Tirone (The Night Skulls MC #2)(57)

I put on a robe and opened the door. “The yard?”

“He called for everyone to gather around and told me to bring you there.”

I grinned. Was that how he was going to announce our engagement? As much as I’d love that, I didn’t want Ty to find out that way. We should have talked to him first. “Give me a minute.”

Shutting the door to get dressed, I put the ring in my pocket. Perhaps when Furore didn’t see it on my finger, he’d get a hint. I put on jeans and t-shirt and went down with Doc.

Everybody was there, patched members, prospects, hang arounds and even the sweetbutts. When Furore saw me, he told Ty to center the yard.

I stalked to Furore and clung to his arm. “What are you going to do to him?”

“You’ll see.”

A wave of nausea hit me hard as he drew away from me and went over to Tirone. “This is our home. It’s sacred ground. And these are our brothers. Our family. Our ties are beyond blood. Those who think they can disrespect our ground or our brothers must be taught a lesson they’ll never forget.” He stared at his son with challenge in his eyes. Tirone wasn’t any kinder. They were two roosters in a cockpit. “And when the disrespect comes from one of us, the punishment is doubled.”

The patched members circled around them. I couldn’t see Ty from where I stood so I climbed up to the patio to get a good view. Molar and Fort caught Ty’s arms and took off his cut. Oh no. What did that mean?

“Don’t touch my cut!” Ty yelled, but they did it anyway. It was utter humiliation for anyone to touch a member’s cut. Was that all, though? I had a feeling it was only the beginning.

“You’ll get it back when you know its worth, and for that you should be thankful. If you ain’t blood, you’d have lost your fucking colors,” Molar said, and then he ordered Ty to strip.

“Fuck you,” Ty rumbled.

“Do it,” Furore ordered. “Or it’ll be done for you.”

Ty broke into a frenzy of curses, but he eventually obeyed. He stood stark naked in the yard under the heating sun. I lowered my gaze, grimacing.

“Tirone Lazzarini, do you admit to damaging the MC quarter and assaulting the following members, Molar, Fort, Marshall, Doc and your president?”

Ty huffed. “Yes.”

“And what do you say to that?”

I could hear the clenching of Ty’s jaws from here. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

That was a lot coming from Tirone. If they knew him like I did, they would stop humiliating him like that. I glanced up in anticipation. Furore looked around the faces of the patched members. “Do you accept his apology?”

Please do.

“Nay,” Molar began. Then the rest followed with the same answer. Shit.

“Well, you gotta try harder than that,” Furore told Ty, “because you ain’t getting your cut back until they do.”

“What the fuck? What do you want me to do?” The anger in Tirone’s voice worried me sick. This could turn into another fight so quickly, and there was no remedy from there, only mayhem.

Marshall, who carried a little sac, stepped in front of Ty and poured something grainy. “Kneel and apologize again.”

“What the hell is this?”

“Rice.”

My eyes widened. “No.”

Heads tilted toward me. Furore’s glare tore at me.

Was he punishing Ty or was he testing me and my loyalty? Or both? “This is child abuse,” I said.

“This is club business, and he’s not a fucking child,” Furore disagreed. “He’s an adult and a member of this club, who committed a crime by our laws, and he has to pay the price.” His gaze switched back to Ty. “Kneel.”

Ty didn’t do it fast enough, so Molar and Fort forced him down, his knees on the uncooked rice. A chill of pain jolted through my body as if I was the one being tortured.

“Now, apologize,” Furore instructed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Can’t hear ya!”

“I said I’m fucking sorry!”

“Do you accept his apology?”

I gulped, my heart squeezing. Please accept and get it over with.

“Nay,” Molar blurted out.

“Jesus,” I muttered.

“All right, y’all. Pour the juice,” Furore barked another order.

“Juice? What juice?” I looked around for someone to answer me. Doc was leaning against the patio railing. Our eyes met, but he just sighed.

The answer came in the most nauseating way. Five men undid their zippers and started peeing on Ty, one by one.

“Jesus Christ. I can’t...” I spun, touching my sweating forehead with shaky fingers, Ty’s howls ripping through me. “I can’t see this. You’re sick people.”

“One hour and then move him to the Boiler. Two days, no food, no shower, one glass of water,” Laius said, and I twisted back. What the fuck?

He reached me before I opened my mouth and dragged me inside the house and up to our room. “The next time you question my authority or object to my club decisions in front of my men—”

“You’ll what? Make me kneel on rice or starve me for two days?”

“This is my club! I run this place, and there’s no room for weakness or disrespect. The Night Skulls ain’t no fucking picnic. Every action has consequences, and they end up in sweat, tears and fucking blood.”