The Rampage MC #1: Levi/Chain and Genny

Chapter 6: You Should Really Thank Me

I heard her sobbing even before I stepped down into the room. We were in an underground bunker that we had no ties to, more than seventy miles from our clubhouse. Some survivalist had built this during the Cold War in the 50s, probably never imagining that it would one day be used by an MC as a room for wet work. The property belonged to a man who had been dead for years who still somehow managed to pay his property taxes. We did our dirtiest work here, with the help of the adjacent pig farm, also owned by a dead person. 

I'd been getting updates from the brothers on the progress they'd been making over the last 24 hours with the two of them. We had Jerica tied to a chair that was bolted to the floor across from Acid, who was also tied to a chair that was bolted to the floor.

Acid wasn't long for this world. Once he'd confessed everything, with a bit of persuasion from our club's other enforcer, Angel -- short for Angel of Death -- and he'd given up names and key locations, we began the systematic process of...dismantling him. All in front of Jerica.

"Levi," she cried out, a desperate, sobbing mass of terror. "Please, help me. Please don't let them kill me."

Please please please. People always begged after they'd been caught. But by the time we had them, begging was too late.

"You want my help?" I asked her flatly, thinking about Genevieve and what she'd had to go through, thinking about the shit I'd had to wallow in for the past months to get to this point. 

"Levi, please," she stammered, "if you care about me at all, don't let them kill me."

This bitch was unbelievable. "Well, here's the thing: I don't care about you at all. Never have. Every minute I had to be near you, you turned my stomach. Every time I had to pretend  like I didn't hate you, you made me sick. "

She just cried harder as she realized her last and only hope, longshot though it was, was not going to help her.

Pulling out my gun, I pressed it to her forehead and she froze, barely breathing. "All the years you fucked with Genny. All the years you ran your mouth at her. All the years you got everything you wanted and all she got was the leftovers. All those years you lorded it over her and treated her like shit. You think I don't want to put a bullet in your brain just for that? But then, I found out you were going to hand her over to those drug dealers, let them experiment on her with their new drugs -- drugs you already knew were killing kids. You were going to hand her over to them because she had me and you wanted me and you couldn't get me. That right there should be a death sentence."

She swallowed hard, tears streaming down her face. "I'm sorry for all of that," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"You're not sorry yet, but you will be, that I can promise you," I said as I smiled at her, then slowly tucked my gun in my waistband at my back. "Here's what's going to happen. The club has very kindly arranged for one of our lawyers to represent you pro bono. You know, you should really thank me for that."

I raised an eyebrow at her until she forced the words of gratitude out, then I continued. "Your lawyer is going to help you confess to making, selling and distributing drugs to the local high schools and middle schools, and you will take the blame for the three deaths your drugs caused. You will make this confession to a judge who is a good friend of the club's. No trial needed if you confess and plead guilty, so that's going to save taxpayers a lot of money. Then the judge is going to sentence you to so many years in prison that Genny and I may have great-grandchildren before you even come up for parole. But I wouldn't depend on parole, Jerica, because there's always a chance that your parole hearing reviews get lost due to computer viruses or human error. You'll be lost in the system."