Chapter 10: Lucky Number Six

—Twelve— (All other character P.O.V. Will be written in third person aside from Kinny)

{The Saturday Kinny Left}

She hadn't showed up on time tonight, and King was waiting for him in the basement with an important delivery. He couldn't wait for her any longer, King made it clear, and so he made his way to the basement. Though he never understood why, his eyes automatically scanned Rusty's for her every time, even if he knew she wasn't there.

He'd only considered the offer because Cage had requested he return to his home chapter to help him with things in Reno for a while. Cage was a good guy, and while they respected one another, it wasn't why he returned.

He'd come back because he was tired. He missed Reno, and he missed the guys he grew up with. More importantly, he was growing tired of the same routine. The same steps each time he was hired to question someone. They were repetetive, boring and he craved a break in his routine. It proved to be lonely, even though he was dealing with people constantly.

Although King was having him do the same things here, as he was doing on the road, atleast here, it felt more like home. He knew them all, and they were family, but he couldn't stay when shit hit the fan the last time. It was too much. As years passed, it felt safer to go home. And now he was there. And he was here for a while, all cause of the guy in the basement.

The man strapped to the basement chair was struggling against the restraints, and when his eyes landed on Twelve, he struggled harder. He knew his reputation preceded him, and most often it worked in his favor. They trembled like small puppies, all the while, he never spoke, never smiled, just motioned through the same twelve steps. And by the sixth, the man in the basement was already talking. Most never made it past eight anyway.

When he returned from the basement. The bar's music was blasting in his ears, and Fishy was struggling hard. Business picked up quick and even in the larger crowd, there was still no sign of her at the bartop. Disappointed, he scanned the rest of the bar and noticed a rowdy group of prospects by the pool table. He nearly did a double take when he saw a tub of chocolate cookies crushed under their.

Most of the cookies were crushed to bits, but some were halved and quartered. Twelve felt his eyebrow twitch with rage, and he made his way over to them in eerie silence.

None of them were laying attention until one caught his glare and shoved at his buddies. The shaky pointed finger resting towards him was all the motivation he needed, he knew they'd already done something. He was going to find out exactly what though, and he didn't care what he had to do.

The prospect shooting, lifted his cue and leaned against it, seemingly unbothered, even smirking. Twelve wasted no time wiping the smirk off his face by grabbing him by the throat. Twelve could feel the fear creep into the guy's pathetic eyes, and he leaned in nose to nose with him. "Where. Is. She?" he spat at the trembling man.

The prospect seemed to freeze, unable to give him and answer. Twelve chucked him onto the pool table, balls and cues flew about and onto the floor. Twelve didn't need to repeat himself, he hardly ever did anyway. "She left! She's gone! I told her to fuck off. She's annoying anyway, Trashcan was telling me so." He threw his hands up in defeat, and Twelve threw him off the pool table. The prospect fell to the floor with a loud thud, and Twelve leaned down to his level.

"You're going to clean up these cookies, and you're gonna pray that nothing happened to her. Prospect. You want in this club, treating a woman like that, isn't the way to do it." After the sad excuse for a prospect nods his head, Twelve stepped over him, and made his way to his room. It was nearing three in the morning, and he'd just spent the last seven hours in the basement. He was tired, and worried, but also insanely angry. He wouldn't admit it, but he was mostly worried about Kinny.