A fresh start.
Something anyone running from a troubled past- or in Violet Miller's case, from an abusive ex-boyfriend- yearns for.
Packing and saving as little cash as she could without arising suspicion from the man who loomed above her like a mal...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Mac
"Who ordered the fucking hit!?" I spat onto the bloodied face of the man cowering under me.
"I-I don't— " I cut him off with another hard punch to his jaw. I'd been interrogating the fucker for almost an hour now and my already thin patience was heavily waning. I had to hand it to the guy. It usually took a single look at my face to get them talking. On rare occasions I had to tell them my name to get them to shite themselves in fear.
Mac the Tormentor. That's what they called me. And with reason. Anytime my club needed information out of someone, I was who they turned to. There is no better way to get something out of someone other than scaring the love of Jesus himself out of them, and that is what I was best at. If plain old intimidation and my reputation failed to do the trick, my relentless fists did well enough to finish the job.
"Mac." I stopped mid-punch, snapping my rage filled eyes to whoever decided to interrupt me. Nate stood at the doorway, holding a phone out to me. "It's Bo." I dropped the mans limp body onto the cold cement floor then crossed the room in large strides. Bo was dealing with some business in New York this week so this is probably him calling to update me on the situation.
I grabbed the phone from him as I passed him. We exchanged a look before he closed the door behind me. He'll finish the job I started.
The voice of my president sounded through the phone speakers, "Mac?" I pressed it to my ear, letting out a single grunt to let him know I could hear him. "Oscar called." He paused. Something in his voice sounded strained, like he was holding himself back from saying too much. I didn't press it and just waited for him to continue. "He wants to meet."
"When and where?" I pressed the speaker button before placing the phone on the counter beside the sink so I could rinse off the mixtures of both my blood and the man's off my hands.
There was another pause. "He wants to meet me two weeks from today. Alone."
I slammed my fists into the ceramic sink, a loud bang resonating throughout small hallway of the underground bunker. I loved this man but he was a certifiable gobshite if he was even considering doing this. Oscar has been our inside man from a rival club in Portland for months now, feeding us intel on their every move. After word of a possible attack from them, Bo had done everything in his power to evade this. Which included buying off one of their newest prospects so we could have eyes and ears on the enemy's affairs.
Most of his intel was handed off via encrypted emails and short calls made with multiple burner phones. Him wanting to meet in person wasn't out of this world, but wanting to meet Bo, the president of the Saints of Vidar, alone, was just absurd. He had to be delirious to even bother to ask that.
"I'm going." Okay. Not as delirious as Bo apparently was right now. "He said it's big, Mac. Information that has the potential to tip the scales back to us. I can't keep putting the club in danger by simply diddling around with my hand on my cock. I'm doing this."
