by LS Silverii
Sue, the former USMC Force Recon, wasn’t easily intimidated. “Lil’ Bro, it’s going to lead back to more than dead ass Red in Vegas. He had a big crew loyal to him. Matter of fact, I’d be surprised if Dragon Mike survived till the end of this week.”
Rage swung a heavy black motorcycle boot over his saddle, and stretched his back. “Yeah, I’ve been swiping their communications and looks like your young buck chapter president is making waves. He’s busting skulls and the old guard has had enough of his shit. The boy’s loyal to you, but that might be what gets him killed.” He kicked the square-toe boot against a red-clay rock formation before leaning against a mound.
“I’m going to send Vengeance back out there, but not alone.”
“Justice, send Mercy, too. He’s calm and knows how to sift through bullshit. And send somebody as a toss away. If shit gets too hot, that prick can be left there to try and back up Mike. At least the Dragon won’t die alone,” Sue said.
“Opie,” Justice added as he pulled the shades back over his eyes—the sun bounced into Rage’s face and he sneered.
Sue shrugged his shoulders, “Who the fuck is that?”
“That muscle head from Florida. St. John.”
“How about the weapons?” Sue asked. “Too big a crate just to disappear.”
“I’ve created a digital cloud over Vegas and Nellis Air Force Base. If anyone is texting, tweeting or mentions those guns over social media, I’ll intercept it,” Rage said.
“How’s that shit work?” Sue’s expression showed his astonishment, “Fucking amazing.”
“It’s how we dropped death on the Taliban,” Justice said.
Rage smiled, “Yeah, we didn’t have this shit in the nineties when I hit the sandbox for Desert Storm. It sure would’ve helped.”
The quiet was severed with the big engine explosion between Justice’s thighs. The Dyna Super Glide’s powerful fifteen hundred cc twin cam engine sent wildlife scurrying again and signaled it was time to put their plan into motion.
Sue grabbed Justice by the shoulder, pulling his cut back to reveal the Colt model 1911, 45 caliber pistols suspended beneath each arm. “Shit dude, you ready for war?”
“Always,” Justice shouted over his engine’s rumble.
“SFFS,” Sue said.
Rage slapped his hand onto Justice’s other shoulder. “Fuck yeah—Savages Forever, Forever Savages.”
“Blood brothers first. Always first,” Justice reminded them as he motored away.
Chapter 12
“Fresh ink,” St. John asked.
Abigail nodded. She sat in a corner of the club’s commons area. It looked like the dance hall before the Savage Souls acquired the mountain resort. Wooden floors where the Cotton Eyed Joe was probably the hottest song in the mix back before mega-death tainted the system. Three pool tables and an open draught beer bar kept the brothers occupied throughout the mornings and nights.
“Hey, you okay? Was the ink your idea?” He stepped closer—her knees drew deeper against her chest.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” St. John said. She finally unlocked the void, and blinked.
“H-How may I serve you?” she stuttered the rehearsed opening line. Crossing and uncrossing her arms, she looked cold, dressed in nothing but short shorts and a bikini top. Her bare feet were filthy and lips bruised from giving endless blowjobs on demand and disciplinary slaps to the face.
He pined to help alleviate her pain. He’d had his own reasons for going through the prospect phases that led to full-patch membership, but he wondered what drove this innocent young woman to give up on life and surrender to these animals.
“I just want to sit and talk. Is that all right?” he asked while brushing the condoms and beer bottles off the sofa.
“I guess so, but don’t get me in trouble with the blood brothers. That one over there hates me,” she started to cry as words formed on the blisters and skin breaks around her mouth.
“Vengeance is an animal. He hates everyone except his kids.” St. John tried a laugh to lighten the mood. Uncertain about what to say next, he wanted to just listen to her story without judgment.
“Why are you doing this? You got a death wish? You know I’m property—no being nice to the property.” The recited words were more from forced feeding than personal choice. “Thanks to you holding the door open this morning, I got another mouth full of Justice’s giant dick.” She grabbed her throat and imitated gagging.
