Home > Rush (The Brotherhood #2)(3)

Rush (The Brotherhood #2)(3)
Author: Penelope Black

A little girl marches right over to me, her hair a wild mess, and sticks out her hand for me to shake. “Hi. I’m Maeve King, and these are my sisters. My da kept trying for a boy, but instead, God gave him my baby sisters instead.” She hooks a thumb over her shoulder to the four girls standing behind her.

I nod my head to the side. “These are my brothers, Conor and James.”

“Cool. Wanna play spies? My da says I’m gettin’ real good, and someday, I’m going to be the best goddamn spy ever. But my ma doesn’t like it when he says those words, and she threatens that she’ll make him sleep on the couch if he doesn’t clean up his language around us.” She shrugs. “He never does, and she never makes him. She says she likes da to keep her warm at night too much—whatever that means.” She pauses, and I don’t say anything. She gave me too much information at one time, and I’m not sure what I should say. She doesn’t give me long to respond before she says, “So, are we gonna play?”

I glance at my brothers, and they both shrug their shoulders in response. We’re trying to master our nonverbal communication. I’m positive it’ll come in handy one day.

“Sure,” I say with a shrug and a nod.

Over the years, we’d see the King sisters a couple of times a year, and then less as we got older and they started their own thing. King tried to get his girls in the Brotherhood, even though he was never a member himself, but the council kept voting no. Despite the fact that all five of them had indispensable skills. They’ll be my first recruits when I sit in that president’s chair.

Every so often, I get a call from one of them when they need assistance from one of us. We’ve never had to call in a favor.

Until now.



Chapter Three





The hinges creak as the body of the faceless guy sways with the last punch. His head snaps to the side with an air of finality that has me roaring in frustration. I spin and kick the metal folding chair into the wall.


Desperation weighs heavy on my shoulders. I rake my hands through my hair, no doubt painting it with this worthless fuck’s blood. He was some low-level thug our boys caught at the port selling skin. Everyone knows we don’t tolerate that shit—everyone. We’ve had him on ice for the last couple of days until we could squeeze more information from him.

I was content to let our boys have a chat with him since I planned to spend the weekend in the city, but then circumstances changed—I still can’t quite bring myself to say my girl was kidnapped without flying off into a blackout rage. I thought it best I come have that chat with him.

In fact, I made it my mission to have a personal chat with each person we’ve got here—and everyone the boys pick up until I get my girl back.

I don’t bother wiping off the blood spatter, but I grab the hand towel and toss it over my shoulder. I push open the metal door to the hallway and nod at the guy, Jimmy, posted up against the wall.

“Who’s next?”

Jimmy tips his head to the room next to him. “This one’s here compliments of Rossi. Left him outside the gate with a bow and everything.”

My eyebrows hit my hairline. “Do you know who it is?”

“Said he’s someone who crossed him,” Jimmy says with a shrug.

“I don’t take out his garbage,” I grit through my teeth.

“That’s what I told him, boss,” Jimmy assures me with a nod. I don’t have to tell our boys that I’m one wrong word away from snapping.

“He better give us something good.”

He nods at me but doesn’t say anything as I push open the door to the room next to him. I whistle under my breath when I see the mess before me.

“Huh. I guess someone already had a chat with you,” I tell the guy in the middle of the room. I’m not surprised when he doesn’t respond right away. It looks like he went a few rounds in the ring.

His arms are stretched up high, zip-tied and connected to a hook hanging from the ceiling. His head hangs low and blood drips down his face onto the floor. In a dirty, torn shirt and jeans, I don’t see any visible tattoos or identifiers to give me any hints as to who the fuck he is.

Some unlucky prick, I guess.

I take a step toward him, and he lifts his head. A crazed smile takes up half of his face as he flashes me his bloodied mouth. He looks like some sort of horror movie extra.

“Ah, so you can hear me. Perfect. That makes this more fun, doesn’t it?” I take another step forward and let him see the beast in my gaze. I’m tethered to my humanity by a thread right now, and all it takes is one misstep, and everyone will be fucked. Everyone.

The last time I gave in and let my inner beast run unchecked, the aftermath looked like the set of a b-grade horror movie. As far as I’m concerned, they deserved it. Everyone knows what happens when the Brotherhood catches you breaking a rule.

I cock my head as the idea of letting my beast out to play takes shape in my mind. It does have merit.

I clap my hands and get back on task. I level him with my blank stare that I’ve perfected years ago. It never fails to make men spill their secrets—men far greater than him.

“Where’s my girl?”

I know he either doesn’t get the memo just yet or he’s playing hard to get when his smile kicks up a notch.

“You don’t want to know who I am?” he taunts with a cocky little smirk.

“Nah. I don’t give a fuck who you are.” In two swift steps, I deliver a right hook across his nose. The satisfying crunch fills the air as blood arcs across the room. “Did you know you could break your nose in several places? And each one hurts more than the previous break?” I pause and flash him a cruel smile. “But I’m sure you knew that already. I’ll ask again: Where’s my girl?”

The nameless guy in front of me pants, spraying blood pouring from his nose with every exhale. “Fuck. You.”

I tip my head back and laugh. It’s a harsh sound, and I glance at him to see that he’s finally cluing in to his situation.

“I see you don’t know who I am.” I shrug with faux nonchalance. “Some people call me the VP of the Brotherhood’s junior council. Some people call me the wolf. You’ll know by the time I’m done exactly who I am.”

Real fear shines in his eyes, and a sliver of satisfaction slithers around inside me. Sometimes it’s good that my reputation precedes me. Honestly, a lot of the rumors flying around about me are total bullshit, but in situations like this, it’s goddamn helpful. It means less work for me.

I glance at my hands streaked with blood—not all of it mine—knuckles busted and swollen. If Red’s life wasn’t on the line, I might take a breather and come back from another angle. But something primal inside me urges me to use nothing but my fists to mete out judgment on these poor excuses for men.

Today I am the judge, jury, and in some cases, executioner.

I go another few rounds of questions, none of which he answers, before he passes out.

“Goddamnit!” I shake out my hand and exhale a weighted breath. If he didn’t come to me already so fucked up, I could’ve actually squeezed some information out of him.

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