Something in me snapped. “This motherfucker was part of the bullshit that hurt Will.” I picked up the knife Undertaker had set aside. The wicked point gleamed in the overhead light and the blade was already bloodstained. I grabbed Bates’s tongue, which wasn’t difficult because he was still screaming. I yanked it upward, and he gagged as I sliced the tip. Not much.
We did still need answers.
But Bates gasped and his eyes went wide. I passed Undertaker the knife and took the salt, pouring it into Bates’s mouth. Then, I slammed my hand over his lips and used my other one to hold his jaw closed. He fought me as much as he could.
Up close the sweat and stink of the situation was a lot bolder. My stomach roiled. Bates had pretty eyes. I might tattoo them on someone. They glistened with tears.
Undertaker leaned his head against my shoulder and stared down, enraptured. “He can’t talk that way. You were never one for this type of thing.” He sent me a winning smile.
“Never had the fuckin’ motivation.”
“Let him go,” King said quietly, and he didn’t seem too pleased when I glanced up at him. I did as he said.
King took a flask out of his back pocket and upended it onto Bates’s face. He spat and opened his mouth to get the liquid in to wash away the salt, then sobbed as the new pain from the alcohol smacked him. For a long while we all just watched Bates cry.
“I probably punctured his liver,” Undertaker said idly, leaning harder against me. I crawled a bit away, and he laughed.
Bates sniffled and coughed. “Johnston wants his son back and he wants to punish the Kings.” He gagged, and we had to wait while he turned his head to spit blood. “He’s going to try to take out all the important Kings and Harlots on the same day. That’s all I know. But we’ve been getting him location information. The Harlots are difficult to pinpoint.”
“Not us,” King grumbled. “He isn’t going to use cops as executioners, so who is pulling the trigger?”
Bates sobbed and turned his head away.
“When is he doing this?” King shouted, his face running red. “Answer me.”
“I don’t know,” Bates said around the snot, making it difficult for him to talk. Some bubbled out of his nose.
Undertaker sat back and rolled his eyes. “He’s just going to double-cross Rick. The Demons can’t be that stupid?” He looked at King as if begging him to tell him differently.
“Bates is an informant if he’s visiting Johnston at the police station in broad daylight. There might even be a new Fed in there. I bet he worked out immunity for himself, and Johnston’s going to try to get rid of all the clubs, all at once.” We flinched, even Bates, at Dallas’s soft voice from the doorway near thestairs. “Shouldn’t you have a prospect watching the door?” He smiled at King, but his expression didn’t seem quite right, as if he didn’t approve of our tactics. He crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the doorway. He looked good, but he couldn’t get anywhere near us in his clean jeans and white T-shirt or they’d be ruined.
“Anything else to say?” Undertaker whispered to Bates.
The man spit blood and whimpered. “Johnston wants his son back, dead or alive. Doesn’t seem to care which.”
“More like he wants to kill Destiny himself,” King muttered. “Make sure his sick kicks stay secret.” He narrowed his eyes, and none of us said anything. Even Undertaker frowned at that. “When is the shit hitting the fan?”
The man shook his head again.
“He would’ve told you if he knew,” Dallas said, in that quiet, disapproving tone he got whenever King was drinking too much.
“Why are you here? Why don’t you go rest up for round two?” King glared at Dallas, who only shook his head.
“So.” King sat back on his heels. He took out his cigarettes, ignored Dallas’s scowl, and shook one loose. He lit it up. The acrid scent of smoke mixed terribly with everything else going on in the room and I gagged.
Undertaker snickered in my direction.
“Fucking Rick Reynolds decided to team up with the cops? That’s not right. What’s going on there? Ballsy. Disgusting. Stupid.” King shook his head and inhaled a deep drag. “How does he think this is going to end? He’s gotta know Johnston will want him in jail or dead, too. What’s his game?” He glanced around at us, but we all shrugged.
“Revenge,” Dallas whispered, and King snorted.
Undertaker sat back on his ass, and I winced at the oddly sexual position he held on the dying man. “If I was Rick, I would probably use Johnston’s dirt against him, when the time is right.I highly doubt whatever happened with Destiny—” He flicked his fingers toward King. “—is the only fucked-up thing he’s done. It might not even be the worst. Reynolds always thinks he’s smarter than he is.” Undertaker’s smile slid into a smirk. “And sometimes it gets his people dead.”
“And ours,” I growled.
Undertaker’s smile fell and his shoulders drooped. I went over and snatched the knife from him. I sank the point deep into the left side of Bates’s chest, then the right, the same as popping tires. When I heard Bates sucking air and was sure I’d gotten what I wanted, I slapped the knife back into Undertaker’s hand.
Bates gasped and there was an awful gurgling sound. His eyes rolled back in his head.