“I just wanted to talk to you. We get girls in here all the time, but nothing like you. I’d bet you’ve never used a drug in your life—except legal ones. Something tragic happened. It broke you.” St. John stopped talking as she lowered her face into both hands and began to sob. “Didn’t mean to upset you—something about you. Something special and strong,” he whispered.
“I’m nothing but property. I died weeks ago, and this is my purgatory. Please, either shove your dick in my mouth or go away. He’ll discipline me if I just talk to anyone.”
“I’m not going to make you give me a blowjob. I wish you would get out of here. Escape.”
“No blowjob? You must be the one Fury is fucking,” she accused, her eyes downcast.
“What? Fury, the blood brother? No. I’m just not going to treat you like an animal, because I can sense something is hurting inside of you. This isn’t really the life you want. Am I right?”
Her dull eyes began to moisten blue again. Dirt-stained toes curled beneath broken fingernails as she coiled up to avoid further conversation. It was obvious he’d struck a nerve. She was uncomfortable—almost fearful that he’d exposed her truths.
“I’ll never tell,” St. John whispered.
“What the fuck you love birds chirping about?” Vengeance’s knuckled backhand swiped across Abigail’s face. She didn’t even scream out anymore.
St. John jolted up off the couch. He jammed both fist into the club’s sergeant-at-arms’ chest. Vengeance stumbled back over a chair, caught off guard. He cursed, pressing to get up off the overturned recliner. St. John raised a deliberate eyebrow and tilted his head, while he thrust his chest out in defiance of the blood brother. He saw Abigail whimpering in a small huddle on the couch. His temper was rising toward explosion.
“You just got yourself put in the Box, motherfucker.” Vengeance scowled.
St. John shifted his right foot to the rear in a basic fighting stance. His fists relaxed but ready. Hearing faded as his body prepared for combat. The biker was used to the effects of stress on the body before engaging in a fight. An experienced MMA champion, St. John wouldn’t back down to a threat, blood brother or not. His tenacity was what got him through the pledge phases while he served as a prospect in south Florida.
“Not a problem, but you ain’t going to sucker punch without getting it back,” he spoke slowly to emphasize the point. Others gathered. St. John felt the tension building to a dangerous tipping point—unfortunately, it was against him.
Mercy shoved his way through the brothers and stood between the two. St. John wasn’t afraid to fight Vengeance, but he knew the ass whipping he’d take from the other thirty who’d take up for him.
“Vengeance, drop a tab and chill. Justice messaged that they’d be back soon. Said he had a job for us,” Mercy said.
“Whatever. I’m out of pills—got anything?”
“Man, you know I went sober two years ago. Got four kids to support.” Mercy clicked his tongue against his teeth. St. John shook his head at the news of him having four children.
“Opie, take a walk,” Mercy ordered.
“I’ve had enough of that stupid name.”
Mercy sneered, “Whatever, Opie.”
St. John stretched out his hand toward Abigail. She buried her face between her knees and ignored him. “Okay, but she comes with me,” his voice dropped an octave.
“No, she stays put like property is supposed to. Line up boys—time to fill this pig with cum.” Vengeance glared across the dimly lit space as if to t
aunt St. John.
St. John felt the shoves and pushes from the others. He looked back in disgust as the brothers did as ordered. He noticed Abigail between the bikers as she readied her open mouth for more sex. Her eyes had faded back to dead hollow.
* * *
“Opie, what the hell’s the matter with you now, son?” Justice asked. His HOG still hot from the run out of the mountains, he tossed St. John the keys and motioned for him to service it. Justice went inside.
He held out his hands for two other sets of bike keys as Sue and Rage brushed by. St. John nodded.
“Hurry it up, rookie. You’ll be heading out soon,” Sue said.
“Where am I going?”
“What’s the fucking difference? You do what you’re told. Got a problem with that?” Rage leaned into his chest. His eyes were red and crusty from the bike run, and he smelled like marijuana.
