The brown glass body of the beer I've been nursing for way longer than I’d like sweats as it slowly loses its cool. The Italian fucker tied to the plastic chair that's positioned in the middle of the lounge area with a black bed sheet acting as a floor rug sweats as he loses more blood.

A few days ago, I was on my way to Idaho looking for a lead on my latest assignment. Today I'm in the last place that I want to be in.

I am back home, in good ole’ Kanla. I knew I had to return to it all eventually, never thought that day will be anytime soon.

It's an easy seven years since I've been back and while the people are the same the place looks different.

I expected old feelings of guilt to return but there was nothing but anger and determination. A lot of it had to do with the reason I was even in Kanla.

Just thinking about the whole thing almost has me laughing while watching this waste of space bleed.

When I arrived a few hours after a clipped word from our National President, Ribs, to haul ass to Kanla, my first thoughts were the fucking cartel.

I sent my brothers to Kanla a few years ago when the Mexican Cartel tried to take the town and use it for a dumping ground.

I was still stationed in C.I.U in Korea and I couldn't just come back then. Not that I wanted to either but I would've if I could, especially after the call from my cousin Daisy Jane.

But now things are different because for the past year I've been a retired agent of the government and a full-time National Sergeant-at-arms for The Satan Snipers.

I am also the go-to guy the club uses for intense interrogation since I've done it for twelve years while serving my country.

So, there I was hauling ass to Kanla thinking about all the ways I was going to torture the Cartel for fucking with my home town again.

Imagine my surprise when this entire full fuck fest turns out to be because of a homeless chick named Beggar, who is a wanted murderer that single-handedly took out eighteen of our men.

I didn't believe it at first but after I watched the footage a couple of dozen times while I ripped myself to shreds almost every one of those times, it finally sank in.

Now here we are searching for this girl, and the guy naked on the chair I'm currently looking at is our biggest lead we had in the last three-weeks since Beggar left.

“Let's try this one more time.” I shrug out of my cut and stare calmly at him.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

He inspects my actions from a pair of swollen, purplish, red eyes. Well, what's left of it. I think Killer left lasting damage to the Italians left eye socket.

It's starting to get black.

“Where is Beggar?” My question sounds nonchalant but this fucker has been sitting in that chair for the past three or so hours.

The house is empty besides the two of us. My Kanla brothers and the women are volunteering at the local church today. I could've joined them and handled this guy another day but I'm not ready to be known yet without facing the reason I left Kanla in the first place.

The woman I left behind, Lauren Cormack.

The Italian spits out a broken tooth and blood right as my boots meet the black sheet.

“You know,” I tell him, “you got a great pair of balls. You would've made an excellent brother, too bad you on the wrong side of the pavement.”

I tut as he bucks, flicking open my switchblade dangling it in front of his face,

“Now, let's try that again, only this time without the attitude. Where is Beggar?”

“I told you cunt, I don't fuckin’ aaaahhhh, you, aaaahhh,” He screams like a fuckin’ porn chick on heat.

I take pride as I stab him with my switchblade twice in the left thigh and once in the left shoulder.

I don't go deeper than one centimeter. I've been doing all kinds of creative art to this guy's body and I know the fucker isn't going to be singing.

Straightening to my full height I look detached as I ask him something my National Prez wants to know.

“Is Beggar safe?”

His shoulders hunch when his blood-smeared chest rises and falls rapidly as his body begins to shake with tears while his head swings from left to right.

He knows what comes next, he has proved not worthy to me, not worthy to my club. It takes him a minute before he can control himself enough to be coherent.

“No, that girl should've nev…ah..never ga..ga…given herself up,” he coughs up blood as he continues without looking at me,

“As soon as he finds his daughter, Lucca plans to take his wife and child to his small island off New Orleans. Lucca is obsessed with her; he will never let her leave him again.”

I stand still, my arms crossed over my chest, as the man finds his words,

“The last time I saw Beggar, he was putting a shock collar around her neck.”

He sniffs.

“She only gave herself up to protect those girls man. He asked why did she change her mind, she told him rather a familiar…” I slice the blade across his neck, granting him a quick death.

“Rather a familiar monster than an unfamiliar friend,” The deep voice which finishes that sentence is the only sound the ghost makes as he enters the room.

“Got bored playing holy arth thou?” I ask without turning to face him as I stare at the now vacant body. I say a silent prayer and close the Italians eyes before I slide my bloody blade across my leather pants.

“It's Sunday,” he points out, “gotta phone my sisters.” With that, I feel his retreat as his dangerous aura leaves the room with him.

I've known Killer since he joined the special ops program a few years back. I was the one who introduced him and Snake to the biker world.

They were both lost, neither of them fitting in with their blood relatives. They had no specific place to call home, a place where they wouldn't be judged, where they could be free. A place they could call their home.

I never recruited many in The Satan Snipers although I've been in the club since I turned nineteen. I joined two weeks before my first tour. Never looked back since, and neither has Killer. The boys' position in the club is under wraps for now. Very few people know his rank in the club. It was orders from my Prez, and the few who know won't go back on their word.

It's for the best.

Thing is, there's a snitch in our club and has been for a while. If anyone could sniff him out it’ll be Killer.

You never see the ghost coming until it's going through you, ‘cause it always strikes from the back and it doesn't do it ‘cause it's a coward it does it because it follows no fucking rules.