Beast: Learning to Breathe (Devil's Blaze MC #5)

“Funny thing, preacher,” I say calmly, looking at the man who is strung up like a side of beef in a packing plant. It’s only me and Devil here now. Victor and his men gave up hours ago. It was probably a good call, because I’m starting to think this sack of shit doesn’t have any idea where Blade is, and that’s the only thing Victor is interested in right now—revenge for Charlie. Me? I have a morbid fascination with finding out exactly who this asshole is and what the fuck he fed the Dwellers about Hayden. “Do you know that there’s no record of a Pastor Aldin Sturgill? Well, that is up until about six months ago, when he just miraculously appeared out of nowhere.”

“Like the second coming? It’s probably a damn miracle,” Devil jokes. He’s on the couch with his legs thrown back as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. I really could like the fucker. He reminds me of Torch, but not as crazy. Devil is more sarcastic than certifiable, and strangely, I’ve only felt the urge to slap him two or three times.

“Go fuck yourselves,” the man spits out, having trouble talking. It might be because his mouth and jaw are swollen and bruised. Really, there are bruises coming out all over his body. I haven’t really done much to him, sadly. Victor and his men had worked him over pretty good before I ever got here.

“Now, now. Is that anyway for a preacher to talk?” Devil asks. “You don’t want a dark spot on your soul, especially when you’re so close to meeting your maker.”

“End me now! Just fucking do it!” the man growls.

I look over at Devil. I already told him how I wanted this to end. He grabs the two large containers of gas and prepares for work.

“I’m not killing you,” I tell the man, calmly. His one eye that’s not swelled over looks at me with surprise.

“You’re not?”

“No that’d be too good for you. You have a choice—a simple one,” I stress.

“What’s that?” he asks, doubtfully.

“You tell me your connection to Blade and what his plans are, or…”

“I’m not telling you shit,” he growls.

“I have to admit, I was hoping that would be your answer. Tell me, Sturgill,” I begin, unable to bring myself to call him preacher. We both know that’s a lie at this point. “Have you ever burned your hand or felt the flames wrap around the skin so hot you thought your bones would melt?” He doesn’t reply, but then I didn’t expect him to. “Because I have. I even watched while the skin peeled away from my body. It’s like Hell on Earth. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone—”

“What’s he doing?” Sturgill calls out, panic thick in his voice now.

The smell of gasoline hits me, and I know that Devil is dousing the tables and things I had him gather up earlier in the center of the room.

“I said I wouldn’t wish it on anyone—except someone who has messed with what I think of as mine.”

“I don’t even fucking know you,” the guy yells, jerking his bloody hands and legs trying to get free.

“Then let me tell you who I am. I’m Hayden’s man, and I’m also the last face you’ll see.” I take the third container of gas that is sitting beside me on the floor and begin dousing the man with it.

“Don’t do this. You don’t want to do this.”

“Sturgill, if that’s even your name, you’re dying. The only choice you have is if it goes easy, or…not so easy.”

“But I don’t know where Blade is. I haven’t seen him since that day in the hospital,” he argues, panic being replaced with utter terror now.

“How do you know, Blade?” I ask making a trail of gas along the wooden floor, leading it back to the pile of refuse that Devil fixed.

“What? Why does that matter. Listen man, you don’t have to do this. I have money. I can pay you!”

“How do you know, Blade?” I ask him again, throwing the empty gas can on top of the pile.

“Man, come on. You don’t really want to do this.”

“You ever play dominos?” I ask, finally deciding to stop playing. He’s not going to tell me anything helpful, and I’ll eventually hunt Blade down on my own. Maybe he’ll give me my answers.

“Dominos?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I tell him, picking up the huge cage, lifting it half-way off the floor and stopping to stare straight at him. “A fire can be like that. You give it a place to start, leaving a trail of gas for it to travel, and it will follow, perfectly.”

“Fuck. Fuck, man. You have to listen—”

“I’m going to start it at the old shed out front where Hayden was beaten. Then, the trail the fire takes will slowly make its way back to you. You’ll be able to see it coming for you. There’s a certain amount of justice in that,” I tell him, clearing my throat. The more I use my voice lately, the better it’s getting. Even so, with Hayden in my life, seems it doesn’t bother me nearly the way it used to.

“Don’t do this man. Just put a bullet in me if you want me dead. You don’t have to do this.”

“I could, but where you’re going? You might as well get used to the fire. Don’t worry. You won’t be lonely. I’ll send Blade to you before long,” I tell him, following Devil back outside, and ignoring the pleadings of the so-called preacher.





92





Beast





I’ve got the cage over my head, and I have to walk at an angle to get through the door and outside. I put it down on the ground and stare at the old shed in front of me.

“Now what?” Devil asks.

I don’t answer him. Instead, I walk into the shed. The smell of dirt and musty odors hit me. It’s so small in here, I’m almost as broad as the building itself. It’s no wonder that Hayden panics at being closed in. There’s a light fixture half-ass hanging down off the ceiling. I reach up and yank the pull string and dull light floods the area. There’s different tools hanging on the shiplap covered walls—hoes, rakes, pick axes, shovels and even an old axe. The building looks as if it’s one stiff wind from falling over. I grab the axe and decide to help it along. I go retrace my steps going to the outside of the building and finding the wall I want—the one that has the small closet on the other side. The closet Hayden tried to hide in. Then I take the axe and begin swinging it into the old wood. With each hit, the rightness of what I’m doing seems to settle into my stomach.

“What are you doing?” Devil asks.

I continue ignoring him, and instead carry on connecting the axe against the wood, determined to bring the small building down.

“Rainbows and sunshine,” Devil grumbles, before disappearing. “This might do the job better, Sunshine,” he says. I stop mid-swing to look at him. He’s carrying a sledgehammer—one in each hand.

I grunt, dropping the axe as he tosses one of them to me. The minute my hand wraps around the handle, it feels better. One large hit against the wall causes it to collapse. Devil joins in and half the damn building has collapsed in no time. I’m about to start on another section when the sound of motorcycles fill the air.