us? Especially with what he is doing right now.”
“I don’t know nothing about that.”
“Kirk, do you thinkwe’restupid?”
“No, no, of course I don’t.”
I move to stand behind him. He twists and turns but can’t get enough slack in the ropes to be able to see me. Fury lifts a brow when I take out my knife and use it to cut the rope.
Wallen drops like a sack of shit and cries out at the jarring contact of his knees with the concrete floor. Considering he’s lost all feeling in his arms it’s no surprise when he face plants too.
Stryker looks disappointed, but I tilt my head for him to leave. Stryker doesn’t ask questions, just wraps one giant hand around his other fist, like he’s about to bow to his opponent or some shit, but he flexes his fingers and his hand twitches. Looks like he busted a knuckle.
His face is as blank as ever as he walks out without an argument. How the fuck did Kinsley capture the part of him no one else sees in that portrait?
Fury hauls Wallen up and tosses him into a chair.
“I’m gonna cut to the chase, Kirk,” I step in front of him and fold my arms. “You have one chance here. Answer all my questions, and it might work out for you.”
“You’ll just…” he looks between the two of us, hope sparking in his eyes. The fucking idiot. “Let me go when I do?”
Fury is hiding a smile behind his hand now. How did this guy convince a mafia family to let him work for them? The squirrelly little fuck is more of a chameleon than he’s letting on.
“Sure, sure. I’ll tell you everything then. Anything you want about Storm. Anything.”
“Including what you were doing with Timo Kivisto last night? A man who came into our club and tried to murder Ellie? You’re lucky she’s not dead, Kirk. That would have changed things.”
Wallen’s face grows paler the more I speak. “I had nothing to do with that.”
“Sure, we’ll go with that. You understand what’s at stake when you walk out of here. We can keep it quiet, put you away somewhere safe and have you protected, or you can take your chances with the Kivisto’s. Timo is still here, right?” I keep my eyes on Wallen, and he swallows hard, like he’s going to puke.
“Still in his room at the Drake,” Fury answers my question.
