Ezra
My fist cracks again across Tristan’s jaw, and he sputters, sagging in Torch’s arms.
“EJ, that’s enough,” Torch says. You’re going to kill him.”
I crack my bloody knuckles. “That’s the f*****g point.”
“We need him alive if we’re going to get Wren back safely.”
Right. Tristan’s going to be our f*****g bait. If the Smitties MC need Tristan, they’ll just have to give me Wren.
My jaw ticks as I stare at Tristan’s bloody face, head bowed slightly as he’s held up by Torch.
When I jerk my chin at Torch, he lets go. Tristan drops to the floor like a groaning sac of potatoes. His eyes are nearly swollen shut.
“Take a picture,” I instruct.
Torch clicks it and we head out of the basement. It’s almost seven a.m. and still no word from AJ.
Ray’s been texting since five, but I had to hol
