19 - Sleepover

~Punch’s Point of View~

“Stop! I don’t know anything else,” the male squeals, as I stand back and admire my handiwork.

I’m a sick fuck, but something more than pride swells in me when I see the hourglass carved on this bastard’s back, over his pack tattoo.

Out of time.

I know exactly how deep you can cut someone and where, to get the most pain but always ensure they won’t bleed out. This bastard ain’t getting off that quick.

It isn’t at all lost on me that there will most definitely be consequences for taking out a patched member of Viuda Negra. Though we’re pretty confident we can put the blame at the feet of Black Fog’s pack, maybe.

“Tsk. Not what I hear Oscar. Word is you were one of the males who did the robbery,” Missile taunts, waving a butcher knife around.

“Maybe we need to send a couple fingers to his little girlfriend? You still fucking that little 16 year old pup,” I say, licking my lips.

Mick stirs in my mind, the smell of blood too thick in the air. The fear in o