“I want to know what to pack.” St. John shuffled one step back to show deference to the eldest of the blood brothers. He knew he’d catch hell because of Vengeance—he didn’t need two of those bastards to contend with.
“You can never go wrong with your colors. Other than that—nothing else matters. SFFS,” Sue said.
“SFFS indeed,” St. John repeated as required. They gripped forearms and shook as warriors did.
Justice smashed the frail wooden door into shards of splinters and slats, “What’s this shit about you attacking Vengeance?”
St. John’s pulse spiked. “That’s bullshit. Motherfucker started his shit, and I ain’t gonna put up with it.”
“You know the punishment for attacking a blood brother?”
“I could care less. I can see now why the old guard has had enough of this blood brother bullshit,” St. John said. He’d drawn a crowd on the porch, but there was no turning back now. His temper had struck boil. “You want loyalty, but you screw everyone else to protect your kin. Then why the fuck don’t y’all ride nomad and leave the brothers to be brothers—not your family’s lackeys.”
Justice and St. John were evenly matched in size, except the president had highly specialized CIA training that taught him to kill quick. St. John knew that and besides just being a bad ass, he figured Justice had the home field advantage. St. John didn’t budge though. His eyes watched Justice’s fists, and knew his best chance of defending himself from the skilled fighter would be in close, where Justice couldn’t deliver punches or kicks. He felt his chest vibrate as a growl rumbled deep inside.
“You know what, St. John? You’re probably right.” Justice stood straight up and away from St. John. His giant paw slapped him on the shoulder. “Get your gear, you’re going with Mercy and Vengeance.”
He threw his hands up in surrender. “No way am I going anywhere with that asshole.”
“Don’t push it, boy. You’ll do as I say, or you’re out on your ass.”
St. John debated whether the hell he’d been through and the constant crap he had to take was worth the outlaw lifestyle. But he also realized being jumped out meant more than a beat down from the boys—they’d collect the two Savage Souls tattoos from his skin.
“Yeah right, but once we’re out on that road and he fucks with me, I’ll destroy him.”
“You’ll do as your told, so get your shit ready to head out to the Vegas chapter. Mercy will brief you on the way,” Justice ordered.
“That’s almost an eight hundred mile run. What’s going down?”
“Listen, I’m sending you because oddly enough I trust you. And if you get yourself killed in action, it’s no big loss.” Justice laughed uneasily. “There’s a young warrior named Dragon Mike who reminds me a lot of you—fearless. I made him the chapter boss. He’s catching grief from the old guard. I want you to watch his six. Understand?” Justice never blinked. St. John read the big man’s body language more than his words. There was more going on here—much more.
“You trust me, huh?”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t send you with my blood if I didn’t.”
“Do something for me?”
“I guess I owe you for this mission. What ya got?”
“Have the boys lay off Abigail.”
“She’s property, no can do.” Justice took his hand off of St. John’s shoulder.
“Then pray your blood brothers make it out on their own. Because once the shit starts, and you know it will, I ain’t lifting a fucking finger to help anybody but Dragon Mike.”
“You got moxie, Opie. No one ever challenges me and lives to tell about it.”
“I’m not challenging you. I’m being honest with you. I’ve earned my rockers, and will lay my life down for you or any of these brothers,” St. John raved, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder toward his patches. “You’re the first real family I’ve ever had, but I’m not going to be disrespected.”
“Opie, consider it done.” Justice’s tone shifted to sincerity.
“Then stop calling me Opie.”
Chapter 13
“The bitch is back,” Toad broke squelch over the walkie-talkie to warn the club’s membership that the police chief has passed the compound’s entrance.
“She solo?” asked Fury.
“Yep, but she looks pissed. I offered her a friendly wave and she shot me the middle finger instead.” He laughed.
