Unholy: The Unholys MC by Ellen Harper Page B

gleaming an off white in the dim lighting, almost like they were being illuminated by a black light. He threw the water at the man’s face, emptying the bottle’s contents. It was effective.
     
    The man began to sputter and spit, coughing up water and maybe some swallowed blood, it was hard to say. He was in rough shape. When he’d stopped, Specter stepped up and grabbed him by the face, pinching his cheeks between his thumb and fingers. Jerking the man so that he was looking at Specter, my lieutenant grinned at him. “You’re in a bad way, my friend,” he said darkly. “So you’d better answer right if you wanna walk away tonight.”
     
    There was a hollowness in his words. I had the distinct impression that Specter didn’t expect him to walk away at all, regardless of what he said. I hadn’t decided yet if I could bring myself to do that. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d killed a man, but it would be the first time that it was like this.
     
    Specter stepped back, letting the man’s face drop, and I stepped up to the plate. This was my show after all. The man’s gaze whirled around quickly to me. He paled when he caught sight of my face, recognizing me instantly.
     
    “Oh, shit,” he muttered, and I nodded in agreement.
     
    “I’ve got some questions for you,” I told him, trying to remain calm.
     
    The man immediately let out a whimper, obviously knowing what was coming, and it made me feel a little ill. I liked it better when they manned up; it left less of an impression on my conscience.
     
    “What do you know about the Reverend?” I began easily, taking a moment to step closer, close enough that I could all but smell the fear radiating off of him in waves. It made me nauseous, but I pushed that down. I had to be tough as nails; Specter was watching.
     
    “Please, just let me go. I didn’t have anything against him or his.” The man was begging already and I hadn’t touched him yet, though it was clear that someone most definitely had.
     
    I ignored his plea and pushed through. “Did you meet him? Did you know him?”
     
    He shook his head, sucking in a harsh breath. “Please, I don’t know anything about anyone, I swear.”
     
    I hit him before I thought about it. That made it easier. When my knuckles collided with the man’s already tenderized cheek, I was reminded of initiation. Worm had been big and blubbery, but he put up with a lot. He put up with the punches and the kicks and the brutality that came with joining the club. I’d enjoyed that, in a way. It had liberated me and when it was all said and done, the violence brought us closer as a group. It made us family.
     
    This wasn’t like that, I told myself. This was about causing someone pain in order to get answers. Or maybe not even that, because somewhere inside, I knew the answers that came from his bruised lips wouldn’t be worth shit. How could you trust someone to give you any real answer when they’d say anything just to get you to stop?
     
    “I asked you a question,” I told him, running my left hand over the knuckles of my right. They were pinching and throbbing already, and I knew that was only the start. “Did you know the Reverend?”
     
    “C’mon, man,” the guy told me, whining again. “Everyone knew the Reverend. He was a fucking legend.”
     
    A smart answer. Probably the only smart answer I’d get that night. “I see. And did you know this fucking legend personally?”
     
    The man hesitated and that told me more than his words. I hit him again and felt skin split. I’d caught him hard against the cheek, slicing it open. He cursed, trying to pull away, but there was no point. Because of how he was strung up, there was no getting away from me or my fists.
     
    “Did you know him?”
     
    “No, I didn’t! I’m a fucking Berserker, man! Why would I know him?”
     
    I thought about that answer even as I punched him again, this time hitting him hard in the gut. The air whooshed from his