Rivals ? - Chapter 63: Chapter 63

Raine rang the doorbell. Juice sent him a text, telling him "they needed to have a serious talk" and that he needed to come as fast he could. At that time, Raine hadn't been in the middle of something worth mentioning, so he told his brothers that there was a family emergency after which he climbed his bike and took off. During the ride to Charming, his head was spinning. It wasn't like Juice to send a vague text like that. Was it about the club, was that the reason he didn't dare to be more specific? Were they withdrawing their permission to let him leave?
There was no point in asking himself these questions; the only one who could answer them was Juice. He however failed to shake off the uneasy feeling, which didn't exactly go better now he was waiting in front of Juice's door.
Nobody answered.
Nervously, he rang the doorbell again.
Was he too late? Did something terrible happen?
He reached for his phone. Before he could pull it out of his pocket, he saw a movement in the reflection of the glass in the door. He heard a click, and then, something cold pressed against the back of his head.
"Walk back slowly," a dark voice sounded.
Raine's heart seemed to sink to his feet. It was a gun... someone pushed a fucking gun against his head! He wasn't carrying one himself—and lashing out with his elbow was way too dangerous. Carefully, he took a step back. And another, and another... Sweat broke out all over his body.
Who were they? What did they want from him? How did they know he was here?
Suddenly, a bag was pulled over his head. Before he could even panic, something heavy hit his head. Then, everything faded to black.
His head was pounding, his eyelids feeling heavy. Yet, Raine managed to open them. He was in a dim room, sitting in a chair. Tied up, his hands behind his back. The walls were empty and grey and after focusing his glance a bit more, he realized he was in a storage unit. There were three other men. Sons. He recognized all three—the president and the two men he'd wanted to help when they were driven off the road. A confusing combination. The scar on his stomach seemed to burn when his glance crossed that of the bald man. Happy, he thought the guy's name was. Right now, the look in his eyes was anything but happy.
Clay stepped closer, his eyes full of contempt when he looked down at him. "You really thought you'd get away with this?"
Despite his murderous headache, Raine tried to understand what he was talking about. Getting away with what? Starting over with Juice somewhere—was that was he was implying? Did he believe Raine was taking a useful club member from him and was he trying to avoid that right now? If they wanted to kill him, they wouldn't have waited until he woke up, right? Or was this some kind of stupid act of revenge?
Raine waited in silence, without taking his eyes off the obviously angry man. Even though he tried to stay calm, it felt like something cold and deadly was creeping closer behind him, which would strike the moment he dared to move.
He was held in a storage unit. Not in the vicinity of the clubhouse, nowhere close to other people.
A wave of nausea rolled over him.
The Sergeant at Arms stepped closer, completely recovered after the accident. "Don't get any wild ideas. We'll get the answers we need. The degree to which your corpse will be mutilated and how traumatizing that will be for your daughter depends on you."
Answers? What answers?
"What's wrong with asking someone questions without making threats, remote storage units and bound hands?" Raine asked, his eyebrows raised while he did his best not to show the fact that the fear was gnawing its way inside his body.
"Where's the fun in that?" The deep voice of Happy resonated in the room. The prospect of torture made the corners of his lips curl. He was just like Lucille—his own brother who'd forced Juice to answer his questions with a baseball bat, all these months ago.
Instead of a bat, Happy was holding a toolbox. He was probably the type of guy who liked to use rusty spikes, dull saws and screwdrivers to get his victims to talk.
"I have no idea what answers you're looking for." There was no point in telling them this, Raine knew that all too well. But he couldn't just wait until they started their torture session.
"Hmm, already thought so," Clay answered, sounding bored.
Meanwhile, Happy put the toolbox at a table and took a drilling machine from it, which he rattled with a stoic face before he turned his attention back to Raine. "The weapons you stole. Where are they?"
The icy darkness Raine felt crawling towards him, surrounded him, filling his pores, squeezing his throat.
Weapons? What weapons?
The question banged through his skull like a pinball; rattling, with screaming sounds which made it almost impossible to think. The only thing overruling the noise was the drilling machine.
"I don't know anything about stolen weapons," he managed to say, his voice laced with fear. "Even if my brothers did steal weapons from you, they would've kept me in the dark because of Juice!"
"Hm-hm."
His words didn't even reach the three guys.
Tig walked around him, dragging his chair to the side, towards a workbench. The rope around his wrists was moving. Right when Raine wanted to jump, the drilling machine floated in front of his face. With a raging heart, he pressed his back against the seat.
The man yanked his arm to the side, placing his hand flat on the workbench.
Raine cried out when the tool weighted on his skin, the metal drilling its way into his hand. Blood splashed around and suddenly, the world only existed of pain.
. . .
It was only screaming leaving the Mayan's mouth. Something Clay had known from the start. After all, the Mayans had nothing to do with the theft, but man, it had been so easy to use Juice's relationship with that asshole. He'd killed two flies in one blow—he had a scapegoat and that ridiculous relationship would finally be over. For good. Everything would go back to normal, but better. The club needed this. It was time to score big, instead of keeping scraping the money together. These sonic weapons were the ultimate opportunity. The others were too blind to see—letting themselves be dragged along by their emotions. But Clay saw opportunities. Big opportunities.
And so, he'd hired a few men who put on some Mayan kuttes and stormed the new warehouse. This way, he could initiate a gang war which they would win with the sonic weapons they'd declined in the first place. They no longer had a choice. They would get in bed with Caine, trade (and use) his weapons and force all their enemies on their knees while bringing in a shitload of money.
Clay had it all figured out. Back in the clubhouse, he would tell the others that the Mayan kept his mouth shut and that they had no other choice than to focus on the sonic weapons. The others would agree—the fact that the Mayans were the offenders, was after all captured on cameras. It would look like Raine's stubbornness had led to his death—which was also a swing at Juice. He rather died for his club than start a new life with that hopeless romantic. A heartbreak after which Juice would cling to the club again like he always had; simply because it was the only valuable thing in his worthless life.
With a content grin, he looked at the Mayan who sat slumped in the chair. His body was soaked in blood. Happy had his fun; the kid was as good as dead.
"You want me to finish him?" Happy asked, looking over his shoulder. "It's a tough one. He's not going to break."
"Let the crows finish the job. Dump him in the junkyard."
That asshole had caused a lot of unrest—he'd almost succeeded in making one of his men leave. Juice was a good hacker, he'd hate to see him leave. His longing for love, for security, made him loyal. He was useful for future operations.
"What do we tell Juice?" Tig asked, glancing at the bleeding man.
"The truth. That we offered him the chance to get Juice and him out of the country and protect them so they could start a new life together, but that he rather wanted to die. That he chose his club over his fiance."
With his bright blue eyes, Tig looked him in the eye for a moment. Then, he nodded. "And now? We still know shit."
"If he doesn't talk, no one will. We have to contact Cain, tell him we're still interested in his sonic weapons. With this new collaboration, we can compensate the loss the IRA has suffered because of us—it's the only way to save our asses."
"We better pray they still want an agreement with us," Happy muttered. He cut the ropes around the unconscious (or dead?) Mayan and swung him over his shoulders as if he were a bag of potatoes.
"Indeed. We will have to come up with a good offer."
Behind the scenes, Clay had already arranged that deal. They were very pleased with his cunningness and ruthlessness. With a satisfied feeling, he left the storage unit while he watched Happy carry the body across the junkyard, throwing it down along the way.
Clay looked over his shoulder to Tig. "Clean the mess so we can go home."