Fury’s signal told the others to lock down their operations. Besides a lucrative arms trade, the Savages controlled the illegal drug networks across the nation. Colorado’s marijuana legalization created a wrinkle for that market, so they focused on legitimizing businesses in the mainstream markets to capitalize on the abundance of monies floating in and out of weed shops. Of course, every customer was offered the harder drugs such as cocaine, meth and heroin—weed was the gateway drug after all.
“Want me to stash her?” Tito asked with a hand wrapped around Abigail’s throat.
“Can we trust you?” Justice looked into her muted eyes.
She nodded.
“Good girl.”
Abigail babbled something inaudible as Justice marched out of the front door to confront Chief Jennifer Perez. The sun was bright as always, but it was the lack of humidity that caused his lips to chap. Leaned against one of the twenty posts supporting the wide front porch, Justice feigned a smile as the chief’s Chevy Tahoe crawled over the gravel driveway.
“Howdy, Sheriff,” he said, sneering.
“I’m not the Sheriff, and you know it.” Perez, easy to agitate, snapped back.
“Not yet anyways, right. For now you’re just the chief in po-dunk Mystic, Colorado, population 4553.”
She squared the baseball cap and tugged it across her brow. “I’m happy where I am, outlaw. I think it’s you that feels ousted. What happened, Chicago kick your country-hick ass out of the big city?”
“No, baby, I chose Mystic. We love it here, don’t ever plan to leave.”
“Well, I’m not your baby, and leaving Mystic might be more up to me than you realize.” Fingers tapped the butt of her holstered weapon.
Justice brushed both fists back from his copper belt buckle to his hips. The move exposed his pair of pistols that hung beneath each arm. “I’ve got work to do, Perez. State your business and be on your way.”
“Seems a pack of rat cowards that looked a lot like your bunch attacked an innocent motorist outside of Las Vegas. Wore the same cross and shit patch that you do. Their rockers even read Savage Souls. Killed the driver and his three-year-old son. Where were you about two months ago?”
“Let me see, two months ago, huh? Probably hanging out around here with the only real lawman in this county—Sheriff Roger Reed. What else you got, baby? If you want to join the club just ask. You ain’t gotta keep lurking around for attention.”
“Fuck off, outlaw,” Chief Perez barked. Boots slid closer to the porch steps, her tan-colored uniform shirt pocked in sweat, “People around town said they saw a woman, about mid-twenties a few days ago, asking how to find this place. Ain’t seen her since. You wouldn’t be running
human trafficking would you?”
His gaze shifted to watch Vengeance, Mercy and St. John’s bikes kick up dust along the main trail back to the highway. Full rucksacks strapped onto the back of their saddles showed they’d embarked on their twelve-hour trek to address the Vegas chapter’s betrayal.
“Where they headed?”
“To town for ice cream.”
“You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you, outlaw? I’ll show you who’s smart,” she said as her thin index finger poked him in his rock-hard abdomen. “Now you got the feds sniffing around about those murders on the highway in Nevada.”
Feds, huh? Maybe she’s too dumb to realize she just let the cat out of the bag.
“Is that her?” Perez craned her body to the left and peered around Justice’s wide body. He spun around to see the curtains drop closed. She stepped onto the porch and meandered there while peering into each big bay window.
He chewed the inside of his cheek while contemplating a strategy to fade the heat. If Perez found any reason to enter the clubhouse, she’d sniff until discovering it all. “You want to talk to her? She’s just here looking for work.”
“Thanks, I’ll just pop in and have a chat,” Perez said while she took a step toward the door.
Justice’s buffed-up bicep slipped between her and the door, “I’ll have her step out so you girls can have privacy.”
Her balled fists jammed into narrow hips as she blasted a snort of hot air. “And how about taking that vulgar sign down before I have to make you.”
“Nope.” Justice walked over to run a finger across the big white sign with red lettering that read: Savage Souls Motorcycle Club – 1%’ers – Stay the Fuck Out – SFFS. “This is my property, and you’re about to be removed unless you can produce a search warrant from that fine, round ass of yours.” Fingers scraped across his square jaw as a sly grin appeared.